The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(82)

“Yeah, Shane rounded up the whole crew for dinner and … they’re still here.” Fisher took the container of cookies.

“Yo, Reese!” Shane said with a drunk man’s boisterous enthusiasm. “Fisher said you were coming with cookies.”

“Yo,” I replied with a very bummed girlfriend’s dismay as I removed my jacket and boots.

Fisher opened the container and set it on the counter for the pack of wolves to devour, but not before snagging one of each for himself and putting them on a paper towel. “Guys, this is Reese. These are the guys.”

They laughed and I rolled my eyes. It was all too reminiscent of his pathetic introductions when I met his family.

“The game’s on downstairs. Let’s go.” One of the guys said, and the rest of the pack followed with their beers and cookies.

“This isn’t what I saw happening tonight,” I murmured to Fisher as we brought up the rear.

“Me neither. But they’re here, and I can’t just abandon them.”

I bit my tongue. Abandoning groups and sneaking off to be alone was our thing. Did he not remember that?

A few of the guys sat at the barstools, two other guys played pool, and the rest of the group sat on the sofa or floor in front of the sofa to watch the game.

I snagged a blanket from the back of the sofa and plopped down next to Fisher.

“I don’t need a blanket, baby. It’s plenty warm,” Fisher said.

“It’s not that warm yet.” I covered him with the blanket, eliciting a frown from him. It lasted a full five seconds before his body went rigid and his lips parted with an audible inhale.

“Reese …” he whispered.

“Huh?” I turned my attention to the television, wetting my lips while he grabbed my arm—the arm attached to the hand down the front of his jeans and briefs.

I wasn’t sure what got into me, but I suspected it had something to do with repression. Fisher was finally mine, and I didn’t have to hide it from the world anymore. We were no longer forbidden lovers. And while his friends knew nothing about our forbidden love, and therefore I had nothing to prove to them, I still felt the need to claim Fisher in a public way.

My guy.

My hand on his cock. (Now MY cock)

All the kisses belong to me.

All the nights out belong to me.

Me in his tub.

Me in his bed.

Me. Me. ME!

My unsettled possessiveness seemed to spur on my hand, and Fisher whispered, “Fuck,” under his breath while yanking my hand from the inside of his jeans and then yanking me off the sofa.

“Be right back,” he said to whoever was in earshot as he dragged me up the stairs. I didn’t miss the few looks in our direction. They knew what we were going to do, and while that made my face flush a bit, I didn’t care. In fact, it was really out of our way to go upstairs when there was a perfectly good pool table right there.

When we reached his bedroom, we heard someone in his bathroom.

Fisher growled and pulled me toward one of the spare bedrooms, but one of his friends was sitting on the bed, talking on his phone. He held up a finger like he would be just a minute.

Fisher growled and pulled me to the guest bathroom. The door was locked.

Another growl.

His grip on my hand tightened. Frantic Fisher was my new high. Anticipation zipped through my veins. I liked him out of control with his need for me.

“The pantry?” I laughed, a little in disbelief as he pulled me into the walk-in pantry.

“Really?” He turned me to face the wall with a few hooks on it and random things like bags, a broom, and some grilling tools hanging from them. “A hand job in front of my friends? Who are you?” Fisher pressed my hands to the wall and yanked my sweatpants down to my ankles followed by my panties.

“I hope … I’m yours,” I said in a shaky breath, rattled by what he was doing to me and how much it thrilled me.

He chuckled. “You’re mine alright.” I liked his fast hands. He was impatient boot-shopping Fisher with his cock out as he thrust into me in a matter of seconds.

“Fishe—” I wasn’t prepared for that quick of an invasion.

He silenced me with his hand over my mouth and a harsh “shh” in my ear. Fisher moved with intention with one hand giving attention to my clit while his other hand snaked up my shirt and used my breast like a handle.

It was quick and dirty … and I liked it.

And we finished, just minutes later, he fetched a new roll of paper towels and handed me several squares.

My hero. I laughed at the thought.

My hero also leaned against the corner of a shelf and opened a bag of popcorn, eating it while watching me pull up my panties and sweats. Then he grinned while I looked around for a place to put the wad of paper towels that had his mess in it.

I slipped it into my pocket.

He smirked. “Don’t forget to take that out before you wash those. It’s like Kleenex. It’ll make a mess in the washer and dryer.”

“You look a little too pleased with yourself.” I snatched the bag from him and grabbed a handful with my non-cleaning hand.

“You started it.”

“You invite me over for bakery fun. I brought extra frosting! Then I get here only to discover it’s a sausage fest.”

“I want you to come to Christmas dinner with me. Rory and Rose too, of course.”