“You’ve mentioned once or twice,” I relay.
He bypasses my humor, and he hooks his fingers under my panties and pulls them down my legs. His eyes rocket up to my face, and the lust in his eyes is overbearing. I feel it between my legs.
His hands sneak under the shirt, with his palms facing up above my waistline, but his mouth hovers lower, sending a ripple from my clit up my body to my sensitive nipples. The wide-open kiss over my pussy only multiplies the sensation.
When Carter stands, his fingers play with my pussy while he kisses my mouth slowly to ensure I taste myself.
I moan from the pure sensuality of it all.
He leads our direction because I’m unable to see. His mouth is a force on my lips demanding I kiss him back, and I want to.
He needs to be inside me because this man consumes me in every way.
The back of my knees bumps where the ends of the duvet and mattress meet, and as much as he would push me until I’m on my back, I’ve heard it suggested I should be on my side, on top of him, or on all fours. It’s better for the baby they say, and I’m not going to argue as long as I get to continue to have Carter inside of me.
He decides our position of choice, and I straddle him while he sits up in the middle of the bed, and I loop my arms around his neck. We don’t need to say anything because the last few minutes have said it all. There are rings in the room, and a child that is ours.
Reality has set in that we’re moving along our road.
I plunge down on top of his hard cock and coo from his length pistoling straight up inside of me. He keeps my face firmly in his hands, caging me in while our mouths fuse together and I rock on top of him.
When we’re not connected by our lips, our eyes are staking one another in agreement that this is where we are.
Together.
15
CARTER
Ishake Betsy’s hand, the woman who owns the dry cleaner. I’ve just finished hearing her talk about her worries that we still have parking meters on the street, even though they are no longer in use. They confuse people, she says, and I have to agree. I can now add that as a campaign issue.
However, as I let her hand go to move on to the next person on this busy occasion in Everhope, I can’t help but notice that Rosie’s dad is standing across the square where Christmas tree lights were just lit. He’s been staring at me with a fierce look for a few minutes.
“Uh, Rosie,” I interrupt her saying hi to someone, as she’s stayed close to me for the last thirty minutes.
“Yes, Future Mayor?” She’s been in a good mood all day and for the last few weeks, with an added dose of bubbliness.
“Why is your father not exactly in a festive spirit?”
She interlinks our arms covered in thick coats, with the cold air hitting our noses. “Because he is still a little pissed that we didn’t join them at Olive Owl yesterday for Thanksgiving.” There is zero concern in her voice.
We opted to skip her family dinner because it’s a chaotic mess with way too many people, plus two dogs. The chickens can get a little vicious, too. Her aunts drinking family wine? Things get crazy.
Instead, we opted for a quieter day at my brother’s with just a few friends. We were there for a few hours then went straight home for sleep.
I thought inviting Brooke and Grayson for cider on the square was a good idea.
“Okay, but do we need to spike his cider or something? He seems a little tense.”
She swats my arm. “Relax. He’s messing with you.” To prove her point, she drags me with her to her parents. Her mom is all smiles and enjoying a piece of pie from the stall nearby, and her father finally breaks and offers a faint smirk.
“How is it going? I know the cider isn’t the same as at Olive Owl, but it’s close enough.” Rosie gets our conversation moving.
“It’s fine. There’s a hot hockey player serving it for charity. Apparently, he came over from the Lake Spark Spinners,” Brooke casually mentions, and Grayson gives his wife an odd look.
“Mom. You cougar, you.” Rosie is joking around.
“That’s your mom. Breaking hearts in her prime.” He kisses Brooke’s cheek.
