Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Our bodies entwine, arms and legs tangling as he worships my breasts. With me in his arms, his cock presses up against my pussy. I raise my hips, and he thrusts. I'm so full, so stretched, I groan with satisfaction. I swallow a moan, my mouth dropping open in ecstasy.
I love the feel of him. I love the way he holds me—possessively, powerfully—as if he’s willing to carry me over hot coals and through blazing fire, through hell and war.
Maybe he already has.
My need for him climbs with every groan he utters, every touch of his rough hands and tender mouth. His fingers dig into my hips. His cock throbs inside me. My pulse races as he swallows my gasps and pounds into me. Pleasure wraps around me like a warm cocoon, and my body shatters at the same moment he groans, his hot come lashing into me.
We ride our pleasure, our bodies as one. I’ve never felt so light and so full all at once. His hot seed spills out of me as the water from the shower pounds into my skin.
My head falls onto his chest, and he holds me as if we’ve finally found each other.
Wordlessly, we soap each other off. My legs are shaky, so he holds me to him, brushing my hair out of my eyes and tipping my head back to rinse me off. Then it’s my turn to lather his body. I kiss each inked mark and scar and guide my hand down the length of his back, rinsing off suds.
He shuts the shower off and reaches for a towel, quickly wraps it around himself, then gets a second one for me.
Silently, I step out of the shower and into the towel he holds out for me, into the warm protection of his arms. My legs are still shaky as he guides me into the bedroom.
It feels as if we’ve washed off the past and stepped into the future. Into the space of infinite possibilities and a love that knows no bounds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ollie
I wake up the next morning feeling like I might be the luckiest guy in the world. I have the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen lying curled up beside me, one leg over mine, her delicate hands folded under her head. I savor this moment. I don’t know what we’ll face next, so I don’t want to take one minute with Renata for granted.
“Hey,” she says in a husky whisper. “Good Morning, Ollie.”
I bend and kiss her gently. “Morning.”
“Polina brought King Arthur up to you. She said something about him house-training like a champ and pulling a sword out of a stone in the garden? Maybe he’ll be more than a little fluff-ball after all.”
Renata grins and sits up, her face lighting up in delight when King Arthur bounds onto the bed and licks her face. “Now, off the bed before Daddy loses his mind,” she says, putting him back down.
Daddy.
I’ve never imagined myself married, much less with a family. It almost makes me want to pinch myself. I let the word linger, testing its weight. I never thought I’d want to hear anyone call me that.
“Why the sad look?” she asks, sobering.
“I’m not sad. I’m stunned. Every time I wake up beside you, it hits me all over again—you’re mine. In this world of chaos, I still get you.” I shake my head. “And when you said Daddy, I just… it made me think about kids. I never thought that far ahead.”
Nodding, she reaches for my hand and gives it a little squeeze. “I get it. Me neither. There’s no space for thinking of the future when you’re in survival mode.”
That’s exactly it.
“But we’re past that now,” she says quietly. “And while I don’t think I’m ready for kids yet… I will be someday.”
I nod. “Someday” feels like a luxury I’ve never had.
“What were you doing on your iPad last night?” she asks, stretching. “Ohhh. You had breakfast brought up. Thank you, I’m starving.”
“Figured you would be.” I wink at her. “You worked hard last night.”
She gives me a sly look. “It takes two.”
She sits up, and I put the breakfast tray between the two of us. I butter her toast, and she pours me coffee from a carafe. We eat in amiable silence. It feels natural, and I fucking love it.
“I can’t wait to cook our first meal together in our new home,” she says with a smile. “I’ll learn, eventually.”
“You don’t have to. I mean, I could just hire someone.”
She shakes her head. “I want to.”
I squeeze her hand. “Me too.” Maybe people take domestic tasks for granted. I can’t fucking wait to have a lawn to mow and a fridge to fill.
“How are you feeling?” I ask when we’re done with breakfast and the tray’s been pushed aside.