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“I’m sorry,” she says. “I—I don’t know what got into me.”
“I’m not sorry at all. I am ecstatic.” I stroke her face gently and smile at her.
“You are? Why?” Her cute button nose wrinkles.
“This was our first fight. We’re moving forward, couch girl. And, also, because I get to have make-up sex with you.”
“You are incorrigible.” She snorts, playfully hitting my chest.
“Only for you,” I say, rubbing her ass through her soft pajama bottoms as she lies on top of me.
“Are we good?” She looks at me from under those bangs, which stay clipped back during the day.
“We are the fucking best.” I kiss her hard, my heart in a perpetual state of high since I arrived in Cherrywood. “I need to make you mad more often.”
“Why?” There’s a squeak in her voice when my hand slips inside her pants, rubbing her silk panties.
“Because today I learned how hot you look when angry. With a scarlet face, red ears, and wild eyes, you’re a siren calling out for every part of me.” I take her hand and push it inside my track pants. “Feel what you do to me, couch girl.”
She starts caressing me through my boxers before drawing them lower. Then her hands touch my bare skin, her fingers brushing against my pubic hair, firing all the neurons in my brain.
“Rose.” A moan escapes me.
“Does this turn you on too?” she asks innocently. Too innocently, that tease.
Before I can reply, she starts pumping my dick—not lazily, not lightly, but solid, hard pumps like I showed her. Sometimes it’s a fucking blessing that she has a photographic memory.
I push my own fingers inside her panties and start rubbing her clit.
“Ah, Zander,” she moans.
I take her mouth in a kiss, damping our mewling noises. I push two of my fingers inside her, curling them, and at the same time, I rub her clit with my thumb.
We both work our hands in unison. Whenever the pleasure is too much and my hand slows down, she tightens her grip on me, reminding me that she wants the same pleasure.
Finally, she comes apart with a loud cry, pulling her mouth away from mine. I groan with pleasure and shoot my load in my boxers and all over her hands.
Minutes later, when our breathing has returned to normal, she asks, “Do you think someone heard?”
I shrug. Someone definitely heard. But I don’t give a fucking damn.
10
ZANDER
“What do you think?” I ask Rose, although I already know her answer.
We’re looking at the third property for our dream house. But this one, too, doesn’t feel right.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t have that thing,” Rose says apologetically. Her lips are pinched together as if it’s her fault that we’re not finding the right place.
I pull her closer to me. “I know. I feel it too.” My gaze slides to the house and then to Rose, and it fucking twists my nerves to watch the excitement in her eyes dying.
We walk to where our car is parked and the realtor is waiting for us.
“This isn’t it, Henry.”
“Zander, you wanted a house with a view of the hills, in the woods, and close to the lake and city.” Henry waves his hands around, showing me all those things. “This has everything. What’s the problem? Is it the price?” He’s been patient with us so far, and he’s right. This property has everything, as per our wishes on paper, but it’s still missing…that thing, as Rose said.
