It’s over.
It’s gone.
Meirna is about to see me for everything I am and everything I want to give.
Wrapping my forearm around her middle, I position her body so that we’re pressed up together. My chest to her spineas I enter her at a new angle, growling in her ear possessively as I continue to rock inside her.
“That’s exactly what you used to say,” I tell her along the shell of her ear. “More. You always fuckin’ wanted more of me. Do you remember now? If you think back…can you tell the difference, Daydream?”
Her head wobbles up and down. “Yes. I know it was you now.” Then she turns her head slightly and whispers, “And I loved it.”
Fuck me.
Meirna begins to move with me, bouncing on my cock when I thrust upward. We both share groans and moans. The smell of sweat and vanilla wafting off her skin as I pepper kisses to the side of her neck.
“I wanted you to do it again,” she whispers. “But it wasn’t you. I thought about it for days afterward.”
“Stop,” I growl out, tightening my hold around her waist. “You’re going to make me bitch at myself for not coming back sooner.”
“You should. Because things would’ve been different. We could be here…after years of being together…with you filling me up every night with your cock.”
My orgasm triggers with no warning, thoughts of nights past that I can’t do shit about, with me inside her, sending me over the edge.
Meirna’s own release happens seconds afterward, receiving my cum and mixing it with hers, is the most fucking erotic thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
She doesn’t stop bouncing on me until she can’t bear to be on her knees anymore. Leaning forward to lie down while I go with her, pulling her against me because pulling my cock out of her just yet isn’t something I want to do.
Moments go by when I think she may have fallen into a quick sleep, when I hear her mutter, “I’m ready for round two when you are.”
Chapter 24
Meirna
It’s Christmas.
And the suite is brimming with giant bouquets of white roses in clear vases on every surface in the living room.
Poinsettias are mixed in, giving it a pop of color, as a beautiful breakfast is laid out on the coffee table with more roses decorating the exquisite meal.
Fruits, pastries, pancakes, waffles, eggs, and coffee are prepped and ready for consumption, and I’m speechless at what to say because Bobby never put in any large amount of thought into things like this. I was always the one pushing all things Christmas on him.
But Bronte…he was right.
I picked the wrong guy.
There was no underlying message in my head that gave it away. Maybe it’s because the first memory of Bronte was what I went by, and I’ve trailed down that road the whole time. The man I met first, he’d never cheat on me. He gave me no reason to believe he was going to throw me in a position to save face and Harding Holdings.
Bobby is the playboy.
Bronte is the broody specimen of muscle and independence. Put both of them next to each other with those traits, I would’ve picked Bronte every time.
And I wasted two years with rose-colored glasses on.
A face suddenly shows up above my shoulder as my curls are pulled gently away from my neck, and I hear Bronte’s guttural, “Good morning, Daydream. Merry Christmas.”
He places a soft kiss along the column of my throat, then another, prompting last night into a full-fledged movie in my brain.
His eager hands all over me. His lips and tongue tasting every inch of my skin.
