Ask Me Why(89)

I sway to follow his movements. “Okay? Want me to turn on some music?”

Brance nips along the tan skin of my stomach. “At home, dirty girl.”

“Why are we talking about this now?” I grind into him for encouragement. “Get up here. Give me what I want.”

“How about what I want?”

I scoff. “We aren’t doing anal. At least not yet.”

He chuckles. “Good to know it’s on the list of possibilities. But I’m not talking about fucking your ass. You’re ruining my plan, babe.”

“Me?” I gasp.

He hums. “I was going to get you all agreeable and drowsy. Then spring this on you.”

“Spit it out, husband.”

A grin to rival the sun splits his handsome face. “Ollie needs a sibling. A little sister to be exact.”

The air I was inhaling turns to concrete in my windpipe. I choke on a gulp of the sweet, tropical air. “W-what?”

Brance’s chin is resting between my breasts. “Life is short, babe. I want more babies with you.”

Emotion pricks my eyes. I’m nodding against the blur in my vision. I’m smiling so wide there’s an ache in my cheeks. But nothing else reaches me while I’m drowning in pure bliss. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s make a baby.”

His sky-blues sparkle. “No more rubbers.”

“Or pulling out.” I bite my bottom lip.

That’s all it takes. When he slides into me, there’s nothing between us. That barrier—thin as it was—had been the last sliver of separation keeping us apart. I’m finally getting all of him. And I want every last bit. Really bad.

I cross my ankles over his lower back. We rock together in a smooth wave. I press my mouth to his temple. “I have a feeling I’ll be pregnant by next week.”

A rumble rises off his chest. “Tomorrow would be better.”

“Overachiever.”

“Damn fucking straight, Missus Stone.”

“Love you, husband.”

“And I love you, wife.”



That’s technically the end, but are you curious about Jordan and Sadie? Well, I wrote a little bonus story for them. Brance, Braelyn, and Ollie make plenty of appearances.



Click here to grab your FREE copy of Say You’ll Be!





GENT Sneak Peek





CHAPTER ONE


MA’AM



Trey



“Did you hear what I said?”

At her question, my gaze shifts to connect with the woman’s stare. She’s an unfamiliar face, probably lured into town by the specialty shops off Main Street. Sitting closer than socially acceptable, she’s almost stuck on me. The bar is crowded tonight, though. I let the proximity slide, but her attempt at conversation is pushing it too far.

I came to Dagos for a few beers after work, not to engage in chit-chat. Usually I won’t hesitate sampling fresh meat, gladly gobble up what’s being offered, but not today. Try as she might, this chick is striking out with me. I have zero intentions of giving her the quick fuck she’s been practically begging for since sitting down.

I clear my throat. “Ma’am, I’m not interested.”

“Excuse me?” she says as her eyes widen. “Ma’am? That’s what you call a grandmother. Do I look old to you?”

The dial on her annoying meter cranks up a few notches. I’m not stupid enough to fall into her trap, but still bite my tongue to keep the insults from barreling out.

I quickly scan her pinched face, covered with powdery shit likely meant to hide her age. I was trying to be polite by using a respectful term, but she’s clearly not the type. I rub my forehead while blowing out a breath, frustration already building like a storm cloud.

“I mean no offense,” I grind out between clenched teeth, “but I’m spending the evening solo. Cheers.” I raise my bottle in a lame-ass salute.

The yappy broad huffs and rolls her eyes. It seems she might spit more crap my way, but then her attention darts to a man across the room. She eagerly slips off the stool, nearly spilling her drink with the jerky movements. She glances back at me, shooting daggers from her eyes.

“Asshole,” she shoots over her shoulder before sauntering off.

Good fucking riddance.

I lift the nearly empty beer to my lips, but a burst of laughter interrupts me.

“Wow. You sure know how to pick ‘em. How are you still single with suave moves like that?”

“Not you too,” I mutter without turning around, recognizing the raspy voice immediately. “Was the entire female race set on driving me fucking crazy?” My chin tilts skyward as I silently ask for patience… or a fucking break. Neither will come for me.

“Would it kill you to be nice?” Addison rests her arms against the bar next to me.

I puff air through my clenched teeth. “Most likely. And I was nice. I called her ma’am.”

“You know girls hate that,” she shoots back. “It’s a dig more than anything and makes us feel old. Might as well call her a raging bitch or wrinkled hag.”

“Those names seem more appropriate. Thanks,” I chuckle but there’s no humor behind it.