Chapter 36
thirty-six
. . .
Riley
Al maneuvers me onto my hands and knees, stroking reverently over my curves. I should feel exposed like this, vulnerable. But instead I feel adored. Seen. Wanted.
He slides into me with one smooth thrust, his cock hitting that place deep inside me I can never reach on my own.
I feel so fucking full. His body brackets mine, his hairy chest pressed to my back, his legs on either side of mine.
I’m surrounded by him, wrapped up in his embrace. And I never want him to let me go.
Some of my neediness has ebbed a little with my second orgasm, but this overwhelming feeling of want makes me practically dizzy.
His steady pace is doing wonders for me, filling me completely, and just when I’m about to collapse into a pool of sated goo, he anchors me with his hands on my hips, his thumbs stroking over the flesh of my ass.
It’s a surprisingly sweet touch compared to the dirty things he murmurs under his breath while he fucks me.
Behind me, Al stiffens, letting out a strangled shout. His cock pulses inside me, emptying into the condom. I can’t wait for the day we can go without, but until we’re on the same page about more kids—and more importantly, the timeline—this makes the most sense.
Without him holding me up, I collapse onto the mattress, his heavy body half on top of me.
He’s my favorite weighted blanket, calming my anxiety day in and out.
But after a moment, he rolls off me and pulls me into his arms, resting my head on his shoulder as he works to catch his breath.
The scratch of his chest hair beneath my cheek tickles, anchoring me in this moment.
“I love you,” he murmurs into the quiet of the room, punctuated by our ragged breathing.
My eyes well with tears—happy ones, this time. How did I get so lucky? “I love you, too.”
His touch lingers on my skin long after he pulls away, a ghost of heat that won’t fade.
I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath, but it’s not only the aftermath of his body against mine that leaves me trembling.
It’s us. Our connection. The three little words I never thought I’d hear from him—at least not like that, not whispered like a vow against my lips, not wrapped in raw need and aching tenderness.
I love you.
My heart stutters all over again just thinking about it. I’d said it back because holding it in any longer would’ve broken me. And now, everything feels different. He’s not merely my husband in name, not just my partner in this complicated arrangement. He’s mine. And I’m his.
The weight of that terrifies me. It thrills me.
It makes me want to cling to him until we’re both too exhausted to move, too breathless to speak.
I never imagined marriage would feel like this—like surrender and freedom at the same time.
Like he’s cracked me open and filled all the hollow spaces I didn’t know were empty.
And fuck, I never want to let that go.
The baby monitor squawks as Emmy cries in the next room, and with a sigh, I force myself out of bed as Al heads to the bathroom to deal with the condom. I scoop his T-shirt off the floor and pull on a pair of undies before padding down the hall to her room. She’s sitting up, rubbing at her eyes.
“Hey, princess,” I coo as I lift her out of the crib. “Did you have a good sleep?”
She clutches my borrowed shirt in her tiny fist, giving a forceful yank.
“I know, I smell like your daddy. He’ll come see you in a minute.”
It’s a little uncomfortable to deal with the messy aftermath of sex while holding a baby. Thankfully, Al pokes his head in the door while I’m changing her, and Emmy’s entire face lights up.
“I’ll take care of her,” he says. “You can clean up.”
With a laugh, I hand her over. “I need pants.”
He shakes his head. “Pants are optional.” Ducking his head, he kisses me softly, then swats me on the ass. “I’m curious about this pozole you made. Don’t take too long, or I’ll get a head start without you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He winks at me, and my stomach flutters. I’ve just had him, but already I want him again. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Brushing past him, I head to our room and take care of business. Definitely don’t want a UTI. Unfortunately for him, I do put on pants—even with the heat on, it’s still the middle of winter. Although I do keep his shirt.
Downstairs, he has Emmy in her exerciser while he prepares a bottle.
He’s talking to her in Spanish, and from his tone of voice, I’m guessing it’s baby talk.
I hear princessa and terms of endearment.
Maybe I can convince him to teach me Spanish one day.
I want to be part of the cool kids’ club, and I want to be able to communicate with his extended family and his abuela.
Al’s phone vibrates on the coffee table, and I pick it up without thinking. A message floats across the screen, and my heart stops.
“What is it?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”
My heart is in my throat. “The social worker wants us at the courthouse. Tomorrow.”