“You’re fucking incredible, Charlotte.”

  Her tightness strangles my cock, daring me to go faster, deeper. Her honey seeps out, dripping down my balls and everywhere else, and I’m irrationally mad some of it’s getting lost in the blanket. I want all of it. All. Of. It.

  I order her to let go, and when she does, I roll onto my back. She squeaks in surprise but takes it in stride, straddling me and taking me deep.

  “Ride me. Fucking ride me like you want to,” I tell her.

  I thrust up furiously as she moves with me. Each pump into her making her delightful breasts jiggle temptingly above me.

  I reach up and cup both of them, noticing the tightness, wetness increase when I brush the tips of my thumbs over her nipples.

  We’re both too breathless for words as our rhythm grows frantic. Even as I guide her up and down on my cock, using her as little more than a hole to bury myself in, she wrecks me with every grip, every ragged moan. She’s fucking loud, and I love it.

  I love her.

  Determined to make this good for her, I let go of one hip, forcing me to slow down.

  I watch her reaction as I pop my thumb into my mouth, drenching it with my spit, then reach down between our joined bodies to pleasure her clit.

  Charlotte makes such an animalistic groan as her head rolls backward.

  I might fucking propose right now.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Charlotte

  I didn’t know it could be this wild, this perfect.

  My first time, and Harley is about to make me come twice. I didn’t even know that was a thing.

  I am filled with him as my release barrels through me like a freight train.

  He pulls me down, wrapping me in his arms as he rolls me onto my back again, still seated inside me.

  Harley groans, loud and rough, as he spills into me. He pumps into me again and again, burying his face in my shoulder. I hold him close as he fills me with his seed. His body twitches over me, his primal groans subsiding, but only after a long, long minute of repeated spasms.

  I rake my fingernails over the damp skin of his back as he calms, eventually.

  I think both of us are a little in shock after what just happened between us because nobody says anything for a while. There is only our shared breath, our connection, our new addiction.

  Neither of us seems to want to be the first to speak, to break the spell.

  Finally, once my breath has returned to normal, Harley slowly, gently, peels himself off of me.

  He gives me one sweet, loving kiss, then gingerly frees himself from me.

  I whimper at the loss of his still-stiff cock. But then, he drugs me with his kisses down the length of my body.

  “Where are you going?” I ask lazily.

  “Thirsty,” he replies, as if that answers a question.

  I soon realize what he means with his mouth on my stomach, tracing wet, obscenely loud kisses down the front of my pussy.

  “Are you sure?” I breathe.

  He spreads me open again, and I flush a deeper red, knowing this is the first time he’s seen all my business. Sure, he touched it. He fucked me until I went limp. But now he’s just …down there…staring at it.

  And kissing it. And licking it. My tender flesh explodes with sensation.

  “I’m sure,” he says, “that I want to clean you up with my mouth.”

  Having no frame of reference, I scramble my memory banks of everything I read about leading up to this, and I don’t remember anyone talking about oral, post intercourse.

  I have no playbook for this.

  “Oh my god,” I moan as he slips his tongue inside me.

  He groans against my flesh, and I think I vibrate from head to toe.

  I can smell our shared scent permeating the air of this room.

  Does he really like this, or is he just being nice?

  “Harley?”

  He lifts his head, a trace of annoyance in his expression that he quickly corrects. I swoon at the sight of his glazed mouth, chin and nose. “Um, you don’t have to.”

  “I know.”

  “I…you made me come twice; there’s no way I’ll get off a third time. I just don’t want you wasting your time.”

  He tilts his head. “Have you considered that I like doing this. That I maybe selfishly enjoy eating your pussy?”

  No, this never occurred to me. “You do?”

  “Baby, you taste like cotton candy, and I’m addicted to your sugar. No time spent between those pretty thighs is a waste. I want it. I fucking need it.”

  My entire body shudders at the intensity in his gaze as he dips his head down again.

  Rough fingers spread me open, and I could be wrong, but I think I hear him mutter something like, “There she is…ready and waiting for the third coming.”

  Oh my god, what?

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry because he’s both so silly and so freaking talented with those lips, that tongue…

  Well, he can certainly try his best. And I definitely won’t complain about it in the meantime.

  Harley’s hand travels over my stomach while he feasts on me, squeezing my curves as if memorizing my freckles and moles, my joints, my fleshy bits.

  I’m overcome with the urge to touch myself, and I end up pinching my nipple so hard that I cry out with the delicious pain of it. The pinch subsides, and a flush of heat skitters over my skin.

  Harley’s eyes widen, and his gaze is avid. He comes up and watches for a moment, his chest heaving, his face pink, his lips and scruff glazed over.

  I can feel his ragged breath against my thigh, wafting over my most sensitive parts.

  The pleasure he’s built in me for a third time grows into a desperate need. It grows and expands like two ends of a rubber band being pulled in opposite directions. I feel my pleasure growing, and I don’t want it to end, but I ache for the satisfying snap.

  “Want you to come with my tongue in your hole, sweet pea.”

  Snap.

