Written with You (The Regret Duet #2)(57)

“Fuck, you are incredible,” he murmured when he momentarily stilled and I rode him from the bottom. His hand went to my scar, not covering it because it was an ugly reminder, but holding it as though he could absorb it as his own.

It wasn’t long before I was crumbling into the ocean of climax, writhing beneath him.

And he wasn’t far behind me, his strokes becoming unpredictable and intoxicating as he hunted for his own release.

It became a frenzied race to who could fall off the edge of oblivion first.

I won.

Though I had a sneaking suspicion that he’d let me.

Only seconds later, he cursed and buried his face in my neck. I could feel the syllables of my name against my neck. I didn’t hear my name, but the breath of the W breezing over my skin was followed by the touch of his tongue at the double L.

Panting and thoroughly wrung out, he collapsed on top of me, shifting his upper body a fraction to the side so we could both breathe without him breaking our connection.

Sated and with a smile, I closed my eyes and burned that second into my memory. I had no idea where life was going to lead us. In some ways, this felt like the beginning of a new day. In other ways, that beginning had happened eighteen years earlier when I had been a child and he had been a broken boy and this was the culmination.

But as he lay on top of me, his body joined with mine, it felt like an end.

An end to the struggle.

An end to the uncertainty.

And, hopefully, if wishes and prayers actually worked, it would be an end to a lifetime of pain that had been cursing us both.

“I forgive you,” I whispered.

His head came up so fast that I was worried for his neck. “For what?”

“For being mean and making me wait.”

His lips tipped up into a smile, and he was still wearing it as he brought his mouth down for an all-too-brief kiss. “I wasn’t making you wait. I was making you go to sleep. I wanted separation.”

I brushed his hair off his forehead. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. Sleep is a clear split. You fall asleep, you wake up, it’s a different day.”

“What about naps? That’s not a different day.”

“Yeah, it is. Maybe not on the calendar. But if you lie down after being pissed or upset, you sleep a few hours, you wake up confused as shit but probably not pissed anymore. There is a clear splice in your emotions when you fall asleep and wake up. I wanted to fuck you. I also wanted separation from all that other stuff. So I waited for the splice.”

I barked a laugh. “I didn’t even fall asleep.”

His lips tipped into a crooked smile. “Yeah, you did. Snoring and drooling and everything.”

“I did not. I was barely twilighted. I heard you counting to ten.”

“But did you hear me count to a thousand first?” His smile grew wide and toothy. Probably not the most attractive grin in his repertoire, but it was playful and he was still inside me, his heavy weight on top of me. And his eyes were locked on mine as if he never wanted to look away.

Therefore, it was officially my favorite smile of all.

I traced my finger over his bottom lip and then sat up a fraction to kiss him. “I love you.”

His face was warm, not a hint of guilt showing in his handsome features. “I love you too.”

“We’re going to make this work, right? We’re going to do this together.”

“Yeah, Willow. From here on out, whatever comes our way, whatever happens. We’re going to do this.”

I needed to go to the bathroom and clean up, but I was in no rush. So, when he dipped to kiss me again, his mouth opening as his tongue rolled with mine, I lived in those seconds for everything they were worth.





CAVEN


My steps were light as I made my way down the stairs. My bed had been empty when I’d woken up, and a cursory stop at Rosalee’s room showed that it was empty as well, but the scent of pancakes infused my nose.

I stopped at the bottom step and quietly sat down, enjoying the show that was my girls.

“Four plus one,” Rosalee quizzed.

“Five.”

“Six plus one.”

“Seven.”

“Twenty-nine plus seventy-three.”

Willow swayed her from side to side. “Umm…”

Rosalee’s legs dangled, kicking back and forth as she sat on a barstool at the counter, still wearing her favorite Minnie Mouse nightgown. Willow was at the stove with her back to the stairs and wearing the same sleep shorts I’d all but torn off her the night before. It was a different tank top, but I could see the outline of her bra. Considering I hadn’t seen it on the floor in my bedroom, I assumed it was the same one I’d removed a few hours later—after the second time I’d taken her body but before the shower just as the sun had peaked over the horizon when she’d come on my fingers.

As I stared at her ass as she flipped pancakes, I decided that had it not been for my daughter, we’d have started that morning with coffee, pancakes, and her bent her over the counter as I took her from behind.

But we always had later that night.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

And the night after…

“One hundred and two,” Willow answered.