Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to carry it—”
I’m cut off when his mouth crashes down on mine and he rips the sheet away, pulling me over to straddle his lap. The feel of his tongue and his taste work through my system as he adjusts me slightly, filling me with him. I rock against him slowly, wrapping my arms more tightly around him, our mouths never leaving the other as he brings me to a slow orgasm that doesn’t explode, but burns, feeling like it never ends. Tears spring from my eyes and I taste salt in our kiss as his orgasm slides down my throat.
When he leans his head back, his hands hold my face gently and he whispers, “I love you, babe.”
“I know,” I reply, because I do know; I feel it all the time. Even when we’re apart, I feel it.
“Gonna carry it always,” he says while wiping away another stray tear, and I know he’s talking about more than just the wallet. He’s also talking about the love and connection we have. I cuddle closer to him as he leans over with us still connected and turns off the light, and then he adjusts us, with me still on top of him, him still deep inside of me as he pulls the covers over us. He rubs my back for a long time while I listen to the sound of his breath. When it evens out, I follow him off to sleep.
*
“You’re glowing,” my mom says, walking up to me and wrapping her arm around my waist.
“I’m happy.” I smile at her and wrap my arm around her. I lean my head on her shoulder and look at my family and Wes, who are all sitting in my parents’ living room, talking and laughing. When we got up this morning, we fed Capone and Juice then sat around our Christmas tree and opened the gifts we had gotten one another. Wes got me a beautiful gold necklace that is an exact replica of his dog tag he wears, just smaller. The small metal plate has the same information his dog tag carries, but unless you flip it over, you would never know it is just for me. He will always be pressed to my skin, the same way he’s wrapped around my heart.
“Are you pregnant?” my mom asks, and my gaze immediately goes to her.
“No, Mom.” I smile, then add, “Not yet.”
“What?” she whispers in shock.
“I’m kidding, Mom. We’re not even trying. I want to have a wedding and then take some time for just us before we start planning for a baby.”
“Oh, God. I didn’t know how I would be able to rein in your dad.”
“If anyone could do it, it would be you,” I assure her.
“Not sure about that one, honey. Honestly, I’m shocked your dad is so cool about Wes.”
“There’s a lot to love about Wes,” I tell her, and she looks out at the living room at Wes and my dad, who seem to be in a deep conversation. Then my dad throws his head back, laughing and patting Wes on the shoulder as he chuckles. His eyes come to me and go soft, and then he turns his attention back to my man.
“You did good, honey.”
“I know,” I reply, taking a sip of coffee then laying my head against hers, laughing when I see my sisters dancing around in the matching pajamas my mom got all of us for Christmas. This is more than I could have ever hoped for, everyone I love in the same place, all of us together.
“What do you say we get the turkey in the oven and have a mimosa?” Mom asks, and I nod, giving her waist a squeeze, and then we get the turkey in the oven and go out to sit with everyone else, me tucked close to Wes’ side, my sisters all gathered together, and my dad with my mom on his lap. We all stay like that most of the day, only taking breaks to cook then to eat. I couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas.
Chapter 16
“Babe, where the fuck are you?” Wes growls as soon as I put my phone to my ear after digging through my bag to find it. It’s a week since Christmas, and things have been good. I’ve been busy trying to plan a wedding, and Wes has been busy keeping me cool about it.
“I had to stop at the store to get chips and stuff for the party.”
“We’re not having a party,” he says, and I know that if I were in front of him, he would be shaking his head with a smile on his face.
“There are more than ten people coming over to watch football. I think that’s called a party,” I explain, rolling my eyes while tossing some avocados in my basket.