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“Play with your nipples, baby. I want to watch you.”
Chloe trailed her nails over her sensitive tips and hissed. Her clit throbbed. Still waiting. Jesse had one hand wrapped around his thick cock, slowly fisting it, while the other cupped her mound.
“Fuck, yeah, baby,” he said as she pulled and pinched and twisted. “So perfect. Meant for us. Don’t stop.”
She was so wet he easily slipped three fingers in her pussy and curled them inside her. This man. He knew how to play her body.
Hail fucking Mary!
Her thighs were violently trembling. She pulled her nipples harder and arched her back, seeking more of his fingers.
His thumb pressed down on her clit as his fingers pressed up from inside her. “You’ll be so loved. Feel so good. You’ll see.”
Something was happening. Like she was going to come, but that wasn’t quite it. The sensation was foreign to her. She liked it. “More,” she managed to squeak.
“More than you ever dreamed, baby.” He pushed a fourth finger inside and played her pussy like a guitar, strumming his fingers along the spongey wet walls. His hand smoothed over her tummy until his fingers reached her throbbing clit. He pinched it hard, just the way she liked it, then rubbed back and forth with vigor.
Were those sounds coming from her? Wet squishes combined with raw ecstatic cries in time to the movement of his fingers. “Fuck, yeah. You’re close.” The movements of his fingers became more urgent. “Make a mess and cover us in your sweet cum so I can lick it off your skin.” Faster. Faster. Faster.
His hand slammed against her. His fingers thrummed. She twisted. “That’s it. Feels so good, doesn’t it? Just the beginning, baby girl. Promise.”
Jesse pinched and released her clit in rapid succession. Chloe felt her eyes roll back behind her lids and that foreign feeling seemed to catapult her out of her own body. She soared, then weightlessly floated until she gradually came back from the stratosphere Jesse sent her to. Rapture. It had to be that.
Her eyes fluttered open to find herself safely cradled in his arms. Jesse held her close against him, stroking her skin, peppering her with kisses. He whispered sweet words with his whiskey-smooth voice that she couldn’t quite hear.
Jesse did exactly what he said he would. He licked the sweat and the cum from her skin before his cock slid back inside her. Where he belonged.
Always.
His face was buried in the curve of her neck as he thrust into her with slow and steady precision, hitting that sweet spot inside. “Just trust me, my Riosin. I promise you’ll be loved well. And so much.”
Sex-talk—when a man vomits his feelings all over you. But they aren’t real. Chloe learned that lesson when she was seventeen. Before Cosmo. Not that she would have listened then.
But now she knew better than to commit her heart to any words he spoke during.
After.
And as she held him close to her heart, that’s what she wished for. A perfect ever after.
He should have told her.
Jesse should have told Chloe everything before he ever touched her. Tasted her. Felt the warmth inside of her. He tried. He failed. And each day, every night that went by with his little rose in his arms, made it more difficult to tell. The things this girl made him feel—he had so much more to lose now, and that was a word he refused to entertain.
They were all heading up the Byrne family lake house in the morning for the Fourth of July holiday. Jesse loved the lake house. All of the cousins did. So many happy childhood memories lived there. It was a special place, a storybook cottage their grandparents bought back in the 1950s as a weekend getaway from the city.
The four of them had practically grown up there together. Every weekend, every season, was spent there with their parents—tossing a ball on the lawn, swimming in the lake, building forts out of fresh-fallen snow. Jesse smiled to himself as he thought back to those days when they didn’t have a care in the world, when the biggest disappointment was not finding Kyan’s baby turtle or not finding a prized holographic Charizard in your new pack of Pokémon cards.
Before.
Before each of them began to lose the people they loved the most one by one. Aunt Peggy. Aunt Mo and Uncle Jimmy. Uncle Charley. His father, and even though she was still alive, his mother too. They only had each other now. Their bond was cemented as children and forged even stronger in the grief they shared. The cousins were beyond tight—a loyal family of men who felt deeply, loved freely without conditions, and protected fiercely. Each of them uniquely broken, damaged, flawed. Some of them were better at hiding it from the world, masking it, but Jesse could see it. In his cousins. In himself.
Not that he thought the damage was permanent, that they weren’t fixable. Jesse believed in his soul that love was the glue that held all your broken pieces together. Made you whole. It seemed like maybe Kyan had found it with Linnea, and it made Jesse happy to think that he had. He remembered what that felt like and he wanted it back. He wanted it with Chloe. And Taylor.
Taylor. Having flown in just that afternoon, he was back from London. He called Jesse the second the wheels hit the tarmac to let him know he landed. Taylor had only been gone a week, and Jesse was used to him being out on the road for close to half the year, but he’d missed the fuck out of him. He couldn’t wait to see him and sort things out together. To love her together.
Jesse was going to meet Taylor at the club as soon as he finished closing up Charley’s. Dillon was already there and Ky left with Linn, shopping list in hand, as soon as the dinner rush was over. Jesse felt a pang in his gut when he watched Chloe slip out the door alone at the end of her shift. This would be their first night apart. They’d spent every one of the last ten nights with each other—cooking dinner, going on walks, watching the game. Making love. Fucking.
There was a difference between the two and they did plenty of both. When they made love she was his little rose. When they fucked she was his baby girl. Their baby girl. She loved his cock. Could she love two? And she loved to fuck. A lot. Her appetite matched his. Taylor’s. Jesse often talked dirty to Chloe in the plural—we, our—but she hadn’t caught on.
