Reese
Ramsey pulls his truck into Reagan and Penn's driveway, hitting a dip in the snow-covered gravel. I squirm a little in my seat, feeling the ghost of him between my thighs still two days later.
"Stop doing that," Ramsey growls, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.
"Doing what?" I ask innocently, knowing damn well what he means.
"That little wiggle thing." His eyes flick to my lap, then back to the road. "You're making me want to bend you over the hood of this truck, and I don't think your sister would appreciate that."
Heat rushes through me at his words. Since we crossed that line, it's like he can't stop talking about all the filthy things he wants to do to me. And fuck if it doesn't make me wet every single time.
"Later," I promise, reaching over to squeezehis thigh. My fingers inch dangerously close to the bulge already forming in his jeans.
He catches my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth. "Careful, baby girl. Don't write checks your ass can't cash. I’ve been trying to let you rest."
The way his teeth graze my knuckles makes me shiver. I'm still getting used to this new version of Ramsey—the one who doesn't hold back, who says exactly what he wants to do to me in that low, dangerous voice.
"We're already late," I point out as he parks behind Penn's ridiculous custom SUV.
"Yeah, because someone couldn't keep her hands to herself," he reminds me with a smirk.
"Worth it," I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. The memory of riding his face until I screamed earlier is still fresh, and I have to press my thighs together to control the throb between them.
As we walk up to the front door, Ramsey's hand settles possessively on the small of my back. It's a simple touch, one he’s done countless times before. Now it feels like a brand—like he's marking his territory. Part of me should hate how caveman it is, but mostly it just makes me feel stupidly happy.
We don't even get a chance to open the door ourselves before the wood swings open, revealing my sister with one of the twins—Ransom—attached to her lower leg.
"About time," Reagan says, eyeing us suspiciously. "Dinner's almost ready."
"Sorry," I mumble, stepping inside. "We got...held up."
Ramsey snorts behind me, and I fightthe urge to elbow him in the ribs. Reagan's gaze sharpens, like she's trying to figure out what's different, but she doesn't comment.
The house is chaos, as usual. I can hear Lincoln and Iris bickering from the living room. Really living up to being the stepsiblings who hated each other and now are married.
I can hear Oakley in the kitchen, and judging by the smell she’s making some kind of beef dish, which smells amazing already. Jeremiah’s broad self is taking up the whole entryway to the room.
"Bunny, maybe you should sit down," he's saying. "You've been on your feet too long."
"I'm pregnant, not dying," Oakley replies, exasperation clear in her tone. "And I'm only eight weeks along. The baby is the size of a freaking blueberry."
"Technically, a raspberry. Blueberry was last we—you know what sure. And they are a blueberry that needs their mother to rest," he insists.
This is my family chaos and I love it. Ransom has detached from my sister, and both of the twins tear through the house and a crash comes from their room.
Reagan huffs and before she can even say anything, Penn appears behind her, beer in hand, eyes looking right at me. They move to Ramsey, then back to me, and a slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face.
"You had sex," he states, not a question but a declaration.
The room goes silent. Even the twins freeze mid-rampage. Reagan's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. Oakley pokes her head out from the kitchen, spatula in hand. Lincoln and Iris stop arguing to stare.
"Jesus Christ, Penn," Ramsey growls, his hand tightening on my back.
My face burns so hot I'm surprised my makeup isn't melting off. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. But fuck it—I'm not ashamed.
"Yeah, so what if I did?" I lift my chin, meeting Penn's gaze head-on. "Not everyone waits until they drug their unsuspecting obsession and marry her while unconscious like some fucking saint."
Penn throws his head back and laughs. "Saint? Me? That's fucking rich." He turns to Lincoln, who looks like she's about to explode. "Pay up, fucker. I told you it would happen before Valentine’s Day."
