Just like my girl.
“Jesse isn’t the only one I want out of this arrangement,” I admit, stroking the mound of her pussy through thin material until dry gives way to damp, and the change has me ignoring the slow tease in favor of sliding my eager fingers inside her panties to feel the intoxicating wetness for myself.
Davie’s hands wrap around the edge of the counter like I wish they’d wrap around me, her knuckles turning white with the pressure.
A shudder wracks her body as she offers the tiniest bit of consent—rocking her pelvis forward so the tips of my fingers are engulfed in her clenching heat.
“The moment I saw you on my ranch, I wanted you, even if I figured it’d be impossible for such a sweet creature to let me near after what you witnessed.”
“You…” Davie’s eyes fluttered shut then opened again as she licked her lips, struggling to find her words. “You should learn how to control your temper.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Oh, sweetheart… When it comes to someone hurting what’s mine, defending them will win out every time.” Like with my son and his aunt. They’re mine, now, and if someone dares to fuck that up, they’ll learn how well I control my temper.
So well that they end up six feet deep somewhere in the back forty.
“I’m not yours.” Davie whimpers after a brutal thrust of my fingers in retribution for voicing such a lie. “At least not like that. We’re married on paper for Jesse’s sake. I can't sleep with you. It wouldn't be responsible.”
“And you're always responsible, aren't you?”
“I have to be. It's my job.”
“Actually, it's not. Your job is to care for Jesse, and we both know you're phenomenal at it.” My boy couldn’t do better than my sweet little wife. “Otherwise? You're free to do what you want. Break free, baby.”
My free hand lifts to cup her pinkened cheek. “Here with me? You don't have to worry about a damn thing. I'm your shield, and you've seen how fiercely I protect what's mine.”
16
DAVIE
Cormac becomes a blur through the tears threatening to fall. He's saying all the right things, but he's the wrong man.
I can't sleep with my sister's baby daddy.
It doesn’t matter that he’s my husband.
He’s Jessica’s ex-one-night stand.
“Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. I know you’re overthinking when all you should be doing is feeling.”
His thumb swipes over my clit to remind me of the delicious rhythm of his hand between my thighs.
As if I could forget.
How I’m managing a coherent conversation at a time like this is a damn miracle.
“This isn’t right,” I say. “You’re my nephew’s father. You’re my sister’s?—”
“I’m your husband,” he grits out. “I don't remember your sister, but I sure as hell will remember you. There’s no fucking comparison.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. It feels wrong. Like I’m stepping into my sister’s place. Like I’m her replacement, and we’re nothing alike. If you wanted Jessica, then I don’t understand how you can want me.”
There. My worst fear announced. Being his second choice, even if logically I understand it was just sex between them.
Cormac removes his fingers from my pussy and holds them in the air in front of my face. “See this? See how wet you are for me?” His other hand frees my grip on the counter and places my palm over the large bulge running down his thigh. “Feel that? Feel how hard I am for you?”
“This has nothing to do with your fucking sister. This is about you and me. You’re not a consolation prize for Jessica. I doubt I could pick her out of a lineup; she's that fuzzy in my memory. But you?”
He huffs like an angry grizzly and clamps my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’d find you from the merest whisper of your breath. The faintest hint of your scent. Because you’re engraved on my bones.”
