It’d been almost a week since I’d won my house—and then subsequently found out that I couldn’t move in to my house. We’d gone on the Harry and Doreen tour a few days ago, and I had to say, those two were pretty fucking adorable and seemingly helpless. I mean, it took them until the end of the tour to finally question how we’d gotten into their house, and when I’d vaguely admitted the sheriff’s office had given me a key, they hadn’t continued that line of questioning.
Either they knew a lot more than they let on, or they were completely clueless. Neither explanation felt good. And no matter what they knew or didn’t know, or if they were acting oblivious on purpose, guilt clenched my gut every time I thought about giving them the boot.
But, it was my house. I’d paid good money for it, and I was tired of living in my shitty apartment, especially when I knew almost eighty percent of my bank account had gone to a much bigger, way more beautiful place.
The house had a fenced-in terrace and a rain shower, for fuck’s sake. It also had an out-of-date kitchen, creaking floors, and stains on ninety percent of the upstairs carpet, but those were remarkably easy fixes for the chance to have some space.
Which explained why tonight, while sitting inside Nick’s apartment without any work responsibilities hanging over my head, I scoured through everything Google could provide on sheriff’s auctions in its search engine.
I had to find a way to get them out of there without leaving them high and dry and without any place to live.
“Apparently, I'm supposed to let the sherriff's department know the house still has the original tenants, and they send them a written notice to vacate,” I explained as I read through various online forums with equally nightmarish situations as mine. “How in the hell am I going to make Doreen and Harry leave their home? They love it like a baby…a baby Doreen could never have.” They’d shared their sad story of infertility as we’d listened, a fresh pot of soup steaming on the stove, the table set for dinner.
What? They’re likeable and my stomach was growling. Doreen offered to feed the beast. Am I supposed to have the willpower to say no to that kind of thing?
“Uh-oh.” Nick smirked at me from his kitchen as he poured a fresh cup of coffee.
“What?”
“You like them.”
“No, I don't,” I retorted, but I didn't even believe myself.
“You like them, and worst of all, they already have your sympathy.”
I let his words sink in and sighed. “Ugh. Can you blame me?”
“No,” he responded and sat down beside me on his sofa. Gently, he removed my laptop from my thighs and shut it. “But you're going to have to find a way to remember that you just paid a lot of money for that house, and it's no longer Harry and Doreen's, or else—”
I cut him off immediately. “Or else what?”
“Well…or else I hope you're not going to mind spending your evenings watching Wheel of Fortune with your roommates.”
I threw myself onto the sofa and covered my face with a pillow, “This sucks!” I shouted beneath the soft material, my voice muffled.
Nick chuckled and removed the pillow from my hands. He picked me up with ease and set me into his lap. “How about we forget about the house debacle for a little bit and find a way to relax and just hang out here tonight? Order takeout. Watch a movie. Have sex.”
Surely, my eyes lit up on that last part. “Keep going…”
He smirked. “We can even eat dessert in bed.”
“Hmm.” I tapped my chin with my index finger. “What's for dessert?”
He waggled his brows. “I know what I'm having. You need to decide on yours.”
Oh my…
“And what are you having?”
He pressed a slow, delicious kiss to my lips, and I melted into his embrace. He moved those lips of his to my jaw, then my neck, until his fingers cleared a path to my ear by slowly brushing my hair over my shoulder. “We can eat at the same time,” he whispered. “You enjoying whatever dessert you're in the mood for and me savoring my favorite spot in the whole world.”
I shivered at his words.
“Sound good?” he asked and leaned back to meet my eyes.
I shrugged. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you talking about my pussy?” I questioned, and he laughed outright at my blatancy. “Because if it’s anything but my pussy, I’m not digging that plan.”
“I'm definitely talking about that perfect cunt of yours.”
I giggled and waggled my brows. “Count. Me. Motherfucking. In.”
“Fantastic.” He smiled and then stood up with me still in his arms. He carried me into the kitchen, set me on the counter, and then got to work on finding our takeout options in his menu and junk drawer. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Dessert.”
He quirked an amused brow in my direction. “Before dessert?”
“Hmm…Mexican sounds good. Isn't El Toro only a few blocks from here?”
“Yep.” He nodded and held up their menu from the pile.
I clapped my hands together in excitement. “Ohh, hell yes! I could go for some chips and queso right about now.”