  My third orgasm breaks me, and I float off the bed into a million tiny, glittering pieces of dust.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Harley

  I open Charlotte’s fridge, and I’m greeted with the same level of luxury as I saw in her bedroom.

  Cheeses I can’t pronounce. Whole milk and cream. Full-fat yogurt. Organic everything. Farm fresh eggs. Enough fruit to make an Edible Arrangement.

  Bonus points: she’s asleep after a long afternoon that bled into night that bled into morning. That gives me plenty of time to cook.

  I whip up a batch of blueberry pancakes with homemade whipped cream, a side of what the package says is parma ham but looks like bacon, and some super fancy fair trade coffee.

  Even after all that cooking, Charlotte is still snoozing away. I keep everything warm and let her sleep, but I can’t resist snuggling next to her in bed.

  She earned her sleep.

  Me? Everything that happened with us yesterday, last night, and this morning has me keyed up so high that I found it impossible to sleep.

  It was more than just the sex. She and I connected on a level I’ve never felt with anyone before.

  “Mmm, did you make coffee?”

  I move her hair out of the way as I spoon up behind her, covering her nape with soft kisses. “Sure did.”

  She pushes back against me, and suddenly, I feel like I’m lying here with my wife. I can see our future together as clear as day.

  “And,” I continue as I pepper her throat with kisses, “I made pancakes and bacon.”

  She lets out a long, dreamy sigh. “Marry me.”

  “K.”

  Charlotte laughs at this, but she has no idea that I’m serious. Someday. It’s happening.

  “First, breakfast,” I say.

  She rolls over and cups my cheek, just staring.

  “What?” I ask, self-conscious as she stares at me, her cheeks dented from the blankets and pillows.

  “You’re pretty.”

  I scoff. “I’m not pretty.”

  She nods. “Yes, you are. You’re prettier than me. What will people say?”

  I shrug. “They’ll say, ‘There goes that super-macho not-at-all-pretty stud with his wife who’s way out of his league.’”

  Charlotte playfully slaps my shoulder. “Shut up!”

  I gesture to the kitchen. “Come on. Breakfast time.”

  “I don’t know if I can use my legs after what you did to me.”

  “Fair enough.” Carrying her is always an option, so I do just that, sweeping her into the kitchen.

  She takes her coffee black and her pancakes smothered in real maple syrup.

  “What’s on your agenda today? Wanna play hooky from work with me?”

  I inwardly wish to do exactly that because I’d love nothing more than to spend all day lounging in bed with her.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t.”

  When she pouts, I lean over and capture her bottom lip between mine. She grabs for me and pulls me back in for a more prolonged kiss, and her blueberries and syrup taste makes me long to drag her straight back to bed for more.

  “I have some things I need to take care of today. But I’ll come over tonight.”

  “For another booty call?” Charlotte bats her lashes at me as she sips her coffee.

  I shake my head. “To see my girlfriend.” I level her with a severe expression, at which her face softens.

  I wolf down the rest of my pancakes and bacon while she studies me, sipping her coffee.

  “Girlfriend?”

  “I don’t like the idea of the woman feeling burdened to ask the question. ‘What are we?’ I’ll tell you what we are. You’re my girlfriend. I’m your boyfriend. I love you. End of story.”

  The coffee mug clunks as Charlotte sets it on the table. “You love me?”

  “Yeah,” I say, nonchalantly rising from the table to clear the dishes.

  “How can you say you love me when we started getting intimate yesterday?”

  I fill the sink with soapy water and tell her, “Because I’ve been in love with you since we met.”

  The silence that follows that bold statement is thick, and yet I pretend it’s not by washing the dishes extra thoroughly.

  A moment later, I feel her warm body against me. Her arms snake around my middle. “I’m just not sure I’m ready to say that, Harley. I can picture it. I might feel it. But I’m not ready to say it. Is that weird? I have a lot of weirdness that dredges up to the surface at times. Are you going to be okay with that?”

  I squeeze her hand that’s on my stomach with my soapy fingers. “I’m okay with every part of you. And I know you love me; you don’t have to say it.”

  Charlotte snorts her adorable snort, then swats me on the butt. “I’m going to get ready for work. I have a showing today. Thank you for breakfast, and thanks for literally everything else.”

  She goes to her room and shuts the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the biggest, goofiest grin plastered on my face.

  Today is going to be a good day.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Charlotte

  I’ve picked up Harley’s favorite lunch from Ruby’s Diner, and I’m hoping the BLT and fries are a welcome surprise.

  His truck isn’t there when I drive by his job site at the three-story Victorian apartment building. Driving around the block, I wonder if it would be weird to go looking for him.

  No, it’s probably better to just let it go. Tomorrow, I’ll give Harley some notice before showing up for lunch.

  A wave of unwarranted jealousy hits me as I wonder who he might be having lunch with?

  I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t help the stories that pop into my head sometimes.

  The suspicion that he might be with someone else is easily pushed down; he gave me no reason to suspect he’s seeing other people. He said the actual words,” I’m your boyfriend. I love you. End of story.”

  But is that the end of the story? Is love the end-all, be-all.

