Fourteen Months Later
I CLOSE THE garage, exiting out the side door and hurrying my way through the rain to the house, my duffel slung over my shoulder. It’s not a long distance, but the storm leaves me halfway soaked by the time I make it inside. I drop my shit on the built in bench along the wall of the mud room, shedding my jacket and tossing it onto one of the hooks above the bench. I don’t bother with my boots, too impatient to care about what I might be tracking through the house.
Jill can yell at me if she wants, I’ll just fuck her until she doesn’t give a shit.
Making my way out of the mud room, I peek my head into the laundry room, find it empty, and then hang a left down the narrow hallway leading toward the kitchen. Coming to the end of the hall, I can see right away that she’s not in the kitchen, either. Everything is in its place, precisely as she likes it, the butcher-block countertops wiped clean with her canisters and appliances lined up below the large window on the farthest side of the room. Seeing the storm brewing outside reminds me that I know exactly where I should be looking for her.
I waste no time walking through the house, headed straight for our bedroom. I don’t stop until I’ve reached the master bathroom. I make it as far as the doorway, and then I halt, my dick twitching at the vision before me. She’s right where I thought she’d be, soaking in the freestanding tub below the window that takes up most of the wall—stretching between the large, glass enclosed shower and the built-in storage on the other side. When we were remodeling the place, she told me she wanted an abundant amount of natural light in the bathroom. I didn’t argue, seeing as we sit on forty acres and I don’t have to worry about anyone looking in on my woman.
The window is open, the sound of the wind and the rain making her wholly unaware of my presence. Her eyes are closed, her hair piled on top of her head, and her neck resting against the ledge as she enjoys her favorite thing about the south—the thunderstorms.
Taking advantage of her obliviousness, I head toward the tub, not hesitating for even a second before I climb in with her. She gasps, then squeals, sitting upright as she looks out the side of the tub at the mess I’ve made. “Leo!” she cries, her eyes still wide in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Come here,” I insist, ignoring her question as I crook a finger at her.
She chokes out an exasperated laugh, shaking her head as she crawls toward me. When her naked body is settled between my legs, her arms wrapped around my shoulders, she fights a grin as she says, “You’ve ruined my water.”
“You really worried about the water?” I ask, lining my lips up with hers. “Huh?” I grunt when I feel her body relax against mine even more.
“I missed you,” she confesses before she steals a kiss.
I’ve only been gone for five days, having taken a quick trip with Ashley to New York, then to California, making a few promo stops for the album he dropped last month. Regardless, it was long enough, and I won’t deny that I’m glad to be home.
Fuck.
Home.
I thought I knew what home was until I made one with Jill, here in Winchester. Now I know I had no fucking clue. I had an idea—seeing where Ashley grew up, being around him with Corie—but home is personal. It’s intimate and sacred. Home is fucking my woman in every room of the house whenever I want to; it’s spaghetti dinners every Sunday; it’s the smell of Jill’s coffee in the morning, and the sound of her voice when she calls her dad every Thursday night. Home is this—the ridiculousness of me, fully dressed, soaking wet, hard as a fucking rock, my baby plastered against me, humming down my throat.
“You didn’t climb in here to tease me, did you?” she mutters, kissing along my jaw before tugging my earlobe between her teeth.
I give her ass a squeeze and then grunt, “Start the shower, baby.”
“Okay.”
She climbs out to do as I say, and I drain the water. Stripping out of my clothes, I leave all of it in the tub. When I step out, I look into the shower and see her under the spray of the water, her hair now drenched, hanging loosely down her back. I grip my dick, stifling a groan as I give myself a tug.
It may have only been five days—but it was five days too fucking long.
AS SOON AS he steps into the shower, closing the door behind him, he comes toward me, crashing his lips against mine in a short, bruising kiss before he places a hand on my shoulder. He presses down gently, silently signaling me to lower to my knees, and I obey. Reaching up to hold the back of his legs, I open my mouth in invitation. He groans as he eases his way inside of me, and my clit pulses in anticipation—already anxious to have his cock filling me up where I want him the most.
Where I need him the most.
Where only my Lee could ever satisfy me the way that I desperately crave.
I take him the way I know that he likes, sucking and licking as he thrusts in and out of me. He fists a hand in my hair, and I moan, my arousal pooling between my legs as he spurs me on. I drag my fingernails down the back of his thighs, and he growls before yanking me away from him. He then bends over, taking hold of me from underneath my arms and lifting me up off of the floor.
“Legs, baby,” he mutters, pressing me against the glass wall.
I spread for him, and he finds his way home as I circle my arms and legs around him. He tugs my bottom lip between his teeth as he drives into me, and my eyes fall closed as I enjoy every feeling he’s giving me right now. After he lets my lip go, he kisses me long and deep. I know, in this moment, that he missed me just as much as I missed him.
My caveman.
The man that I love.
My Lee.
When he slips his hands under my legs, hooking my knees over his arms, I gasp in excitement. He spreads me open, pressing my legs back, and I hold tight to his neck as he fucks me so good. My gaze finds his, and I stare into his amazing blue-green eyes, panting for him as he thrusts, sending wave after glorious wave of pleasure from my core, all the way to the top of my head, and down to the soles of my feet. The pressure of my orgasm is so much, I know I’m going to lose control. I can feel it.
“Pinch your nipples, Jill. Come all over me. Strangle my fucking cock, baby.”
“Yeah—yeah,” I whine, letting go of him to grab each of my breasts.
I tweak my hardened buds, pinching and tugging them simultaneously. That’s all it takes—that little bit making me scream as my body is flooded with blissful relief. Leo roars, pulling out of me as my legs tremble, my release leaking out of me. He growls victoriously before plunging back inside of me, and I suck in a short intake of air, reaching my hands up over my head in a hopeless attempt to grab hold of something. He rams into me only twice before I’m coming again, forcing him out, and I can tell by the way he watches me spill my release that he’s still not done with me yet.
My center now extremely sensitive, his reentry causes a sob to burst from my mouth. Yet, in spite of the pain, he still feels good, and I brace myself the best that I can as he seeks and finds his own climax. When he finally comes, he plants himself inside of me deep, groaning through his clenched teeth. Lowering my hands to his shoulders, I feel my way up the sides of his neck, holding him possessively as I try and catch my breath.
My caveman.
The man that I love.
My Lee.
His chest heaving, he touches his forehead to mine, readjusting us so that he’s now holding the outside of my thighs. For a long moment, neither one of us speaks—the hot water steaming up our large shower space, and the sound of the rain returning to my ears.
Leo lifts his head, and I look at the man that I adore more than any other. He then breaks our silence as he mutters, “Marry me.”
My heart skips a beat and my eyes grow wide in surprise. After realizing that it wasn’t a question but a demand, I giggle, pulling myself closer to him as I fold him in my arms. I don’t bother calling him out on his lack of inquiry, knowing that it’s not necessary. I’d do anything for this man—absolutely anything. Marriage isn’t something we’ve ever seriously talked about. I just assumed that he didn’t want to; that what we had was enough for him. I was willing to make it enough for me, too.
Now, it’s not a matter of yes or no. I’m his in every way, a truth that we both know and live every day. So my only reply is, “When?”
“Tomorrow,” he grunts.
I pull the side of my cheek between my teeth, looking up as I try and remember what day it is. When I recall that it’s a Tuesday, I bring my eyes back to his as I suggest, “How about Friday? I’d like my old man to be there. And I’ll need a dress.”
“Friday, then.”
Grinning, I squeeze my arms around him even tighter, speaking through a giggle as I demand, “Kiss me, my Lee.”