“Oh, God. I could never give this up,” she whispers fervently, tightening her hold and making me gasp. Making me bark out a laugh, fucking painfully. Ironically.
And then I realise where she has her other hand.
Where she’s pressing her lips.
“This heart is mine and I’m going to take the very best care of it.”
I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down to meet my lips. My mind going a little misty around the edges as she climbs astride me. My heart still thunders under her fingers as she pushes up on her knees, allowing me to yank up the hem of her skirt. She sighs as my fingers play across the fabric of her underwear, her moan meltingly hot and sweet as I slide the scrap of lace to the side and push my fingers deep inside.
But I don’t want her like this. I want hard and fast and fucking restrained as I wrap her in my arms, pulling her down and under me.
She cries out as I thrust into her, her body offering no resistance. Throwing her head back, her fingers are claws at my shoulder that cause me to hiss and buck.
She’s wild and unrestrained when I need the opposite as I take her hands, pulling them above her head. I ride her then, our fingers entwined, my body rippling and undulating above her, pouring out my need and my love until we’re both sick with the need of it, until this abject pleasure drags us both under.
“Is it always going to be like this, do you think?”
We’re both on our backs, lying against the rug. Sated and sore, and I’m not just talking about carpet burns.
I move a heavy arm from my face and turn my head to look at her. “I fucking hope not. Not unless you want to see me in an early grave.”
“You do know how to make a girl shut up.”
“I thought you were pretty noisy myself.” Though it sounds like I’m ready to joke, I’m not. My head is a fucking mess as I tuck my cock away, I pull myself to sit, my back pressed against the dresser. My chest still heaves, and my legs feel like fucking jelly. “I can’t stand.” Up. And I can’t stand it as I drape my arms over my bent legs, dropping my head between them.
“A captive audience,” she says with an unhappy chuckle.
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s about time.” But there’s no sting in her reprimand. “I love you, Carson. I’m sorry you came home when you did, because I was actually in the bathroom putting my toiletries back under the vanity. And the cases over there?” She points vaguely over her head, her own limbs still not quite cooperating. “They’re empty. Ready to be put away again. But I can’t lose her Carson. And if I stay, he’s going to try to take her away from me. He’ll tell the courts about Ardeo and about the auctions.”
I grit my jaw against the instinct to tell her she’s not going anywhere, that she doesn’t need to, but a sick part of me wants to hear her rebuke. Her denial.
“So, what are you going to do?” At least my voice sounds a little more like my own.
“I’m not going to do anything,” she replies simply. “Because we are. We’re going to fight him tooth and nail and if I have to, I’ll make Lulu so fucking feral he’ll be glad to get her off his hands every other weekend.”
“Make her feral?” I dip my head again, hiding the tears shining in my eyes.
Fee’s sigh draws my attention to her again. Let’s face it, my attention is never away from her long. Her eyes reflect the glow in mine. The love and the longing that I know will last a lifetime. “I know. Who am I kidding, eh?”
Epilogue
Fee
“No, princess,” I hear Carson whisper. “This isn’t my baby. He’s yours.”
“Really?” Lulu answers. “He’s not an early birthday present, is he?” she adds, her tone betraying just a tint of concern.
“You did ask for a baby brother.”
“That was a long time ago, when we lived in ’merica. I changed my mind now. I want a bike,” she replies, her voice rising on the last word.
“Well, I guess we have a problem.”
“No. You can just take him back where he came from. Get a refund,” she suggests quite happily.
Still feigning sleep, I snuggle deeper into my pillow mainly to muffle my snickering chuckle. But I can’t resist sneaking a peak at the pair, wanting to laugh even harder as Lulu pats Carson on the shoulder. You’ll sort it out. You always do.
Because in Lulu’s eyes, Carson is the man in her life who take care of everything. He’s the one person she’ll allow to brush her wild hair in the morning. The one she insists on accompanying her to school, although sometimes I’m allowed to tag along. He apparently makes better pancakes than me, has better taste in music, and in our kitchen dance offs, he has all the moves.