Chapter 32
32
B y the time we checked out of the hotel and made it back home, we barely made it through the front door before my hands were on her again.
She wasn’t even trying to fight it.
Not when I pinned her against the wall, my hands gripping her thick thighs, hiking her up until she wrapped them around my waist.
Not when I sank to my knees, kissing up her legs, inhaling the scent of her, hungry to taste her again.
Not when I laid her down on our bed, parting her thighs and sliding inside her slow, both of us exhaling at the same time.
I fucked her deep, slow, thorough, making sure she knew—this wasn’t just lust.
This was love. The kind that tethered souls together. That stitched the broken pieces back whole. That meant forever.
I kissed her like it. Touched her like it. Loved her like it.
And when we finally drifted off to sleep, limbs tangled, hearts steady, I knew—this was it.
But then the fucking doorbell rang.
She groaned beneath me, her body arching, craving more.
“Ignore it.”
“Baby…” I kissed her neck, my fingers still teasing her.
The doorbell rang again. Somehow louder this time.
I cussed under my breath, dropping my forehead to hers.
“Somebody’s about to get cussed the fuck out.”
She giggled, but I saw the glow of her skin, the way she still wanted me and that made my body fill with anticipation.
“Go. See who it is.”
I sighed, grabbing my boxers and pulling them on. I kissed her one last time before rolling out of bed, shaking my head as I made my way to the door.
When I opened it, my irritation vanished and I exhaled hard.
Mrs. Beverly Jameson and my damn mama. Both of them standing there, smiling like they had just won the lottery.
“Morning, baby.” My mother breezed past me, like she owned the place.
Mrs. Jameson did the same, smirking.
“Took you long enough to answer.”
I ran a hand down my face, trying to keep my expression neutral.
“What the hell are y’all doing here?” I couldn’t pretend to be respectful when my dick was still pulsing.
Beverly and my mother exchanged a knowing look.
And then?—
Amaya walked out.
Half-dressed. Eyes wide. Hair wild. Lips swollen.
“Mom?”
Mrs. Jameson smiled. “Morning, sweetheart.”
Amaya groaned, grabbing the closest thing—a blanket—and wrapping it around herself. My mother just chuckled, unbothered as hell.
“Y’all go on and freshen up. Together or separately. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”
Amaya and I just stared at them, humming made up songs and carrying on, and we looked at each other. Then back at them. They were serious.
I sighed, dragging a hand over my beard, shaking my head as Amaya grabbed my arm, pulling me back toward the bedroom and I swear I heard my mother laugh.
Matchmakers.
By the time we showered and got dressed, we found our mothers in the kitchen cooking dinner like they owned the place. And for once, I didn’t mind.
Amaya looked up at me, her eyes softer now, lighter and for the first time in weeks, there was no distance between us. And as I pulled her closer, kissing her temple, I knew—this was the start of something real.
Something forever.