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“Yes!” I come with more force this time, arching my hips and grinding against Brendan’s face. His stubble scrapes my sensitive inner thighs, and God, it feels heavenly.
I come again and then again, and when Brendan finally pulls his fingers out of me, I’m a heap of mushy flesh.
Mushy flesh that wants to be fucked. That aches to be fucked.
He crawls toward me, his eyes on fire, but instead of plunging into my pussy, he comes closer, dangles his dick between my lips.
“I need to feel your mouth on me, Ava. Please.”
I open for him, and he slides his cock inside my mouth.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “That lip ring. Nothing like it.”
He fucks my mouth slowly at first, but then he glides in and out faster. Part of me yearns for my pussy to be filled, but another part is loving his groans of pleasure as I suck his big cock.
And it’s a damned big cock.
I don’t want to stop, but he pulls out swiftly. “Fuck. Need to be inside you.”
And then he is…thrusting, thrusting, thrusting…
That ache… That empty ache… It’s filled. Completely filled by Brendan’s magnificent cock.
He slides in and out of me, each time jarring my clit, and each time sending me closer, closer, closer…
Until I shatter once more, clamping around him as he thrusts.
“Yeah, baby.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “So. Fucking. Good.” He pounds into me one last time, releasing.
I’m still on the edge of my own climax, and I feel each contraction as he spurts inside me.
And for a moment…
I forget about my grandmother.
I forget about the tower.
I forget about my family’s secrets and lies.
Only Brendan and I exist.
And I wish it could stay this way forever.
Nothing lasts forever, though. The alarm clock wakes me early, and I rise and pad into the shower. The warm rainfall on my head is both relaxing and exhilarating, and I give myself a good exfoliation with my shower pouf.
Until—
A warm body touches mine.
I turn into Brendan’s arms. “Hey… What are you doing up so early?”
“Showering with the love of my life.”
“You should sleep.”
“Mmm.” He kisses my lips. “Can’t. I’m meeting my father for breakfast, and then we’re going to go see Lauren Wingdam.”
“My aunt.” The words come out of my mouth before I can think about them.
“Yeah. In a technical sense.”
“In a genetic sense,” I say. “I wish I could come along.”
“Can Luke or Maya take care of the bakery this morning?”
“No.” I squeeze some shampoo into my palm. “Maybe. If I get the morning bake started. But I don’t like to be out of the bakery during business hours.”
“I know what you mean.”
I kiss him. “I know. And you’ve been really good about leaving your place of business when I need you.”
“You’re number one with me, Ava. But don’t feel like you have to be there this morning for my sake.”
“You don’t need me?”
“I always need you. But this is more for my dad.”
“All right. But tell me everything.”
“Of course.” He lifts me, sets me onto his hard cock. “But first…”
I sigh. True completion. In the shower, only Brendan and I exist, as if we’re in a secluded pond under a waterfall.
I close my eyes and let myself slide into the fantasy…for as long as I can.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Brendan
Dad and I drive up to a large brick ranch house on the edge of Snow Creek’s sister town, Barrel Oaks, Colorado. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it. Barrel Oaks makes Snow Creek look like a thriving metropolis.
But this house…
It’s sprawling, and the lawn is green—not always the norm in the dry desert climate of Colorado—and well-kept.
The driveway is fine gravel and leads to a detached three-car garage. Instead, we park on the street and take the stone walkway to the front door.
An ornate antique door knocker graces the door that’s painted dark red. I choose the doorbell, pressing it lightly.
No response.
I ring it again, while Dad lifts the door knocker and brings it down loudly once. Then again.
Finally the door opens. A young man in jeans, a white button-down, and a bolo tie—seriously—stands there. His reddish-brown hair is cut short in a professional style.
“Yeah? Can I help you?”
“We’re from Snow Creek,” Dad says. “We’re looking for Lauren Wingdam.”
“What for?” he asks.
“That’s between us and her,” I say.
“And me,” the man says. “She’s my mother.”
I stop myself from dropping my jaw to the ground. Pat Lamone has a brother. Now that he says it, I see the resemblance, although this guy is much better looking than Lamone. Perhaps they don’t share the same father.
“Good enough,” Dad says. “We have some questions about your grandmother. Dyane Wingdam.”
“Then we can’t help you,” the man says. “My mother had a falling out with her mother years ago.”
“We’d still like to talk to her.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Brendan Murphy.”
He doesn’t take my hand. “Murphy?”
