My free hand went to the back of her neck, pressing her face against my shirt, muffling any sounds as I worked her clit, as I finger-fucked her pussy, my cock already aching for release.
Impatient, I led her over to the bed.
I yanked her pants down her legs, nudging her forward, getting her knees on the edge of the mattress. My hand slid up her spine, pressing it, making her bow forward, her ass up high toward me, giving me a great view as I straightened again, my finger tracing down her slit, slipping inside her for a moment, stroking over her G-spot, driving her up for a minute before pulling out again.
Reaching in the nightstand, I pulled on a condom, grabbing my cock, and slipping inside her.
Every ounce of me wanted to slam in, to fuck her hard and fast, to leave us both panting and boneless in the aftermath.
But she would be embarrassed after.
So I slipped inside her. I fucked her slowly at first, careful not to knock the bed around.
Even so, though, the need for release worked its way through Katie's system, making her whimpering noises become louder.
My hand moved down, grabbing the back of her neck, pressing her face further into the bed fabrics, muffling her noises as I fucked her faster, driving her up, pushing her over, feeling her pussy spasm around me as the comforter swallowed up her cries.
I slammed deep, coming with a hiss.
Afterward, Katie slipped forward, rolling onto her side, shooting me a devilish little smile.
"Okay. I will run out and get the ingredients," she said, making a surprised chuckle move through me.
"That's all I'm asking," I told her, slapping her ass.
"What kind do you want?"
"All of them," I told her, pulling my pants back up, going in my closet to grab some clothes for the day.
"Greedy."
"Mmhmm," I agreed. "I'm gonna go take a shower. Then I will drive you home. You're thinking about going into work late, aren't you?" I asked, watching her gears turning.
"Just for a couple hours. I have been leaving earlier lately."
"Alright, I'll be quick," I agreed.
The selfish part of me wanted to get to her place and take her to bed all day. The other part knew she had responsibilities. So did I. Work as well, and whatever Atlas was going to need from me.
There would be time for bed later.
And then, hopefully, crêpes.
EPILOGUE
Kate - 2 weeks
"It's gonna be alright," Rush assured me, his hand grabbing my thigh in the car, putting a stop to the tap-tap-tapping I was doing.
Nervous.
I was nervous.
It wasn't a new sensation to me by any means, but the scenario was.
I was going to meet this family.
Sure, I'd met Fee. And Kingston. And even Atlas. But I hadn't met the rest. And I hadn't met his parental figures—Helen and Charlie—either.
The loan sharks.
Fiona had been a lot less subtle when explaining the whole family dynamic to me. I guess, being a member of the family for longer, she felt entitled to spill their secrets more than Rush did.
Charlie and Helen might have, on the surface, looked like fine, upstanding citizens who had their hands in many legitimate businesses and even some charities. But under the surface, there was a network of criminal activity spanning back to the eighties. When Charlie had started his loan shark operation after stealing the daughter of his former boss—a cocaine kingpin.
Their sons had been in the business as well. Until Hunter ran off to pursue tattooing in New York—and meeting and falling for Fee. And then, eventually, Eli found himself abruptly out of the business as well, leaving mostly Shane and Mark doing the dirty work, and Ryan handling the books.
So, not only was I going to meet the sort-of in-laws, but I was going to meet the loan-sharking in-laws, their kneecap-breaking children and their whole slew of grandchildren.
"I should have reasoned with Helen to get your another week," Rush said, and I found his borderline—if not outright—fear of the Mallick matriarch charming. He was like a little boy afraid of getting his hand caught in the cookie jar.
I felt like that said good things about Rush, but I had no idea what it said about Helen.
Was she a harsh, hard woman? Would she be nit-picky about the women who joined the lives of the men she saw as adopted children?
Would she weigh and measure and find me wanting?
My ex had a mother, but no other family. And I guess the experience of having her in my life had been somewhat traumatizing. Because she was one of those moms who thought her underachieving, lazy, selfish son walked on water, and no woman would ever be good enough for him.
I didn't keep the house clean enough.
I didn't cook him his favorite foods.
I didn't give him children.
Children he did not want, I might add. But changing that mindset was somehow on me.
How could I convince him to want a child when he was too busy being one himself?
I spent every holiday with my stomach in knots over having to go to her house. Or, worse yet, have her come to mine. And because my mother was a mama bear in her own right, the two of them had gotten nearly into a fistfight one Christmas, making it so we had to split every holiday after into shifts. So I never had someone on my side.
I guess it never occurred to me during my marriage that my husband should have always been on my side.
"What are you thinking?" Rush asked, glancing over at me when we stopped at a red light. "The whole truth, not the half story," he clarified, knowing I had a tendency to sugar-coat things, to tip-toe around the true issues.
"I was just thinking about how my ex's mother used to treat me badly, and how he never said anything to try to stop it."
"We've established he's a dick," Rush agreed. "But I'm figuring this has less to do with him and more to do with you being worried about meeting Helen. I won't lie to you. If she thinks you're not the one, she probably won't be shy in saying that. That said, no one has ever brought someone serious to one of her dinners and had Helen say anything angsty. And beside that, I can't think of a single world where someone would talk shit about my woman in front of me, and I would stand there like a pussy and say nothing. That's not how this works. I know we're new, baby," he went on, giving my thigh another squeeze, "so I get why you don't just know this shit already. But it is my plan to get you to that level of trust in me."
"I trust you," I insisted. I did, too. Possibly more than I trusted anyone except my mother.
Maybe a big part of that was his ability to communicate his needs clearly, never sulking in a bad mood, refusing to tell me what was on his mind. I always knew where I stood with him. That sense of balance was refreshing. And it made it impossible to feel like the foundations were shaky, never forcing me into a panic mode.
The other part was likely his ability to read me, to accept me with all my many flaws. And even, not to see them as flaws at all.
"Never had to fight my own brain day in and day out, baby," he'd told me one night in bed. "That's got to be the most gangsta shit ever."
"It's going to be loud," he warned me again as we pulled up to the house, a sprawling home on lush green grounds, a few straggling yellow and red leaves littering the driveway and front walk, crunching under our feet as we got out of the car.