Her words reverberate through me. Winnie needs me too, perhaps just as much as I need her. I lift her shirt above her head and peel it off, and the rest of her clothes follow shortly. We stop speaking, words not needed as we say everything we need towith our bodies. Winnie bucks against me, and her hands tear at my sweater, urging me to take it off.
I get out of my clothes as quickly as possible and kneel between her thighs, which are gloriously warm, soft, and parted for me. One stroke through her center has her clutching the duvet and whimpering, and as I stroke through her folds, her wetness coats my fingers. Pride rushes straight through me and to my cock. She’s turned on and dripping for me, writhing on the bed as I press one finger into her and rub the heel of my hand against her.
“Jonah,” she gasps, and lifts her hips to meet my hand. “Need you, now.”
I replace my finger with the head of my cock, aching and hard for her. Just the feel of her wetness against me has me groaning. I push in another inch, and Winnie tugs me closer, urging me on. She’s hot and slick and perfect, and I stroke into her long and hard. My vision blurs as I feel her all around me—her scent, the feel of her soft, warm body under mine, the way she wraps around me.
“Win,” I manage. “I won’t last long.” I shudder as I pull in and out of her.
“Me,” she pants, “neither.”
The heat and pleasure builds between us, as I surge forward into her, again and again. I look down and see her pink cheeks and her bright eyes, her lashes fluttering open and closed as she moans and whimpers. Something unnamed swells within me, something that tells me to do everything in my power to protect and treasure the woman beneath me.
Winnie’s back starts to bow with pleasure, and her hands go still against me as the orgasm starts to consume her. Her head lolls to the side, mouth open, and then she takes me with her, the pleasure rushing through me, more intense and sharp than it’s ever been before.
I collapse, and roll us onto our sides, tucking her against my chest.
“Fuck, sugar,” she says.
The combination of the curse and her favorite verbal tick, both spoken in her soft southern drawl, makes me laugh. “Fuck, sugar might be my favorite thing you’ve ever said.”
“Yeah?” She nestles deeper into my chest. “I love the sound of your laugh.”
I think back to the man I was before I met her. That man didn’t laugh or smile nearly as much. That man was uninterested in love because he thought the future only held pain and grief. But Winnie has changed me, made me new from the inside out.
“Shouldwe talk about the conversation I had with your mom?” Winnie suggests, grabbing her mug of tea off the night stand.
After we had sex, we took a long, slow shower together and then ate leftovers off the kitchen island. Winnie didn’t even hesitate eating her half of the chicken pot pie, and I felt my heart soar just watching her enjoy her food so much. After, she made herself a mint tea, and we cuddled up in bed.
“Sure. Lay it on me. I know my mom can be a hard-ass, so I’m sorry in advance if she was difficult.”
“No, it’s not that at all. We had a really good conversation. But she knows about the money. The hospital told her that the bills were all paid, and she got suspicious.”
I nod. “I assumed she’d figure it out eventually, and I was meaning to tell her. Was she pissed?”
Winnie stares into her mug for a moment, the steam rising around her face. “She’s a bit annoyed with you, I think, but I did my best to defend you and explain why you married me.”
“Oh yeah? What reasons did you give?”
A blush blooms across Winnie’s cheeks, and she keeps staring into her mug. “I said that you just wanted to help me because you’re very…uh, helpful,” she mumbles.
I chuckle. “That’s definitely part of it, but I admit most of my intentions were less than honorable. I didn’t want you to marry anyone else.”
“Jealous, sugar?” Winnie says, looking at me, her blue eyes sparkling.
“I don’t think I need to be after the way you were moaning my name earlier.”
“Cocky ass.” She bumps her shoulder against mine and smiles.
“What else did you and my mom talk about? You were over there for a while.”
“Oh, she asked me about my parents, and I explained everything while she showed me how to knit. It actually felt really good talking to her. She’s a great listener.”
“Yeah, she’s the best.” Guilt rushes through me, because in marrying Winnie, I’ve been lying to the two people I was trying to help. I should have told my parents about paying the hospital bills upfront—I should have told them that Winnie and I got married for money. But maybe I didn’t because the longer I’ve been married to the woman beside me, the more I’ve wanted our marriage to be real. And admitting that it wasn’t, especially to my parents, would have hurt too much. “Winnie, I need to tell you something,” I start to say.
At the same time Winnie says, “Your mom doesn’t think we should get divorced right away.”
“Wait, what?” I was about to express a similar sentiment, but I keep that to myself.
