Her right hand snakes beneath us, and she circles her clit.Her quiet sighs and moans of pleasure drive my need ever higher.
I lower my voice to a husky rasp. “That’s it, baby girl. Make yourself come for me.”
Her deft fingers part around my cock, and I lose all sense, driving into her harder, faster than before.
“Oh god. You’re so deep,” she whines. “Yes. Keep going. Just like that.”
Seconds later, she comes on a cry, her tight walls clenching around my length, wrenching the orgasm from me. I couldn't hold back if I wanted to. I pull out, stroking myself over her perfect body, and painting her with my release.
The sight of my cum overlayed with my handprints on her body is enough to make me hard all over again. But a much more urgent feeling is clawing at me—guilt at how rough I’d been with her. I’m usually much more careful and attentive.
I let out a ragged exhale and gentle my hands. “Come here, Angel.”
She shifts off her hands, and I pull her against me.
“Was I too rough with you?”
“No. You were perfect,” she says, breathless and so perfectly mussed.
God, I love this woman.
I sweep away a few errant strands of dark hair framing her face and press a gentle kiss to her lips, savoring the moment as we come down from the high. My palm engulfs her bare belly, overwhelmed by the need to make sure they’re both okay after the rough fuck.
A soft hand drifts over my beard as Angie forces me to meet her gaze. “We’re both perfectly fine,” she says, her lips curving into a devious smile. “Actually, I’mmuchbetter than fine.”
I stand first, then help her up. The sight ofher, body covered in my handiwork, stops me in my goddamn tracks. I stare for a long moment, needing to commit her to memory.
She echoes the sentiment that started it all: “You have to stop looking at me like that.”
“Never.”
Angelina
“Close your eyes,” Griffin says, his large frame encompassing the doorway to the nursery.
I hate surprises.
I pin him with a hard stare, my hands firmly planted on my hips. “Griffin Hayes, if you fucked with my nursery plans, I’ll have your head.”
His mouth quirks up at one corner. “You can have my head right now, baby girl. All you gotta do is ask.”
“That’s not… You know what? Move.” I shove past him, grasping the doorknob.
His dark chuckle follows me, and I try not to let on how the rich sound makes my stomach turn to jelly. The room still smells of fresh paint, which is odd since I left the windows open and the box fan blowing so the smell would dissipate.
As the door swings open, my heart expands, and my chest tightens. The earlier annoyance instantly evaporates. “When… how…”
He leans against the doorjamb, his forearms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. Fuck. Why is that hot? “Ivy painted it while you were at work. Do you like it?”
The ever elusive Ivy Roberts, local artist and honorary member of the Hayes family. She lives with her husband and their two daughters in their large home situated farther back on the ranch. “I thought they were visiting Luca’s family in Canada.”
“They’re back.”
I tilt my head to the ceiling and walk in a slow circle, following the meticulous brushstrokes making up the cloudy sky above. “It looks so real,” I say, awestruck by the artistry. “It’s amazing.”
His strong arms band around me from behind, and his comforting warmth follows soon after. “Now you can stare at the clouds anytime you want.”
“I love it. Thank you.”
