Page 11 of Rescuing Our Bride

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Page 11 of Rescuing Our Bride

One I’m not sure food alone will satisfy.

Fuck, I can’t get enough of her. Jax is a goner too. I can tell by the way he looks at her. We were supposed to let Anna go, but that plan was shot to hell the moment we tossed her in the back of the van. I was already thinking about keeping her, but after that first taste and the sight of my cum running down her legs, I knew she was ours. There’s no way she’s leaving us. I want her. Jax wants her, and we’ll do whatever it takes to make her stay.

“Starving.” Anna’s stomach rumbles in agreement. With a sheepish grin, she dips her chin and runs her hand over her stomach.

With that one tiny movement, she draws my gaze to her midsection, where her fingers are splayed over her taut little tummy and an image flashes through my mind. One of Anna pregnant, leaning against me with her back pressed against my front, her hands roaming over her swollen belly. Blood rushes to my groin, and my cock twitches with the overwhelming need to fuck her, fill her with my cum until she is pregnant with my kid. The image of her carrying my baby is sexy as fuck, but I know it won’t hold a candle to the real thing.

I also know I won’t be able to think of anything else until I make it happen.

“I’m starving too,” Jax chimes in, pulling me back to the here and now. “We should have brought more than just trail mix and beef jerky with us on the hike.”

Food. Right. Damn, that is a necessity. Especially if I want to get Anna pregnant, and I do. Fuck me, do I want that. There’s nothing I want more than to see her happy, healthy, and carrying my child. Children, I realize. I want more than one. Lots of little Annas and Marks running around. Hell, I could even tolerate a couple mini versions of Jax underfoot too. The more the merrier and more kids means more time spent making them—more time spent buried in Anna’s sweet pussy. My dick’s getting hard just thinking about it.

But first, she needs to eat.

“How about sandwiches? If you have the fixings, I can make a mean cold-cut sub.” Anna breezes between me and Jax and makes a beeline for the fridge. She’s got both doors open and is shoulder-deep in the fridge, rummaging through the groceries we stocked before we grabbed her from the church.

I can’t stop staring at her ass. It’s perfect—especially when she’s on all fours taking it from behind.

“No provolone?” She casts a backward glance over her shoulder, catching me in the act, and smirks. She knows I’m looking and from the wicked glint in her eyes, I’d say she knows what I’m thinking about too, and she likes it.

“I was thinking something a little more substantial than sandwiches.” Jax sidles up next to her, nudging her out of the way with a playful bump of his hip.

He grabs two bundles wrapped in white butcher paper and tied with twine—the rib eye steaks we picked up at the butcher shop over in Cold Spring—and sets them on the glass cutting board beside the stove.

“Potatoes?” I ask, but the question’s almost rhetorical because nothing goes better with a quality steak than a baked potato.

“Meat and potatoes. Quintessential man food.” Anna chuckles with a little shake of her head. “You need vegetables too, guys. I’ll make a salad.”

“Salad? Did we buy stuff to make a salad? That doesn’t sound like something we’d do.” Jax pulls out the cast iron pan from where we stored it inside the oven and sets it on one of the gas burners.

“You have lettuce, tomatoes, a sweet onion, and bell peppers in the crisper drawer. Put all those veggies together and you know what you get?” Anna opens the fridge again and starts pulling vegetables from the drawer, answering her question before Jax and I have the chance. “A salad.”

“Huh, I thought those were sandwich toppings.” I scrub, salt, and wrap the potatoes in foil, then pop them in the oven to bake.

We fall into an easy rhythm, working side by side in the kitchen. Anna’s finished with the salad and is working on some sort of fancy cheese board while I slice a loaf of white bread into thick pieces for Texas toast. It’s easy with her, comfortable. Natural. Like a glimpse into our future. The only thing missing is the sound of kids running around. I can almost hear the peal of their laughter, the pounding of their little feet tearing through the house as they chase after each other.

Goddamn, I can’t wait to get her knocked up.

“We’re a little past the wining and dining stage, don’t you think?” Anna teases as Jax sets a bottle of red beside a short stack of plates on the butcher-block-topped island.

“Baby, there isn’t supposed to be a wining and dining stage. It’s always supposed to be this way,” Jax informs her. He pulls the cork and pours her a glass of wine, then pries the tops off two IPAs and sets one in front of me before returning his attention to the steaks.

“Actually,” she eyes the bottle of beer in front of me, “can I have one of those instead?”

“You’d rather have a beer?” I ask, but I’m already off the stool and grabbing another one out of the refrigerator.

“Yep.” There’s a little pop of her lips on the p sound. With a wink, she reaches across the island top and steals my beer.

“Told you; she’s a keeper.” Jax turns from the stove with a platter of steaks in his hands.

“Yep.” I make the same popping sound, mimicking Anna, and take a swig of the cold, hoppy blend. “Definitely a keeper.”

“So, I guess this is kind of like our first date, huh?” Anna sets her beer on the countertop with a thunk. “Oh, we need dressing. I almost forgot.”

“Dressing? I know you won’t find that in the fridge because that was not on the grocery list.” The timer on the stove beeps, announcing the potatoes are done. After sliding an oven mitt on my hand, I take them out of the oven and, still wrapped in their foil, set one on each plate.

“Why am I not surprised?” With a playful roll of her eyes, she hops off her stool to rummage through the cabinets, setting oil, red vinegar, and a few herbs on the counter. “Do you have a whisk?”


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