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And I can’t stop because his ruthless hips don’t. With all his strength, his thrusts take me again, my thighs shaking, feeling the little rivers he’s releasing between my cheeks. “Fuck, Cade, yes. Keep squirting for my cock.”
He’s gazing down while I can see it, the seize of his every perfect muscle, a deep groan clutching his ribs. “Cade.” He can’t stop it either, what happens between us; his grunts while he comes, and my moans feeling him pulsing inside.
I reach for him, pulling him down and wrapping my legs around him. He rolls us over, wrapping around me, too, and we don’t need words. We just need this.
My tears at his return. His kiss of them away. All the pain, all the waiting, we let it go to have this again.
“Now that’s how you make a baby.” I can’t resist the joke.
“I failed Sex-Ed, remember?” He tickles his fingertip across my bottom lip. “Because you were my Sex-Ed. Besides,”—he’s going to kiss me again, and I’m going to love him forever—“we have infinity to keep trying.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Fine Line by Harry Styles
It’s the best week of my life.
Redix goes to set, and I go to work. When he gets a day off, I take one too, and we spend it furniture shopping in Savannah. Since he doesn’t give a shit about that stuff, I get to pick out items, and he just smiles, loving that I love this.
He’s more focused on this Saturday. It’s Halloween and my favorite holiday because of, duh, the candy.
“I’m in charge of the costumes,” he informs me while he preps our dinner, his chef’s knife going to town on some radishes.
“Oh, really?” I’m still struggling with this whole onion-chopping-crying-torture. “Where are we going in said costumes?”
“That’s my secret, Detective.”
A lock of his hair falls from its knot. It’s kissing his lips where I want mine.
“Don’t I get a hint?” I can’t see through the burning tears.
“Yes. It’s circus themed.” He pops a radish slice into his grinning mouth. “I’m the elephant, of course.”
I try to laugh, but I can’t see shit.
“Jesus, Candy Cade.” He grabs a paper napkin and starts blotting my tears. “Let me do this before you lose a finger.”
“Onions will not beat me.”
I’m blind; it’s official. He keeps dabbing, and I keep crying until he shoves the cutting board out from under my nose.
“Tell you what.” I can tell he’s smiling by his tone, declaring, “New house rule: You cook desserts, and I make dinners. Deal?”
“You had me at sugar.”
“Second rule: Toilet paper goes over.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll flip it back right every time I pee.”
I’m pulled into a hug, where I wipe my tears on his T-shirt. “Will you at least let me win at Uno?” He murmurs into my hair.
“Now we’re talking.”
Days later, he makes the perfect pirate, and I’m his wench as we take his nephew, Nicolas, trick-or-treating around our new neighborhood.
All the kids running around, all the candy rustling in bags, it’s pure bliss. Especially when Redix takes my hand while we stand on the sidewalk, watching Nicolas sing “trick or treat” to a couple who opens their front door. It’s two men in full puppy-face makeup, while one holds the cutest baby dressed like a cat.
“That’s gonna be us one day,” he whispers.
