Rooted (Pagano Family #3)(94)

“Go…f*ck, go…don’t…stop,” she grunted.

He sped up even more, giving her everything he had, and she let go of the headboard and dropped her face into the pillows, gathering them up in a heap around her head. He felt her body relax suddenly around him and then clamp down forcefully, almost painfully tight around his cock. Her muscles rolled and danced on him, and she screamed into the pillow.

His balls cramped at the spectacular perfection of her orgasm, but he didn’t come. He slowed, moving gently in her as she came down and caught her breath. When she finally rose back up onto her hands, moaning softly in time with his rocking hips, he slid an arm around her waist and rolled to his back, bringing her with him without breaking their connection. She gasped and arched when she landed on him, still with her back to him.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. So beautiful, all mussed and flushed and his. And then she rode him, folding forward and grabbing his legs. She writhed and rolled, driving him deep again, driving him crazy again. Her second orgasm came up quickly, and she sat up straight, her head tilted back, her long hair dancing over her back and his belly, and he curled his toes and made his muscles taut, holding off his own peak, loving the way she forgot about him when she topped over, focused completely on herself and the pleasure she felt.

He wanted to see her when he came. So, when she relaxed again, he sat up and set her aside, pulling out and making them both groan. And then he rolled on top of her and sank back in deep. This time, he focused on his need. With his eyes open and locked with hers, he slammed into her again and again until the intensity of his pleasure dimmed his sight. He dropped his head to her shoulder and grunted into her hair as his body finally satisfied its need.

When he could relax, he slid out of her and settled at her side. “I stand corrected,” he panted. “You are not prim.”

She chuckled and snuggled against him, one hand wrapping around the jasper pendant he still wore. She wore similar stones now, too. “And don’t you forget it.”

“If I forget, will you remind me like that?”

“Trouble, Theodore. That’s what you are.”

He pulled her even closer and put his mouth to her ear. “I take that as a yes.”





Epilogue


Carmen sat in a willow chair on the deck at the lakeside, Teresa in her stroller beside her, wearing little red shades and a floppy yellow hat, banging away at the toy dangling over her, making it rattle and jingle. Though she had not caught up yet, developmentally, to most four-month-olds, she was making great strides. She was a happy baby, too—as long as nobody tried to keep her from something she wanted.

She had a sketchbook out and had been sketching out landscaping plans in halfhearted way. She had wanted to add some blooming color to the clearing around the house, but now that she was trying to plan it, she wondered whether she was fiddling with perfection just to fiddle with it. Sure, the color palette of the Wilde Wood was subdued, all greens, blues, and browns, but it was lovely as it was. And the canopy was so dense that there was nowhere but the very lakeside that ever got more than dappled sun.

Maybe the scent and sight of wood and earth and water was all they needed. Sitting here now, while the June sun warmed her, and her daughter played happily, Carmen thought she had everything she needed. More than that, she had everything she wanted.

Her business was going well with Maxine at the helm. Carmen was spending about four, maybe six, days a month in Quiet Cove, managing the business that required the owner’s physical presence—mostly client contact. For those brief trips, she brought Teresa with her, and sometimes Theo, too, and they stayed in the house on Caravel Road. Theo had been right. Her father had been right. Everybody had been right but her. Moving to Maine had made things better, and had not impaired her connection to her family. Teresa would know her grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. She would have that loving haven. And so would Carmen.

Theo didn’t love it when Carmen took Teresa to the Cove without him, but he didn’t get in her way, either. Still, he’d made sure to arrange the trip he was on now, to New York to meet with his agent and publisher, for a time when Carmen didn’t have business in Rhode Island and promised to stay put in Colson.

Everybody seemed to love Lavender in Summer, and he was in New York to finalize the publication deal. Hunter Anders was throwing him a party that night, too. Theo had asked if she wanted to join him and had laughed when she had conveyed without a word that she did not. Fifth Avenue cocktail parties were not her thing—not his, either, but that was his fault for being a brilliant writer.

She wondered how he would handle the drinking thing. He’d finally told her, while she and Teresa were in the hospital, that he had joined AA. She hadn’t been much surprised; she’d noticed him struggling when they were together those brief weeks after Thanksgiving, and she’d certainly noticed how much he’d been drinking in France—she’d been right there with him. They’d spent half the summer in a haze.

He seemed to be through the real, constant struggle now, and looked strong and healthy and gorgeous. But a cocktail party thrown by his patron in New York City might be a big test. She’d call him later to check in.

Teresa kicked her legs emphatically and complained in her stroller. She rarely really cried. What she preferred to do was grouse. She’d make a huffing kind of sound, not a whine, not a sigh, but something between, and then stop and look around, as if wondering if somebody was going to hop to it, or if she was actually going to have to yell to get any attention. Generally, Theo and Carmen hopped to it.