I don’t hear the shudder that runs through him, but oh, I feel it.
I kiss him, and his tongue mimics the mad piston of his hips, becoming harsher and more erratic with every stroke.
But this isn’t just fucking anymore.
This ismaking love, and I don’t care how cheesy that sounds.
I don’t even need his hand anymore.
I rise to meet him, grinding against his pubic bone, letting him hit that perfect spot that makes me his, and only his, now and forever.
My orgasm surges like a flood, all angry rapids pulling me under until I’m swept along in its white-hot wake.
Then Brady groans and his cock drives deep, slamming me into the bed.
He pins me down as he stakes his claim, marking me with ropes of fire hurling deep inside me.
With his cock still twitching and his teeth bared, he cups my face in his hands, whispering words that sound too human for this animal fusion.
“Never again, Lena. Never. You’re all mine, and I’ll never let you go.”
“I love you.” I’m too awestruck and too exhausted to murmur back anything more.
With my heart overflowing, I pass out in his arms and sleep like the dead.
XXVI
Doggone Perfect
(Brady)
It’s a beautiful, clear day when I find him by the boathouse dock.
If Dad has a favorite spot on earth, it’s here, lurking under the sprawling shade of this massive willow tree as he watches the lake rippling in the sunlight. He’s alone today like I knew he’d be, no Freddy around, though the nurse is never far behind.
It’s a scenario I’ve witnessed a hundred times growing up, but something about it stalls me in my tracks when I’m still a few feet behind him.
When has my father ever looked so small?
“Brady.” Even his voice sounds tiny and faded as he calls to me.
With my nostrils flaring, I walk up next to him. He doesn’t bother to look up at me.
No surprise.
“Well, let’s hear it,” I start. “I’m sure you’re livid. For once, I can’t say I blame you, Dad. If you want to go off and tell me how stupid and shitty and unworthy I am, now’s your chance.”
I don’t breathe.
Honestly, I probably shouldn’t be encouraging him to ragedump with his heart condition, but I just want this over with.
Dad takes his sweet time deciding how to tear my face off—probably considering his options. Then he smiles, his eyes fixed on a sailboat drifting by.
“What’s the damn point in rattling off the same script you’ve heard a thousand times? Especially when it isn’t true.”
What.
I blink, clearing my throat because I don’t know where this is going.
