Chapter 32 #2
I want his fucking mouth on mine. Rising up, I slide my hand up his chest, feeling every ridge, every curve as he rubs oil on my dick.
Wait. What is he…?
“Are you good?” he asks.
I stare up at him. “What do you mean?”
He smooths his hand down my arm, still stroking me behind him and not answering.
Am I…good?
Then I realize, and my heart catches in my throat. “Yeah, I’m clean,” I tell him. “I promise.”
It’s the only thing I’ve been consistently careful about.
“I want to feel you bare,” he says.
Fuck yes.
I come in for his mouth, but he shoves my neck back down to the bed, heat in his eyes, and I smile.
Unfastening his pants, he pushes them down below his ass and reaches back, fitting my head inside of him.
I fucking tremble.
He closes his eyes, sinking down on me slowly until he’s seated in my lap, and I grip his hips.
I groan. “God, you’re so fucking tight.”
Leaning down, he starts to roll his hips in and out, pumping on me, and I grip his ass in one hand as he rides me. We pick up the pace, and my bed starts to rock against the wall, the whole damn house about to know what we’re doing, as if they didn’t already.
I don’t give a shit. I’ve got a Saint of my own now, and it’s going to be a regular fucking thing until we figure out what’s next.
His mouth finds mine as I guide his ass up and down my dick. “On your fucking knees,” I whisper.
Sitting up, I push him to the bed next to me and climb back on behind him, sliding in. With his hip in one hand, I grasp his shoulder with the other, keeping him in place as I thrust, burying myself inside of him.
Looking down, I watch myself enter him, every inch of my skin on fire and dying to come. I growl, feeling him back up into me, begging for more.
And that does it. “Oh, God.”
He plants his hand on the wall, his moans getting faster and louder.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Fuck.”
“Come on, baby.”
Sweat covers my chest, a trickle gliding down my stomach until…
I thrust—and then again and one more—my orgasm exploding, and I come inside of him.
My body shakes, I can’t breathe fast enough, and I squeeze his flesh again in both hands over and over again. He trembles, his own coursing through him.
I collapse to the bed on top of him, our pants down around our thighs.
We calm, I run my hand up his spine, and I know…
I don’t think we’re ever sleeping separately again.
—
I’m glad I have a big bed. We’re not small people, so it helps, even if he is on me all night.
I don’t mind, though. It’s a new feeling—to be exactly where I want to be.
He’s back in my bed, Anna-Katherine is safely asleep down the hall, my family is here, and the treasure is home.
The universe will fuck something up before the day is done, but for this moment, I can’t stop the elation swelling in my chest so big that I can’t expand my lungs to breathe.
My stomach aches with hunger, and I can feel the grime from the storm lingering on my body.
I need food and a shower, but I’m afraid to move.
I don’t want to wake him. His breath is steady and warm on my neck, his arm draped over my chest, and I don’t know what time it is, but it must be around six thirty.
The gray sky out my window casts a twilight on the trees.
The rain has stopped, an occasional drop hitting the window, but the house is quiet. That usually means the Bay made it through fairly unscathed; otherwise Macon would be dragging us out of bed to deal with emergencies.
I listen to his breathing, feeling his sleeping body rise and fall in my arms. Jesus Christ, I fucking love you.
That older man can go fuuuck himself, because he’s not touching you. I want to kill him for thinking he had a chance.
Moving my arm up and around Callum’s head, I slowly slide out from underneath, letting him settle back onto the mattress.
Sitting up, I tug the sheet back up over him, kissing his shoulder and then his back as I climb off the bed. Throwing on my jeans, I head for the door, punch the parentheses twice, and leave, softly closing the door behind me.
I walk over to the bathroom, but before I enter, I hear coughing and spitting.
Krisjen kneels in front of the toilet, vomiting.
“Shit, are you okay?” I ask, rushing over to pull her hair up out of her face.
She breathes hard, groaning as she rises and closes the seat, flushing. “I’m fine,” she mumbles, her voice shaky.
I give her a hand towel from the neat stack on the shelf and fill a glass of water for her.
“Just pregnant with a vengeful Jaeger,” she grumbles.
I jerk my eyes to her, the cup overflowing with water.
Shit. I shut off the faucet.
She whimpers. “Something tells me this is going to be normal the whole pregnancy.”
Well, that was fast. They just started trying.
I hand her the water. “Macon knows?”
“No, I told you first,” she spits out.
I laugh, glad she’s feeling well enough to joke.
“With everything going on the past few days,” she explains, “it wasn’t the right time to tell everyone.”
Standing up, she swishes a mouthful of water and spits it in the sink.
I take her glass and set it down, coming in and lifting her into my arms.
I carry her to her room, Macon still sleeping in bed as I walk past the severed rafter to my right.
“I knew you were a gentleman,” she coos.
I kick open the door to her bathroom. “No, I need the shower.” I sit her down on their toilet lid. “You have your own bathroom.”
I walk away.
“Dick,” she whispers behind me.
Twisting around, I come back and give her a peck on the head.
“Congratulations,” I tell her with a grin. “You’re the second-best thing to ever happen to me.”
After Callum.
Honestly she’s probably tied with Macon. None of us would be here without him, of course, but she really made the house a pleasant place to be. Mostly because she made him more pleasant.
And she got my shit together. She knew I’d like teaching.
After a quick shower, I head downstairs and make a plate of food.
He’s not going to eat all the good stuff filled with fucking carbs, so I slice some hardboiled eggs, dole out some pineapple that Krisjen keeps for smoothies, and sprinkle some spinach on the plate.
I have no idea how to even make that appetizing, but I’m not the one eating it.
I scarf down two cold fried drumsticks, left over from the other night, as I dump some mozzarella pearls on the plate for Callum that my sister puts in her salads.
Pinching two bottles of water under my arm, I slice a piece of sweet potato pie out of the dish and scarf it down as I carry his “breakfast” up the stairs.
Sneaking back into the room, I see he’s on his back, his dick tenting the sheet. My cock instantly stirs.
I set the food down and whip off the sheet, his eyes popping open as he jerks his head up.
“Wake up.” I climb on the bed, settling my head between his legs. “I’m still hungry.”
I wrap my arm around his thigh and sink my mouth down on him, feeling him jerk as his back arches. “Oh, fuck,” he groans.
His hand fists my wet hair as I run my tongue along the veins in his shaft, and he has me right where he wants me—head and heart.
If that bird food keeps his stamina at this level, I’ll stock the fridge with whatever the hell he wants.