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“Gonna come inside you, love. Gonna make you a mother,” he growls as he holds himself deep inside me. His words make my pussy contract one last time, and that’s his breaking point.
Brewer lets out a feral roar as his cum fills me up. He pulls back and then enters me again as more of his release shoots out of him. There’s so much, I feel it dripping down my thighs, the tickling sensation making me moan and involuntarily tremble in his arms.
I feel the last of his orgasm drain from him, and then Brewer collapses on top of me. He’s sweaty and panting for air as he rests his forehead between my shoulderblades. I feel his hot breath on my skin, the weight of his body on top of mine, his sweat mixing with mine, and I know.
I just… know.
Everything will work out as long as we’re together.
CHAPTERELEVEN
BREWER
Ifeel the moment Ainsley relaxes and gives herself over to me and our future together. Pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead, I roll to the side, dragging her with me. My firefly curls up on my chest and cuddles closer, while I wrap an arm around her and hold her against me.
The moment feels right to finally tell my woman how wealthy I am. Surely by now, Ainsley knows who I am, and knows I’d never be the shallow, selfish pricks her parents were, no matter how much I have in the bank.
I open my mouth to confess, when a loud banging on the door startles us both.
Ainsley gasps and reaches for the sheet to cover herself. I reluctantly slide out from underneath her, kissing her on the forehead. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll be right back. You stay here,” I tell her before throwing on jeans and a t-shirt.
I grip the doorknob and take a deep breath. I’m pretty sure I know who’s out there, and I don’t want Ainsley to be any part of it.
Sure enough, I open the door to a pot-bellied man with an arrogant, indignant look on his red face. Ainsley’s father, I presume.
“Who the fuck are you and where the hell is my daughter?!”
“I’m Brewer, and Ainsley is home now,” I say calmly, stepping into the doorway so he can’t get through. I cross my arms over my chest and stand to my full height, towering over the ruddy, portly man.
“The fuck she is. She’s been missing for days, and I have it on good word she ran up this mountain. You’re the first place I came to, and I have a feeling you know what happened to her.”
“I do. She found her home right here with me, and that’s where she’s staying.”
“So you admit you have her,Brewer?” he spits out, taking a step forward.
He looks like he’s about to charge me, but then thinks better of it. I kind of wish he would. I’d love to knock this fucker on his ass, but I won’t instigate violence against Ainsley’s family. Unless she asks me to. In which case, I’d be more than happy to oblige.
“Yes. And I’m keeping her. She’ll be my wife soon.”
“She’s already taken,” the man snarls. “Or did she forget to mention that part before spreading her legs for a degenerate like you?”
I growl and clench my fists at my sides, taking two steps forward and crowding his space. “What thefuckdid you just say?” My voice is low, but there’s a threat laced in my words, one I know he picks up on.
“She ran away from her wedding,” he says, puffing out his chest. He’s trying to look intimidating, but the waver in his voice gives away his nerves.
"Then it sounds like she's not taken. Sounds like she didn't want to be married in the first place. In fact, from what she told me, it sounds like you used your own goddamn daughter as a pawn to make more money. That means you lost the right to be in her life unless she says so. It also means you lost the absolute privilege of taking care of her and supporting her and loving her the way she deserves to be loved."
“I-I, that’s, well, that’s just…”
“Enough,” I growl, taking another step forward. The man takes a step back, nearly stumbling. “Get the fuck out of here. Don’t come back or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
This makes him laugh. A cruel, cold sound that I instantly want to choke out of him. “You think the cops are going to side with someone likeyouover someone likeme? Face it, you’re not good enough for her. You can’t give her the lifestyle she’s used to. She’ll tire of her little backwoods adventure soon enough.”
He sneers, probably expecting me to either be hurt at his comment or get angry. Instead, I laugh at him. “I love your daughter with everything that I am, and I know she loves me, too. That’s all that matters. But if she wants me to lay the world at her feet, I can do that too. I make plenty of money with my handmade furniture business.”
“Not enough,” the man says, narrowing his eyes as a smirk stretches across his face.
“Actually, my net worth is ten percent higher than yours, Bartholomew Mcentire.”