“All right. Mexican it is.” He handed me the menu with a little smirk etched across his lips. “Figure out what else sounds good, and then I'll call it in. They don't deliver, but I’ll run out and grab it.”
I blew him a kiss. “You’re the best.”
“I am, aren’t I?” He grinned. “I’ll throw on a fresh shirt and shoes while you decide.” He pressed another kiss to my lips and then headed in the direction of his bedroom. But his footsteps stopped somewhere along the way, and he walked back toward me.
I quirked a brow. “Change your mind about Mexican?” The more that I thought about it, the more I realized maybe I needed to reconsider. It might not be the best thing to eat before he put his face in my vagina.
“No, I want to tell you something.” He shook his head, and his eyes turned a darkened shade of brown. Serious. Determined.
Oh, shit. This wasn’t about flatulence. This was something way bigger.
My heart started to pound in anticipation.
Jesus. I hope this isn’t bad…
“Okay…”
“I like you, Charlotte. I really like you.”
“I like you too,” I said simply, but my voice didn’t hide how curious I was to see where this was going. It dipped and hollowed at the end like the sentence didn’t end at too but instead ended with but.
“I think we're great together,” he continued. “And I haven’t been this happy in a long fucking time, if ever.”
I smiled at his beautiful words and relaxed a little. So far this was going good places. “Me either.”
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I know this isn’t the best way to bring up the conversation, but I can’t beat around the bush any longer.”
Oh my God. He’s got a wife in Boise. I just know it.
“I want you to meet my daughter.”
My eyes widened in surprise, and hell, a little bit of relief. Boise could go fuck itself. “You want me to meet Lexi?”
“I do.”
“Are you sure it's the right time?” I questioned and then added to it through a babble. “I mean, obviously, I want to meet your daughter, but I don't want you to feel forced in any way. I want you to be sure about it.”
“I'm sure.”
I searched his gaze and found exactly what I was looking for. Trust. Honesty. And something deeper. Something that said if there was going to be any wife, Boise or otherwise, it was most likely going to be me.
Meeting his daughter needed to happen, and it needed to happen soon. I hopped off the counter and stood on my tippy toes to press my lips to his. “I'd love to meet her, Nick.”
He smiled against my mouth and wrapped his arms around my body, hugging me tight to his chest. “Thank you, Char.”
“For what?”
“For being you.”
“Ditto, Doc,” I whispered.
Without another word, our gazes locked and Nick lifted me into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, and carried me to the kitchen table. He sat me down gently before spreading my thighs.
My breath hitched when his hands turned greedy, shoving my dress to my hips and sliding my panties to the side with wandering fingers. Riveted, I watched as he cupped me with one hand and unzipped his pants with the other.
“I need you,” he whispered and pulled his already hard cock out of his pants. “I need to be inside of you, Charlotte.”
God, yes.
I moaned at his words. At the sight of him, hard and ready and heady-eyed. And the fact that he was already pushing my panties to the side and sliding the tip of his shaft through my arousal.
“Now,” I whimpered, and he listened, filling me up in one smooth and firm thrust.
I wrapped my legs around his waist as he started a delicious rhythm—alternating between slow and steady and then wildly changing to fast and deep.
I felt delirious as I listened to our ragged, wanton breaths while my gaze fixated on our connection, watching him move in and out, in and out. God, it felt so fucking good. He felt so fucking good. Us, together, was something I never wanted to stop experiencing.
With my hands in his hair, I pulled his lips down to mine and kissed him like my next breath depended on it, our mouths moving recklessly with one another.
He moaned against my lips when I clenched around him.
And then we were both lost, chasing each other’s pleasure with desperate, needy abandon.
“More, more, more,” I urged him like a woman possessed, and his thrusts became uninhibited, deeper, faster, harder as his cock slid in and out of me.
“Charlotte,” he groaned, and it was my name on his lips that was my undoing.
My skin heated, and goose bumps pebbled my skin at the same time as the first waves of my orgasm rolled through me. I clenched around him hard, over and over again, as moans spilled from my lips.
And he was right behind me, riding out his climax inside of me with deep, heavy strokes and a guttural groan escaping from his lungs.
Never in my life had sex ever been this good. Hell, before Nick, life hadn’t been this good.
And if I was being honest with myself, it had everything to do with love.
I was in love with Nick, and for the first time in a very long time, that word didn’t scare the ever-living hell out of me. It only felt right.