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He’d fallen out of a plane with me and lived.
The least I could do was get him off quick after he’d taken that fall for me.
“Fuck,” he squeezed his eyes closed.
I was close.
So close, in fact, that it took two falls of my hips onto his hard thighs and I was coming.
I vaguely saw the cords of his neck start to strain as he threw his head back before I fell too far into my own orgasm.
I heard him grunt out my name.
Heard him growl, felt his abs tighten.
And then the sweet sensation of his liquid heat filling me up as he came deep inside me.
The sawing of his breath in and out of his lungs as he let out a whined, “Ow,” had me rolling off of him.
Our combined releases rolled out of me and onto his lap, and I hurried to the bathroom for a towel before tossing it to him to clean up.
While I was cleaning up in the bathroom, he was getting dressed in our shared closest.
Our shared closet.
Our house.
The house that he’d built just for me.
My dream house.
Was this real life?
“Hurry up, baby,” Quinn said as he popped his head into the bathroom and watched me clean myself up with toilet paper. “I’ll be outside.”
And he was, waiting right there, the moment I exited the bedroom.
I couldn’t look his brothers in the face as I made my way to Quinn’s side and buried my face into him.
He laughed, pulled me in tight to his body, and continued the discussion of what went down tonight with the detective on the case.
And when he got to the part where I was having sex with him, and barely left out a single detail, I flushed a radioactive fuchsia and groaned, trying to practically crawl into Quinn’s body in embarrassment.
“Quinn,” I gasped, mortification taking a stranglehold on me. “He didn’t need to know that you finished!”
Every fucking cop in the damn house laughed.
Even my father-in-law.
Fuck my life.
The first thing a man looks at is a woman’s heart. It’s not our fault that her tits are in front of her heart.
—Quinn to Shayne
SHAYNE
3 months later
