Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
The burning pressure in my core builds as he sinks to the hilt. He looks me in the eye the whole time, his pupils blowing out so the blue of his irises is barely visible.
It’s the animal in him, blinking awake. He grabs me, roughly wrapping an arm around my waist so he can control the rhythm of his thrusts as he pulls out, rocks back in. I whimper at the delicious feel of our bareness.
His other hand snakes between us and hikes my shirt up over one breast, then the other. I’m not wearing a bra—I rarely do when I’m at home—so he’s able to tweak my nipples with his thumb and forefinger.
I bite back a cry. I feel myself contract around his length, my orgasm approaching with almost-frightening speed.
Sawyer groans again, this time loud enough to make me say, “Quiet.”
“I can’t,” he grunts, pumping into me.
I flatten my palm over his mouth. “You will.”
His gaze goes feral.
Oh, my cowboy likes that.
“You best not give us away,” I whisper. “You do, and there’ll be hell to pay.”
In reply, he impales me on a deep, vicious thrust, one thumb on my clit, the other on my nipple. I feel myself coming apart, my pussy fluttering around his dick.
“That’s a good boy,” I pant. “You’re so good at this, honey.”
Sawyer bites my palm. At the same time, he presses his thumb, hard, against my clit.
I come with such force that it literally hurts to hold back my scream.
The bareness, the quiet, the bite.
The dinner, the dishes, the way our daughters get along.
I’m in heaven, aren’t I?
I’m shaking as I come back down to earth. Sawyer pounds into me, grunting against my hand before spilling inside me.
I gasp at the feeling of warmth that spreads through my center. I forgot how messy this was.
I forgot how lovely it feels to be, well, loved this way. So utterly and completely loved that Sawyer literally can’t control himself as he adores me. I have to hold my hand over his mouth to keep his yells quiet.
It’s like he wants the whole world to know about us.
I hold him as he catches his breath, pulling away my hand when I feel it’s safe. His forehead is on mine again as he presses his lips to the corner of my mouth.
“Okay?” he breathes.
I nod. “I’m okay. You?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You won’t be in my bed tonight, so I’m not okay. How can we fix that, pretty girl?”
I laugh against his lips. “Baby steps.”
“I’m ready. You set the pace, but I need you to know that I’m in.”
“We have this weekend. Next weekend. Whatever.”
“I’ll take what you can give me. Look.” Rocking his hips, he pulls out of me. “Look how much I want you.”
Together, we look down. His cum leaks out of me in a pearlescent stream.
The sight is lewd. And so hot, so weirdly emotional, I feel my throat closing in again.
“I like the look of me between your legs.” He swipes his first two fingers through my slit, gathering his cum on his fingertips. “The feel of me. Do you?”
“Sawyer—”
“You can’t tell me you don’t.” He paints my nipple with his cum. “I wanna be everywhere, Ava. All over you, every morning and every night. Once a day ain’t nearly enough.”
I swallow, hard. “It’s not.”
“So let me have you, pretty girl.” He leans in to kiss my mouth. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
I walk Sawyer and Ella out, and then I put Junie to bed. The kitchen is already clean. The dishwasher is already running.
So I put on my jammies, climb into bed, and promptly burst into tears.
I feel shaky. Like I can’t calm down or control my wild heartbeat. My wild thoughts.
Ones like, oh God I’m in love again and how the hell is this so good so soon?
I knew getting divorced was the right call. I knew I’d never be happy if I lived a life of self-betrayal. But part of me still saw ending my marriage as a tragedy. How could raising my baby in a broken home be a net positive?
But now I have a true, deep understanding of the fact that raising June in an unhappy home would be worse. Mostly because I see what a happy home—a happy relationship—could look like with Sawyer.
Do I trust him to stay true to the man I know him to be? Can I trust him to always respect my freedom?
Even if I’m able to trust him, I still don’t want to be his wife. And I’m not sure it’s fair of me to ask him to compromise on that. If he wants to get married, he should be able to get married. Everyone deserves to be happy. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew my version of happiness came at the expense of Sawyer’s.