  Maybe I shouldn’t feel as disappointed as I do at missing him. I find myself driving past downtown toward Hilltop Street. I’ll park at the house I’m hoping to buy, have lunch alone, and think about that “L” word.

  The “sold” sign at Hilltop House has me slamming the brakes.

  “What the heck?” I shriek as my tires screech to a stop in front of the 1910 arts-and-crafts house on Hilltop Avenue. I blink several times, sure that I’m seeing things.

  But no, there it is.

  And there’s Harley’s truck parked in the drive.

  This must be a mistake? What is he doing here? And why does the sign say it’s been sold?

  Confused, I set my lunch aside and stare up at the house.

  I have to gather my thoughts before I go marching up there. There must be some explanation.

  What am I doing here, ruminating? If I want to know something, I come out and ask it. I didn’t get this far in real estate by sitting on my hands and waiting for my boyfriend to explain things to me.

  I take a long, satisfying gulp of my Diet Coke and exit the car.

  I’m sure Harley didn’t sell the house out from under me to someone else.

  If that did happen, it would be especially egregious of everyone involved to keep my original sign up, with my photo and name on it.

  Surely, he wouldn’t allow someone else to earn a commission when I did all the work of prepping it and listing it.

  I’m about to climb the steps to the porch when I hear a clatter alongside the house. I take a detour to the side yard, where a construction dumpster has been placed, blocked from view by Harley’s truck. I stand there confused when suddenly a huge, white, fiberglass corner garden tub comes flying out the side window, landing with a crash into the dumpster.

  Not interested in getting injured by standing out here like a dumbass, I turn back and barrel through the front door, calling out for Harley.

  “What the heck is going on, Harley! Who bought the house?”

  No answer.

  I move through the rooms, down the hallway toward the sound. On my way, I pass by the refinished hardwood floor in the parlor.

  Weird. That was one of the things I requested as a contingency from my fake client. And so was the removal of the garden tub.

  “Harley?”

  I pass by the stairs to the finished attic, where the old carpet has been ripped out and replaced. Another stupid request I made last week.

  I need an explanation.

  Finally, I find Harley in the bathroom, chucking out tile and other fixtures.

  “Harley!”

  He turns to face me with the biggest grin of the century. “Hi!”

  “First of all, who bought the house?”

  “I did.”

  I gape at him. “You did? Why? How?”

  He shrugs like buying a house is just another day of work. “I couldn’t get the loan for the remainder that I need to hire a crew for my business, so I used what I had saved up for a down payment on the house. The bank wouldn’t work with me, so my brothers are selling it to me directly. I’m going to work off with equity in the business.”

  Equity? “What do you mean? You’re still working for your brothers?”

  He approaches me slowly, a crowbar resting on his shoulder. Harley is covered in sweat and grime. “Yep. It means I’m staying with Wood Brothers Construction for now.”

  I cover my cheeks with both hands in a full-on Home Alone expression. “Why would you do that? I thought branching out on your own was your dream?”

  Harley shrugs. “My dream is to be able to provide for a family. I can’t do that if I’m starting out a business. It’s more secure this way. I’ll stay a little longer and do more houses like this one. Pay off the mortgage and fix my credit so I’m good enough for you.”

  My heart plummets. I step forward and cup his cheek. Harley is so pure and good and patient.

  “Harley. I don’t care about any stupid fucking credit score.”

  He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

  “You don’t care about that? I thought you would. Seeing as you’re, like, super successful and stuff.”

  “No. Why would I?”

  I shake my head in wonder. “I don’t know. But hey, let me have that list.”

  “What list?”

  “That list of contingencies. I’ll take care of all of it for you. The kitchen cabinets, the paint in the hallway. I’ll even rip out the built-in shelves.”

  I tilt my head to examine him for signs of a concussion.

  “Um, baby? I don’t know if you know this, but the house is yours. You don’t have to do anything with the contingencies.”

  Harley’s stare is deadly serious.

  “Correction. The house is ours. And I’m gonna fix it up. Starting by ripping out the garden tub and putting in this one.”

  He gestures with his chin toward the primary bathroom, and I nervously peek around the corner, bracing for what this unbelievably sweet lunatic has done now.

  The most gorgeous deep soak tub I’ve ever seen is in the middle of the room.

  “Harley. What do you mean it’s ours?”

  “Yours and mine. Together. If you want it.”

  I need a minute to think. I need a minute to breathe.

  No one has ever wanted me this much, this soon, with this much dedication. I thought there was something wrong with me, but…

  I drop my bag on the bathroom tile and slowly rest my hands on the edge, bracing myself as I swing one leg in, then the other.

  “Baby? Are you okay? It’s not hooked up, and it’s dusty in there. You’re wearing your nice work clothes…”

  I say nothing at first, then I squat down and sit my butt down. Then, I lean back against the slanted porcelain, resting my head. I close my eyes. I can hear Harley breathing. This isn’t about the fact that he chose me.

  I don’t love a man just because he chose me.

  I love the way he cares about me. He would rip this gorgeous house apart if I asked him to.

  I don’t want that, but I just want that energy in my life. His soul, his thoughtfulness, his kindness.

 

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