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I shatter, my body arching off the bed, my thighs trembling as the orgasm crashes through me. Brock holds me through it, his fingers still moving, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

When I finally come down, he pulls his hand away and brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting me. The sight makes my pussy clench all over again.

"I love the way you taste," he says, his voice rough.

He strips off his clothes, and I watch, my breath catching at the sight of his cock, hard and thick and ready. He positions himself between my thighs, his hands gripping my hips.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.

"Yes," I whisper. "I'm perfect."

He pushes inside me slowly, inch by inch, and I feel the stretch, the fullness, the perfect ache of him filling me completely. My hands grip his shoulders, my legs wrapping around his waist.

"Megan," he groans, his forehead resting against mine. "God, you feel so good."

He moves slowly at first, his hips rolling in a steady, deliberate rhythm. But as the pleasure builds, his control slips, and he thrusts deeper, harder, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wider.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough.

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there steals my breath.

"I love you," he says, his voice breaking. "I love you, Megan."

My heart stops. Then it starts again, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

"I love you too," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. "I love you, Brock."

He kisses me, deep and desperate, and I feel him everywhere—inside me, around me, consuming me. The pleasure builds again, tighter and hotter, and when he reaches between us, his fingers finding my clit, I come apart, crying out his name.

Brock follows seconds later, his body shuddering as he spills inside me, his face buried in my neck.

We lie together afterward, our bodies tangled, our breathing slowly evening out. Brock pulls the blanket over us, his arm wrapped securely around my waist.

"I meant it," he says quietly. "I love you."

"I know," I whisper. "I love you too."

"I want everything with you, Megan. This isn't temporary for me."

I turn in his arms, looking up at him. "I want everything with you too."

Brock smiles, his hand cupping my face. "That's all I need."

We fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, safe and warm and completely at peace.

Chapter Seventeen

MEGAN

Thanksgiving morning arrives cold and crisp, the kind of late-November day where the sky is a sharp, brilliant blue and the breeze smells like woodsmoke and dried pine. I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, smoothing the fabric of my ribbed burgundy sweater dress down over my hips for the fourth time.

My hands won't stop shaking.

Today, I’m meeting Brock’s family.

His parents, his older sister and her husband, and his younger brother are all gathering at Brock’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. And I’m walking through that front door at his side.

I take a slow, grounding breath and check my reflection. The dress hugs my curves comfortably, falling just below my knees in a rich wine color. My dark brown hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, and I’ve kept my makeup understated—clean mascara, a touch of blush, berry-tinted lip balm. My brown eyes look wide, carrying an edge of nervous energy I can't quite disguise.