urge. The slight discomfort is giving way to something hungry, something urgent. “More,” I whisper.
He pushes in and I freeze, suspended. Waiting. For pain? For pleasure?
I’m full, pinned to the bed, and ready, though I don’t even know what for.
“I want more.”
With a groan, he pulls out and presses forward again—I feel every inch of him sliding in and the friction’s like nothing I’ve experienced. “Again.”
Another long, slow withdrawal, another languid penetration. He goes again and again, twisting me up inside, while I urge him on. Quickly, we move into new territory, words fly from our mouths, though I can’t tell what they mean. Doesn’t matter as much as the feel of hot breath and dark desire. He’s pounding into me now and I’m holding him to me, fingers digging into thick muscle to prod him on.
He slows, leans back, and moans, low and guttural. “Look. Look at us. Look at how deep I am.”
I lift my head to see what he means and go faint at the flash of wet cock, working me like a piston.
“Oh, yeah, that’s it. Just like that. Clamp on, baby. I wanna fill you with my come. I wanna fill you, wanna fuck you so hard.”
“You are. You are, Daddy.”
“Fuck.” His eyes land on mine. He looks lost. Sweaty and intense and absolutely wrecked. “Fuck, Jerusha. Fuck, this is…” His slick forehead drops to grind against my shoulder. I turn and kiss him. Any part of him, whatever I can reach.
“Gonna come, sweetheart.” He’s breathing so hard it’s got to hurt. “Want to bring you with me.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
He shifts again, reaches down and slides his hand between our slippery bodies and—
I scream. The sound is dragged from my soul, along with the dark, wrenching pleasure of this orgasm. All I can do is hold on to his wide shoulders and let it take me—let him take me—to the deepest reaches of myself.
And my God, it’s beautiful.
I’m just coming down when he reaches his own completion, shouting and thrusting hard three final times, holding himself inside me like he never wants to leave. When he finally emerges and raises his head, there’s the sweetest smile on his face.
“So fucking perfect,” he mumbles halfway through a messy kiss. He’s just deepened it when my belly growls. With a laugh that sounds pained, he pulls out of my body, leaving me happy and sore and a little bereft. “Let’s get you fed, woman.”
24
About a girl
Two Weeks Later…
Karl
“So, what’s the plan?” Harper asks as we pull into the farm’s drive.
“No idea. Knock on the door. Hope for the best.”
“Dad.”
I throw up a hand. “Look, this is new to me, okay? I’m just trying to make her happy.”
“Your girlfriend.”
I open my mouth and shut it. How can I explain to my daughter that Jerusha’s not just my girlfriend, she’s my fucking soul mate? Every second with her, every step we take, confirms it.
And, since I’ve never been the kind of guy who believes in shit like soul mates, it’s not easy to talk about.
I cast my daughter a look, find her staring at me in a funny way, and sigh. “What?”
“This is it for you, isn’t it? She’s it?”
I shrug, and then regret it, because there’s no I don’t know about it. “Yep. She’s it. My person.”
“And she feels the same.”
I throw my daughter a look. “That a question?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I hear everything from Mikey. You guys are for real.”
I can’t keep the grin from my face. Why the hell should I when there’s nothing but truth? Nothing but good in my life?
Which is why I’m here today, in the Shenandoah Valley, pulling up to the pretty brick-red farmhouse that Jerusha grew up in. The place is picture-perfect, with its pristine white trim, surrounded by barns, grazing cows in the distance.
I’m here because this is the one rough patch in our existence. These people have thrown away my woman’s love and I’m not okay with it.
“Ready?” Tension ticks in my jaw
I meet Harper’s eyes and she’s young and smiley and dressed as primly as she knows how. “As ever.”
We get out and head to the porch. There’s a handful of invitations burning a hole in my coat pocket. Whatever happens today, those are staying here.
There’s no question that the woman who answers the door is related to Jerusha. Her hair, for starters, wisps out of the tightly-pulled bun, as if she’d like to get it under control, but can’t. Her blue eyes—also like her daughter’s—take me