“I’m not going to even try to figure out what’s going on at this point.” Rafe stroked his fingers through her hair, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. “My mom is strong, and she’s smart. And if there’s something she needs help with, we have to trust that she’ll ask.”
“That’s not how we do things in the Coleman family,” Laurel complained. “The Coleman way is to run in, scoop people up, and help them whether they want it or not.”
“You’ve been hanging out with Jaxi too much,” Rafe said with a grin as he backed Laurel to the wall. “In the meantime, I thought maybe I could distract my wife. Considering it is the afternoon, and we both happen to be home.”
A wall of muscle pressed against her, heat rising between them.
“Your mom was in the kitchen when I got home,” Laurel whispered.
“I passed her as I came into the house. She was headed to the barn for at least an hour,” he whispered back.
Because the one bad part about sharing a house with her mother-in-law was sex. As in, being quiet during.
Laurel hurriedly undid Rafe’s shirt, sliding her fingers over the warm planes of his muscular chest. “Someday I’d like to have sex on the kitchen table,” she murmured. “Our own kitchen table, when I’m not worried about anybody interrupting us.”
“Someday,” Rafe promised. He pushed her pants to the ground then stood and ripped her top over her head. His gaze heated as he examined her hungrily. “But for now, I’m just so thankful I get to do this.”
He dropped to his knees in front of her, one strong arm pinning her in place. Laurel leaned against the wall and let sensation rush over her as he pressed kisses along the edge of her panties.
“When did you get these?” His question was midway between a growl and a moan. He cupped her intimately, leaning back far enough to meet her eyes. “Silky purple. I like them.”
She wasn’t about to interrupt what was happening with a lengthy reminder she’d gone on another shopping trip that Ashley had been party to. No one came home without at least one naughty purchase when the woman was around.
Laurel offered the sexiest smile possible as she whispered, “Take them off me.”
“Soon.” Rafe slid his hand back and forth, gliding the sinfully soft fabric over skin that had grown hot and needy. His fingers pushed the panties gently between the folds of her sex as his thumb came down with deadly accuracy over her clit.
Somehow, she remained vertical. Maybe it was by grounding her fingers in his thick, coarse hair, the strands cool against her heated palms. Maybe it was the unyielding pressure of his forearm over her hips.
Or maybe it was the sheer electric energy that zipped through her limbs as Rafe tugged the gusset of her panties aside and put his talented mouth on her.
Tongue teasing over sensitive skin, he stole her breath away with each slow, deliberate stroke. And when he slid his fingers in and pumped lazily, Laurel gasped and moaned and rocked toward him.
A low chuckle rose even as he continued the sensual assault, and pleasure struck in one unending wave. Laurel attempted to loosen her fingers, her grip in his hair too tight, too rough. He didn’t seem to mind, though, his hands now cupping her butt. Rafe pressed his mouth even tighter against her sensitive skin and pushed her orgasm into overdrive.
The echo of blood pounding in her ears still remained when she opened her eyes to discover she was flat on her back in their bed. Rafe grinned from where he lay beside her. One hand possessively cupped her breast as he leaned up on the other elbow and stared into her eyes.
“Wow.” Laurel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That was wild.”
“We’re just getting started.” His words came out rough, needy, and when he rolled over her, Laurel welcomed him. Opening her thighs to cradle him closer. She wrapped her legs around his lean, muscular hips, rocking his rigid cock against her sex.
She tugged his shoulders until he moved toward her, close enough to join their lips together and kiss him with everything in her.
Being loved by Rafe was everything she’d ever wanted. Loving Rafe back was the thing that gave her the most pleasure.
As she moved under him, teasing and touching until he couldn’t wait any longer and joined them together in the most intimate way possible, her heart swelled with happiness.
This was home. Not the physical house, but where her heart lived. With Rafe. Always and forever.
Coleman Memory Book
~Tamara (Whiskey Creek) Stone~
I remember the talking. The out-of-the-blue conversations that sometimes made life turn on a dime.
We talked while on horseback, and in trucks, and on porches. Talked over cake and way too many cups of tea at Auntie Dana’s and Auntie Kate’s houses.
We talked late at night while coyote howls carried on the air all over Whiskey Creek ranch. Even though I don’t live there anymore, I can close my eyes and picture clear as day the horses racing over the land, the Rockies in the distance, my sisters’ voices and their laughter ringing around me.
We talked the wrong way at times. Raised voices. Shouts. Or silence, while we also refused to listen. Or, as in my case, refused to speak and turned away instead of trying to make it better. That’s a hard confession considering how radically I insisted on doing what’s right in other ways.
But the good memories are growing again, and that’s what I want to share as my part of this memory book. Families are sometimes hard, but they’re precious. They’re worth fighting for.
A lot of times we screwed up in spite of trying to be there for each other. But if we listen harder and speak the truth with love, we can slowly change to a better way.
[Images: tea cups on rustic wood table, sliced cake on plate. A faded photo of a trio of young girls on horseback. A brightly-coloured new photo of George Coleman surrounded by his grown daughters and grandchildren, a slightly shocked yet pleased expression on his face.]
13
Mark’s conversation with Laurel had been the strangest and most unexpected conversation ever. Not to mention the most infuriating.
Still, he had things to accomplish that couldn’t be put off any longer. He bundled up all his frustration and headed over to Whiskey Creek.
He hadn’t expected to stay at the house with Trevor and Becky. And while all he had were a few bits of contact, the one letter George had sent him not even a month ago had been enough to make this the right decision.
It wasn’t late enough in the day to be sure his brother would be home, but as Mark drove into the parking area outside the horse barn, George stepped into the sunshine. He glanced over and examined Mark’s truck with interest before striding toward him.
Mark took a deep breath, opened the door, and slipped to the ground beside his vehicle.
Three steps away, George nearly tripped over his own feet, shooting upright. “Mark?”
“Sorry I didn’t call first—”
That was all he got out before being trapped in a hug so tight, he could barely breathe.
George squeezed the living daylights out of him, finally releasing his grip only to catch hold of Mark’s shoulders. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”