At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,100

never keep another secret from me.”

“No more secrets, Sienna. I just couldn’t stand the thought of you being married to someone else. Because you were meant to be mine.” My eyes are burning with very unmanly tears. “It’s always been you, Sienna.”

“We’ve wasted so much damn time because of this stupid family feud. And did I mention how much I missed you?”

She grabs my T-shirt and starts pulling it up over my head, but she’s too short. I pull the shirt off and toss it on the floor.

I grab her shirt and strip it off in one smooth motion. “I missed you every minute of every day. You stubborn fool.”

“Oh yeah, well, I missed you every second of every minute of every day. You secretive jackass.”

I unbutton my slacks and kick off my shoes. “I missed you every micro-second, and trust a Ribaldi to try to one-up a Witlocke in the romance department.”

“Trust a Witlocke…” She trails off. Then she looks up at me in wonder. “I do trust a Witlocke. For the first time in my life. I trust one particular Witlocke.” She shucks her shorts, and they fall on the floor.

I lift her onto the kitchen counter and kneel down, parting her thighs with my hands.

“Oh my God,” she moans. She widens her thighs, and I run my tongue up the wet seam of her pussy, lapping up her nectar. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and her breathing quickens. When her moaning reaches a tortured peak, I pull back, and she lets out a hiss of protest.

I slide my pants off and step out of them.

Gripping her hips, I pull her to me and enter her with a single savage thrust.

My fingers sink into her hips as I pump into her. “Mine.”

“Yes,” she pants.

“Say it, Sienna.” Thrust. I slam into her so hard she rocks backwards. I hold her firmly in place.

“Oh, God. I’m yours.”

“And you’re mine forever.” Thrust. “I’m never letting you go.”

“Too much…” thrust…”talking… Oh…” She moans aloud, then shudders, her inner sheath squeezing me as she orgasms. She comes so hard her hips lift, and my own climax crashes down on me, and I explode inside her, gasping with release.

Behind my eyelids I see pinwheels of stars. Sienna slumps into my arms, panting and sated. For now. I slowly slide out of her, holding on to her the whole time.

“Need to wash this counter before Aunt Fernanda cooks on it again,” she mumbles.

I burst out laughing. “Your brain comes up with the most random things.”

“You know I’m right, though.” She tilts her head back and looks up at me with a smile. “Hey. I’m so glad you’re home.”

As we stand there, sweat-drenched, a sound vibrates up from my slacks on the floor. It’s my phone ringing with my father’s ringtone. I ignore it.

“Let’s go to our bedroom and resume this conversation.” I kiss her pillow-soft lips, then nibble her lower lip gently.

“Aunt Fernanda’s using that bedroom now. I don’t want to violate it. I have a nice firm mattress up in the loft, though.”

The phone stops ringing and immediately starts ringing again.

Then I get a text alert.

I frown in worry. “That’s my parents’ ringtone.”

She nods in understanding and moves away from me, sliding off the counter. “Get it. It might be important.”

“Damn them.” I heave a sigh of annoyance at my dad’s impeccable timing, and bend down to fetch the phone from my pants pocket.

What I see makes me suck in a sharp breath of dismay.

It’s a text from my mother:

Your father’s had a heart attack. He’s all right, he’s home from the hospital and resting comfortably, and nobody else knows about it. Don’t say anything to anybody, but we need you to fly home.

Chapter Thirty-Three

SIENNA

Donovan looks as if he’s about to have a stroke. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it. His damn blood pressure!”

“He didn’t have a heart attack!” I protest. “I saw him in town this morning. He definitely did not have a heart attack, go to the hospital, and return home since this morning.”

My phone bleeps.

This is Mr. Witlocke. I need to speak to you on a rather urgent matter. Can you come over right away? I’ll be in the conference room.

Donovan and I exchange looks of bafflement. “What the hell is he up to?”

“I mean, he’s a Witlocke – who the heck knows? Let’s find out, shall we?” I type out a reply:

I’ll be there in ten minutes.

No point in telling him that Donovan is home.

“Make it twenty,” Donovan