My eyes pinch shut. Here comes my last bit of bravery.
“Oliver, I want us.”
And I want a chance to have normal things.
A life with a man I love where we get to raise our children, and maybe the scariest thing to worry over is what school they go to.
I want a chance to be more than a brutal asset owned by a ruthless corporation with no heart of my own.
Oliver grips my shoulders then, drawing back to look down at me with his heart in his eyes, so bright there might be stars swirling in his honey-brown hue.
“You can have us, wildcat,” he says hoarsely, so much emotion in his thick voice. “If you want me, I’m yours. Both of you—I belong to you and that little baby in you. And I promise you we’ll find a way out of this where our family can be safe. Fuck Galentron.”
The last two words come out so fierce they make me shudder.
Still, I smile at his bold, stupid rush of bravery.
And that other word?
Family.
It hits me on the head like a grand piano dropping out of the sky.
Holy crap. I’m...we’re about to have a family.
And I’ve never known what that word even means.
I feel like my heart is breaking, and I don’t know how that can feel good. I’ve spent so long repressing my emotions, but suddenly they’re all erupting on the surface, and I’m crumpling, sagging in Oliver’s arms.
And he’s there for me.
Catching me, just like he always does, sweeping me in close.
If I can ever find the courage to be a human being instead of a machine with anyone, it’s with this beautiful, sexy, always-encouraging man.
Only with him do I feel like I’m able to create life.
Instead of taking it.
He kisses me, then—deep, hot, possessive.
His mouth takes over mine, and for once I’m soft, giving, needy.
Because if there’s anything to be vulnerable about, it’s this sticky sweet insanity. This wild idea that there’s really, truly an us.
We forget dinner.
Forget Durham, forget Galentron, forget the nine million things that need to happen between now and the day I deliver our whole future.
We intentionally forget everything but us.
And what we could be together, now that everything has changed.
I always thought he was a whirlwind in bed.
The hands, the lips, the tongue, the ink-crossed muscle, the bright, grizzly-brown eyes glowing like embers every time he tears off my clothes, fights me down against the nearest surface, and takes me over.
But today? Tonight?
I question if Oliver Major is even human as he fucks my soul out of my body and slams it back into my bones with soft, airy Prince Charming kisses that could jolt Sleeping Beauty out of the deepest coma.
He doesn’t celebrate the big news with words.
Honestly, that’s never been our strong point, and what can words offer when lips and teeth and slashing hips can do it infinitely better?
Why not speak the language of love and flesh and feral things?
What he says to me, what he growls in every full body stroke of his weight on mine, comes loud and growling clear.
“Oliver!” I hiss his name for the hundredth time as he pulls my legs around him, pins them against his rock-hard waist.
He keeps me slanted at this devilish angle as he drives every inch down deep.
If the friction didn’t make me come in under sixty seconds, I think it’d kill me.
I’m definitely reborn as the bed shakes with the walls, plus every bone in our bodies. As Oliver flings me against him, breaks me again and again on his muscle, uses me for his guttural, grunting pleasure and makes me scream like his willing slave.
His pubic bone adds this wild friction to my clit, making me burn, making me tense and claw at his thighs with my nails, making me cream on his cock.
And I hate that fucking word, too.
Cream.
I hate it, but I’m doing it, helplessly crashing against this mountain of a man, this unlikely love, because that’s what I’m made for.
I’m made to become wildly undone on every seething inch of him, especially as he fucks himself into me so much sweeter and deeper, so much wilder halfway through my O. And I feel him groan, every muscle in his body tensing, adding his fiery heat to my depths.
I almost can’t.
Can’t handle the mad, heated infusion of his passion, but I do.
I take it with the same wild grace that’s become our thing.
Everything I never thought I’d have with any man, much less one who accepts me with the sweetness, the power, the love of Oliver Major.
“Up, wildcat. Need your tongue,” he growls, pulling out and helping me to my knees.
Somehow, even after spilling himself into my chaos, he’s still harder than stone.
His dick juts out in front of him, rigid and throbbing and perfect. I sigh softly, wrapping my fist around his base.
I give him slow, languid strokes, loving the angry heat that flares in his eyes when I edge my lips close to his swollen tip—only to pull back at the last second.
“What? This baby business makes you that greedy?” I tease.
“Woman, let me show you fucking greedy,” he snarls, shoving his fingers through my hair.
I jerk my head to one side, mock-fighting back. But of course I love, love, love the tension of my hair pulling with just the right sizzle against his fist.
He doesn’t ask again, and I don’t fight.
When he pushes my mouth onto his swollen shaft, when he drags me down his length, when he finds his rhythm with a growl and does everything he wants with my mouth, I’m drawn in.
And I suck Oliver Major off in the hottest way any woman has ever worshiped her man’s body.
He gets my fingers. He gets my lips. He gets my tongue.
He gets every last bit of my teeth, every soft moan as I push my hand between my legs.
I get the fire in his eyes back, plus an approving, downright wicked grin. Sweet hell, I even get to blush when I realize he’s watching me get off again while I suck him to heaven and back.
His hips move against my lips, slowly at first, then fierce strokes that glide him across my tongue and down my throat.
I’m almost choking and breathless when I bring myself off, just as he tenses, his hardness ballooning in my mouth and melting down in sticky, fiery, utterly masculine heat.
God, he tastes good.
I’ve never been a stranger to swallowing him, but I almost don’t want to tonight.
Not when I have a strange, surreal, tender second where I’m marveling at how this hot seed just changed our lives in ways I’m only beginning to fathom.
But when I pull away, clean every inch of him, and then my own lips, there’s no doubt whatsoever in his eyes.
I’ve found my protector—the one I didn’t even know I ever asked for.
The king who pulled the sword from the stone in my heart.
The only man I’d ever let master every inch of me.
The last human being I’ll ever truly trust to make me happy.
And the only man worthy of sharing my life, my family, my everything.
Later that night, we lie in bed together, and I can’t miss the protective way his hand rests over my stomach.
He was just so rough with me, so passionate, so needy, so hungry it’s like he was trying to break me for anyone else.