Chapter 25
Found Family
Wheeler
“Ho-ly shit.” I force air into my lungs, feeling flattened in the best, most thorough way by the orgasm that just rocketed through my entire being.
“Baby, that was—how—did I—I think I came for an hour? Is that why it’s light out now?
” I glance at the windows across from the bed, where thin gray light slants through the gap in the curtains.
Duke, who’s currently moving over and inside me with my legs hiked over his shoulders, just grins. “Wish it was an hour. You feel”—he grunts, grin fading as he pins me to the mattress with an especially hard thrust—“so fucking good.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Can’t.” He wraps a hand around my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds me there, eyes locked on mine in the semidarkness. “Won’t.”
I snake my hands to his waist and marvel at the play of muscles there. He’s rock-hard, thick, and warm, his belly covered with a smattering of that dark blond hair.
His strength—his size—they’re sexy. And kinda scary.
This is the fourth—or fifth or sixth, I’ve lost count—time we’ve had sex since we fell into bed yesterday afternoon. I’m sore, my pleasure tinged with a little more pain each time, and I never, ever want it to end.
We’ve only stopped screwing to eat, sleep, or snuggle. We made a quick supper of scrambled eggs and hash browns, and then we were back at it. You’d think we hadn’t fucked for years for how insatiable we are. Duke’s alarm just went off at four, but I was already awake and ready for him.
The bed sighs, a quiet, somehow happy sound, as Duke moves between my legs. I love—love—his bed. It’s comfortable and warm, and it’s not so big that we end up sleeping several feet apart. Instead, Duke insists we spoon, using an arm around my waist to curl my body into the bulk of his own.
He hasn’t stopped touching me since the shower. He’s always got a hand on my hip, a hand on my breast, a hand between my legs.
It wasn’t lost on me that he fell asleep with his palm pressed to my belly. My throat closed in at the perfect tenderness of the moment. How safe I felt, surrounded not only by the heat of Duke’s body but also by the growing sense that he might be changing his mind too.
He could easily avoid the subject of my pregnancy. Instead, he says shit like you’re so pretty with my baby inside you and then keeps his hand on my stomach all night long. It makes me think he might want to be a dad.
He might want to be with me.
No question, Duke is going to be an awesome father. He’s also going to be awesome to the mother of his children. How could he not be? He’s been awesome to me, and I’ve been pregnant for all of a few weeks.
He’s awesome in a way my dad never was to my mom. Which makes me think…
Duke and I might actually have a shot at a happy ending.
“These”—he leans down to take my nipple into his mouth—“still feel okay?”
Panting, I nod. “They feel fine.”
“Good. That’s where I’m gonna come.”
Then he’s pulling out of me, my legs dropping from his shoulders. My body cries out at the loss of him, but then he’s taking himself in his hand, giving himself a few quick pumps while his eyes tear over my body.
“Fuck. So fucking pretty. Love your tits bigger like this. Love how sensitive the baby makes—fuck.”
He shudders, and the next thing I know, ropes of his cum cover my breasts. It’s warm, a little sticky. He looks down at me, and his nostrils flare.
What were you saying about our baby?
I’m dying to know.
I’m dying for him to ask me if I want to keep it. Because I think I do.
I really think I do.
Looking down, my insides clench. I’m covered in him. The sight of my nipples glistening with his release is obscene. Why do I get the feeling that he’s marking me? Claiming me even?
I’m hurting between my legs, but I feel a renewed bloom of heat there anyway.
Meeting his eyes, I move my hand up. I use my first two fingers to gather up some of his cum off my nipple, my breath catching at the need that bolts through me when I touch myself there. Then I put those fingers in my mouth. He tastes salty. Hot.
He watches me, eyes going dark.
I like this. I want this. I want you.
Gently, he pulls my fingers out of my mouth. Leaning in, he kisses me, his tongue slipping between my lips. The kiss is tender, sweet, a startling counterpoint to the lewdness of a moment ago.
Oh, cowboy, this is exactly how I want to start my day every morning.
The thought turns me on. It also terrifies me.
He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on mine, our noses touching. “Lemme take you to dinner.”
My heart twists. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
Am I actually going to say yes this time?
“I am.” He presses his lips to mine. “You gonna run again?”
My first instinct is to fight the smile that pulls at the edges of my lips.
Today, I let the smile win. “I’m not going anywhere, am I?”
“‘Persistence pays off’ is our new motto, huh?”
“I am all about the long game.”
“501.” I feel his mouth move into a smile against mine. “I remember. So is that a yes?”
My pulse thumps. My every instinct screams at me to turn him down. Dates are dangerous. If he gets too close, he’s going to see my ugly parts. It’s safer to keep him at arm’s distance. We can still sleep together. We can even have a baby together. But we don’t have to date.
I call bullshit.
I’m so sick of my bullshit. I don’t know how to let go of my fear of letting people in. But I think a date—an honest-to-goodness date—is a good place to start.
“Yes.”
