Maybe it’s his ability to always make me come during sex. Or maybe it’s how he looks at me like he just found the mostprecious gem in the world. No one has ever looked at me like that before, and I never want him to stop.
Sure, men have told me I’m beautiful. Or they say I’m sexy. And naked, I get more than an appreciative look, but Zep is different. It’s almost… amazement. Awe.
“Zep,” I moan, careful not to be too loud as I come hard around him.
He pulls me down to his chest and kisses me, his arms around my back, strong and steady. Digging his heels into the mattress, he takes over and works hard and fast into me, rubbing my already over-sensitized clit while hitting all the right spots inside.
Our lips never separate, our tongues tangling, and another orgasm rips through me. He swallows the sound before growling and finding his own release. Three long pumps inside before stilling. I know he’s done. Spent.
“I don’t think that was too loud,” he whispers into my ear, his arms still tightly wrapped around me as my body relaxes on him.
“No, I think we’re good,” I say, my head resting on his shoulder.
The words are right there.I love you, Zep.
I want to shout them, but then the crippling fear kicks in. It’s too early. He’s just settling in with us. I don’t want to risk pushing him away by getting too serious too fast. Watching him run would break me more than I can fathom.
Instead, I just let him hold me for as long as he wants before cleaning up. God, it’s nice being held. And no matter what happens, I know he’ll always protect Bernie and me.
It’s the first time in a long time that I’m not in fight mode. Surviving. Being the strong one to make sure my daughter’s taken care of before even thinking about myself. It almost feels selfish to be here right now.
No wonder I’m in love. Zep makes me feel like I’m not alone anymore.
God, I’m so screwed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Zeppelin
Ialmost told Misty I loved her on Saturday when we told Bernie about us. But when she sucked my cock, I couldn’t formulate the words. And then I remembered how skittish she is. Saying it might have scared her away.
Besides, is it really the right time to tell a woman you love her for the first time when she’s deep throating you? Probably not.
I step onto the porch after a two-day run as Bernie walks home from school on Friday, and she looks upset. Immediately, my mind goes to Sierra, and I’m tempted to call up a couple of the club kids to get this shit straightened out right away.
“Bernie!” I call when she avoids my porch. “Kiddo, what’s wrong?”
Bernie won’t look at me, and I hurry across the street. Something is really wrong, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.
“Bernie, are you okay?”
Her tear-filled eyes look up at me, and I want to break something. Hard.
“I’m fine, Zep.”
“No, you’re not. Friends don’t lie to each other, remember?”
I take a seat on the porch and wait for her to sit beside me. She does, and she lets out a deep breath. “There’s a dance tonight.”
Okay, she’s in second grade. “You have dances in the second grade?”
If this is about not getting asked by a boy, I have nothing to offer for advice. This is a bit outside of my realm of understanding.
“Yeah. It’s a…”
“Bernie?”
“It’s a father-daughter dance, okay? And I don’t have a dad. Not one who ever comes home, and I just…”
