The Gritty Truth (The Whiskeys Dark Knights at Peaceful Harbor #7) - Melissa Foster Page 0,66
their ducks in a row. That is what great men are made of, Mr. Gritt, and I am honored that you chose me to be by your side on this journey.”
His heart cracked wide open, her every word burrowing deep inside him, planting roots. Truman was his pillar of strength and character, the man he’d forever held on a pedestal, and this incredible woman thought he belonged there, too. “You can’t imagine how much that means to me.”
Her long lashes fluttered as she looked down at their joined hands, her cheeks pinked up as her beautiful eyes met his, and she said, “Then maybe you can show me. I miss you, Quincy.”
“God, baby, I miss you, too.” His arm circled her as their mouths came together, softly at first, in a kiss full of unspoken promises and unyielding hope. He deepened the kiss, pouring his pent-up emotions into their connection, and she kissed him more passionately.
Their tongues collided, hard and hungry. She grabbed his hair, drawing a groan from his lungs and a moan from hers as she leaned back, bringing him down over her, and holy hell, he loved that taking. Everything felt different—the ferocity of their kisses, the way she clung to him, even the thundering of his own heart felt bigger, louder, as if it was beating hard enough for both of them. Their hands were everywhere, caressing, groping, claiming. She was so soft and luscious, and she was right there with him in their mutual devouring. Minutes turned to much longer, and the world faded away, until there was only him and Roni and the wild passion consuming them.
He didn’t know how long they lay there making out, their bodies grinding and rocking in perfect sync. She was making those sexy noises, turning his blood to fire, and he never wanted it to end. He kissed her slower, more sensually, his tongue sliding over hers, then delving deep and possessive, drawing out their pleasure. She arched beneath him, moaning and holding him tighter as they both took the kiss deeper. She was his heaven and his earth, a delicacy he treasured and a grounding force he hadn’t known he needed. He wanted—needed—her with him tonight, in his arms, and he didn’t care if they kept their clothes on till morning.
When their lips finally parted, he cradled her in his arms, tucking his head in the crook of her neck, both of them breathless, and said, “Stay with me.”
“Hm?” she said, eyes still closed.
“Stay with me tonight, baby. I just want to hold you.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “All night?” she asked with a sweet curve to her lips.
“All night.” He read a hint of hesitation in her eyes and brushed his lips over hers. “We don’t have to do anything sexual. We can watch a movie or whatever you want. I like being close to you. I want you in my arms tonight, and I want to wake up with you by my side.”
She touched her hip, reminding him she was self-conscious about her scars, and that pained him. He didn’t even notice her limp anymore. When he looked at her, he just saw Roni, his sweet, sexy, strong girl with the bravest, most loving heart he’d ever encountered.
“I’ll give you a pair of my sweatpants and a T-shirt to sleep in.” He gazed deeply into her eyes, wanting her to truly hear what he said next. “But just so you know, when you finally show me those scars, I’m going to kiss each and every one of them, and I promise you, I will not think they’re anything short of beautiful because they’re part of you.”
She touched her lips to his and said, “You’re using your melting powers on me again.”
“I’m just being honest, babe. But I don’t want to pressure you. If you’d rather stay at your place tonight, that’s fine.” He tightened his hold on her and said, “But not yet. I’m not done holding you.”
She ran her fingers along his jaw and whispered, “I’d rather stay.”
Chapter Twelve
A SLIVER OF sunlight snuck in through the curtains in Quincy’s bedroom, streaking across his broad back, snaking over Roni’s hip, and dropping off the edge of the bed, as if its sole purpose was to create an illusion that she and Quincy were one. That was fitting, because it was exactly how she felt. Quincy lay sleeping with half of his chest on hers, one long leg bent at the knee, resting over her. His hair