“Aw, yeah.” He ducks his head to kiss my neck. “There’s a fundraiser at Ella and June’s school on Saturday at five thirty. What if, after that, I come grab you—”
“Wait. What’s this fundraiser about?”
“You bid on the kids’ art, they sing some songs for you, and everyone feels good about it. It’s an hour, tops. I can be at your front door by seven at the latest.”
I swallow. I don’t know why—oh, girl, you totally know why—but the thought of going to the girls’ fundraiser gives me butterflies. “Could I possibly come with you? To the fundraiser, I mean.”
Dinner sounds really nice—that’s a given. But I’m surprised that the butterflies flap their wings a little faster when I think about going to the fundraiser too.
I imagine the entire Rivers family will be there, along with a good chunk of the community here in Hartsville. Duke and I showing up together as a couple—that is a hard launch.
But if we decide to have this baby, people are going to know we are—were—together anyway. Who am I kidding? They probably already do.
I just get this absurd and absurdly warm and fuzzy feeling when I think about attending the fundraiser as part of the Rivers family. Ella is a doll and so is Junie, and they’ll be thrilled by a big turnout. I imagine very few kids in their class will have ten people show up for them at this thing.
How cool would it be if the Riverses showed up for our baby too?
If they showed up for us?
Duke straightens and looks me in the eye, brow scrunched. “You really wanna come to that?”
“I do, yeah.”
“It is really cute. I think you’d like it.”
“I’m in. If you’ll have me, of course.”
He chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart, I always wanna have you. This time, though, I’d love to take you to dinner before we get naked.” He pushes up on his arms so he can meet my eyes. “So it’s a date? A real one?”
I wrap my arms around Duke’s neck and pull him down for a kiss, too scared to look him in the eye as I say, “It’s a date. A real one.”
____
I have limited experience with first dates.
With dating in general, really.
But the few first dates I’ve been on have been awkward as hell. Do you hug when you meet? Or is a kiss on the cheek better? And the chemistry—if it’s not there at first, do you cut your losses and run? Or do you give the connection a chance to grow?
Duke puts all those concerns to bed before our first date even begins.
I emerge from the guest room—all my stuff is still in there—dressed and ready to go. I catch a glimpse of Duke standing in the hall by the front door, which is open to the delicious spring breeze. His back is to me, and he’s looking down at his phone, so he doesn’t notice me yet.
My stomach nosedives when I take in his handsomeness.
He’s wearing a clean pair of jeans and the “going out” boots he had on back in Dallas.
A crisp white button-up shirt, freshly ironed, is tucked into a thick leather belt, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up to reveal enormous forearms that are crisscrossed with large veins and dotted with freckles.
And then—fuck me—there’s the cowboy hat.
It’s one I haven’t seen on him before. Dressier than the one he usually wears to work, this hat is dark brown, felt, and in pristine condition, not a smudge or speck of dirt in sight. Duke looks good in it.
The kind of good that has me putting a hand on the wall to steady myself. I can’t get over the way his biceps fill out those sleeves. Or how his tapered waist slopes into the firmest, cutest ass in existence, the pockets of his jeans just the tiniest bit faded.
I’m going on a date with a cowboy. A real one.
He looks up and sees me. His lips part as his eyes move over my floral-print skirt and matching top. I’m wearing a short pair of blue Bellamy Brooks boots to complete the look, along with big earrings and a straw bag.
Looking at myself in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the guest room door, I felt pretty. But when Duke looks at me like this, his throat working, eyes sharp—
I feel beautiful.
“Blue.” It’s the only word he says.
I lift my leg to show off my appropriately colored boots. “Thought you’d appreciate that.”
“Blue.”
Walking toward him, I open my bag and drop my phone inside. “So clever, I know. Mollie and I are debating whether to include this pair of boots in our first winter drop, but I…”
The words die in my throat when I see Duke stalking toward me. His jaw twitches. His boots mark a hard, quick beat on the wood floor.
He’s huge.
He smells fucking delicious, like freshly showered man.
He tucks his thumb and first finger underneath my chin and tips my head back. Then he leans in, neck bending in the most mind-bogglingly sexy way imaginable, and kisses my mouth.
“Blue balls,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’m gonna have ’em all night with you lookin’ so fuckin’ gorgeous.”
I kiss him back, rising up on my tiptoes. “I’m not fucking you before we leave. I don’t want to mess up my hair.”
“But you will fuck me after.” He gives my bottom lip a bite, then pulls back. “And I will mess up your hair. Ain’t apologizin’ for it either.”
I smile. “I look forward to it. You look so handsome, Duke. Love the hat.”
He looks at me for a beat. I look back. I feel like an emoji, the smiley face with the stupid heart eyes.
What the hell am I doing?
How can I do more of it?
Duke grabs my hand, my chest lurching at how dry and warm and big his feels wrapped around mine.
“Thank you.” His voice is quiet. “For agreeing to come to the fundraiser. Ella’s gonna get a big kick out of you being there. So are Sawyer and Ava.”
“I’m happy to.”
He nods at the door. “You ready?”
“I’m ready, cowboy.”