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My hands work the buckle of his jeans, and I quickly free him. My fingers curl around the hard pipe of his silky-smooth erection, and I stroke, letting my thumb slide over the tip—up and down again and again just the way I’ve learned to know he likes.
His big hands push under my dress, and he makes a strangled noise as he murmurs, “Fucking love these things.” As he snaps the band of my thigh-high stockings. “Sexy as sin.”
I smile against his lips, because I know just how much he likes them. That’s why I wore them. “Touch me.”
“Say please.”
I moan. “Please.”
I don’t have to beg twice. Rough fingertips pull goosebumps and shivers to the surface of my flesh as he traces the seam of my thigh to the lace between my legs. He strokes my seam over the material, a rumble of pleasure bubbling in his chest as he praises, “Good girl. So wet for me.”
“Yes.” I breathe, panting. “Always.”
“You want me tofill you up, baby?”
Soooo bad.I don’t use words, but moan into his mouth as I press down on his hand, my own hand continuing to stroke him.
“Say it, Wrenlee.”
“I want you to fill me Cash. I want you to come so deep inside me I can’t feel where you end and I begin. I want you to own me. Show me I’m yours now and then show me again tonight. Remind me in the morning and every day for the rest of my life.”
My words clearly snap his control, because he shifts me on his lap as he tugs my panties to the side—and then he thrusts up in one powerful push to seat himself to the hilt. My head snaps back as I cry out in delicious pleasure, Cash leaning forward to nip one of my breasts through my bra before his hands find my ass and he grinds me down on him hard. We rock together, chasing pleasure and release and connection under the late December afternoon surrounded by snow and pine and mountain.
I come undone, shattering and spent as he spills his release deep inside me—so deep, I know he’s filled my womb—my soul. When his arms come around the small of my waist to band me there against his chest, still rooted inside me as he inhales the scent of my skin as he drags his nose along the line of my collarbone, I can’t resist the opening to give him just one more poke.
“Looks like I came out on top after all.”
He’s quiet for a beat, and then he laughs. It’s loud and merry and perfectly Cash—perfect for this moment as a hand dives into my hair and he tugs my head down to his, kissing me hard and long.
When he pulls back, in perfect Cash fashion, he says, “I fucking love you, Kitten.”
“I love you too, Cash.”
epilogue
Wrenlee
Cash proposed over the Christmas Holiday while we were in Blue Bend. He’d bought the ring before Thanksgiving, but he’d waited for Christmas—for the time we’d had planned to spend with Dad—to pop the question.
Cash Jagger, devil without a cause, had asked my father’s permission for my hand. I know without a doubt that if Dad had refused, Cash would have done it anyway—and I would have said yes. But he’d wanted to give Dad that, and I love him for it.
Surprisingly, considering me and Cash haven’t been together long, Dad gave his blessing. I guess when the man saves you from a murderous killer andloves you enough to stand by you through the recovery, the nightmares, the mental torment—it’s reason enough for a father to give his nod to the man brave enough to ask for his daughter’s hand and heart.
The ring is—perfect. It’s not over the top, and it’s not typical. It’s me—a daydream fashioned in gold and diamond if I’ve ever seen one. It’s like something I might read about in one of my fantasy romance books. I wonder if that’s how he got the idea to buy the band of vines and diamonds. Either way, I don’t care. I love it.
I’ll wear it for the rest of my life.
“Are you sure about this?” Cash asks once more, his face drawn tight as he glances around the new space. We’re in L.A.—in the condo we’re planning to buy and live in.
“I’m sure.”
“Wrenlee,” there’s an adorable caution in Cash’s voice that has me moving from the wall of windows to the man who stands in the brick exposed dining room.
Dipping my finger into the buckle of his belt, I tug him closer to me with a flirtatious grin. “I’m sure I’m going to love it when you push me down on that counter and take my ass for the first time.” His breath hitches, because we’ve been working on that—on getting me ready for that. I can’t wait. Pitching my voice to a near whisper, I trail my finger up his torso. “I’m going to lovehaving you fill me in that shower at night under the stars that peek down at us through the skylight—and sleeping outside on the rooftop patio like we never got to do in New York—because it’s warm enough here.”
“Kitten,” his voice is a decadent husk that has a shiver running the length of my spine.
“I want this, Cash,” I tell him firmly. “Besides, the band is signed, and the producer is here.”
