Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
I scoop her up and bury my face in her neck, my body coated in frigid sweat, limbs shaking, my head on fire over what I almost lost. “I’m sorry, baby. Jesus, I’m so sorry.” My legs give out and I drop into a kneel, holding her in my arms and rocking her side to side. She sobs brokenly into the curve of my shoulder, hiccupping my name, both of us struggling to get as close as possible.
Over her head, I lock eyes with Joe. For a moment, he watches us with a dumbstruck expression, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His mouth eventually snaps shut and slowly, he nods at me. Accepting what I have with his daughter. I know him well enough to see that—and it tightens bolts on either side of my throat.
“I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” I say, fisting her hair gently and tipping her head back for a kiss, my lips moving over hers possessively, my tongue invading her mouth to communicate every ounce of feeling inside of me. “I love you,” I rasp, pulling back, looking into eyes that have lived in my dreams for a long time. “I love you so much, Angelica.”
“I love you, too, Murph,” she hiccups, cupping her hand around the back of my neck and tugging me back down for another long, giving kiss. I let it continue until my dick starts to stiffen to the point of pain, then I break away with an effort, stand with my girl in my arms and carry her somewhere we can be alone.
“I’m going to make you my wife,” I say, emotion making my tone gruff.
Her eyes sparkle up at me. “How soon can this be arranged?”
Epilogue
Angelica
Five Years Later
I know he’s watching me from the bedroom window.
I’m in the front yard of our secluded Upstate New York cabin, where we like to come when LA life becomes too claustrophobic. It’s a little chilly, but the dance moves I’m executing are keeping me warm. Enough that I am wearing very little clothing. A thin white shirt with no bra and shorts that might as well be panties for all the skin they cover.
I’m a very bad girl, teasing my husband of five years like this, but I can never seem to help it. He has already had me on my back twice this morning, his grunts echoing in my ears. And no matter how many times I reassure him, he feels guilty for how often he needs me. How hard he takes me. Sometimes he loves me so hard after he returns from a mission that he has to cover my mouth to muffle the screams, lest he wake up one of our napping sons.
Does he think I’m lying when I tell him I love it?
That bulky shaft swelling behind his fly, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths every time I enter the room. What wife wouldn’t be thrilled by their husband’s endless well of desire for them? Doesn’t he witness the way I thrash through my orgasms, blinded by pleasure, my nails buried in his back?
I guess I’ll have to spend the rest of my life convincing him I can never get enough. With a mischievous smile on my life, I bend forward and sweep up, high kicking, rolling my hips in a sensual circle. I twist my fingers in the waistband of my shorts, tightening the material ever more around my bottom, my sex, letting him get a good, hard look at every crevice, every curve.
The sound of his low groan can be heard through the window.
Closing my eyes, I can visualize that long, thick erection in his hand. The way he’s watching me and abusing it with white-knuckled strokes. Wanting to come outside and take me, but ashamed of himself for the way he dragged me into the woods this morning in my nightgown and shoved me to my knees, pushing his hot, pulsing cock into my mouth, only managing three pumps before flooding my throat with his lust.
“You make me so fucking horny,” he gasped while he was in the throes of his climax. “I can’t go five minutes without getting hard, goddammit.”
Yes, my husband is always balanced on the razor’s edge of hunger when it comes to me—and I’m exactly the same. He’s the only man I’ve ever wanted inside of me. The only man I’ve ever allowed to touch me. And when I married him in the LA County courthouse the same afternoon he saved me from being murdered, I knew life with Murph would be like this. Full of love, wonder, heat, security.
My father served as our witness, much to my surprise. Truth be told, he didn’t seem all that happy about it. But he saw the way I clung to Murph, the way Murph held me like a treasure. It became obvious to him that our love ran deeper than he realized. And he wasn’t going to stand in the way of that. These days, he even comes to visit us, whether we’re in New York or Los Angeles, growing more and more comfortable with his role as grandfather to Murph’s kids. And their friendship has been repaired, much to my relief.