The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(110)

Fucking hell.

My mouth crashes onto hers. Our tongues greedily tangle together. This is all I’m ever going to want. Her body beneath mine. Her taste on my lips. Her scent in my lungs.

She cries against my mouth as she comes. I swallow her cry of ecstasy and then allow my own orgasm to rip through me, slamming into her so hard that I’m probably going to leave bruises. After the pleasure finally subsides, I collapse next to her, barely managing to throw my body to the side so I don’t crush her.

“Give me about ten minutes and I’ll be good to go again,” I mumble into the mattress.

A soft hand strokes its way down my spine and cups my ass, sending shivers throughout my frame. My dick twitches with interest.

“Make that five.”

She laughs.

I flop onto my back and tuck an arm under her shoulders to pull her against me. “You’ve killed me, Sabrina. I’m dead.”

She runs a finger along my inner thigh. Predictably, my dick hardens. “If this is you dead, I’m a little afraid of how long our next round is going to last.”

“You might want to get a sandwich. I’m gonna keep you in bed for a long time.”

Her legs twine through mine as if she can’t handle even an inch of her being separated. Which is totally fine with me.

“Everything seems to be working,” she murmurs, her lips moving against the side of my chest. She sounds surprised again.

“Why wouldn’t it? We both want this to work, don’t we?”

I hold my breath as I wait for her answer. It’s as hard as I’ve pushed her lately and I half expect her to leap up and run for the door.

Instead, she inhales deeply. “Yeah, we do.”

“Does that mean I can stop looking for a different woman?”

“It means you have to stop,” she declares. Her delicate fingers dig possessively into my skin, and I grunt with pleasure.

“Good. I’ve already told a few women around here that I’m married.”

“Why?”

“Jamie’s a chick magnet. I’ve never had so many women hit on me.”

And then, as if I’d summoned her, my phone chirps to announce that Jamie’s crying in the other room.

“What’s that?” Sabrina sits up, wiping the hair out of her face.

“Fitzy set it up. There are monitors in the crib that send an alert to my phone to let us know if she stops moving or if she’s crying. I’ll install the app on your phone later.” I swing out of bed. “Stay here,” I tell her as she scrambles to her knees. “I’ll bring Jamie in.”

When I reach the door, I look back. Sabrina has positioned herself against the padded headboard, arranging the pillows around her sides as she gets ready to feed our baby. She lifts her head and smiles, looking like a fucking angel.

This isn’t how I planned my life to be, at least not this soon, but I wouldn’t give it up for all the gold in the world.

Heart in my throat, and feeling happier than any man has the right to feel, I go get our little girl.





38




Sabrina


December

I limp into the apartment after my study group, an hour late and feeling guilty about it. I call out an apology to Tucker as I swing inside, my arms full of books and a small bag of groceries, which contains only half the items I was supposed to bring home an hour ago. “I’m so so sorry. I had my phone turned off and—”

The rest of my excuse dies in my throat when I find Tucker’s mother in my kitchen.

She turns a death glare in my direction and speaks up from her spot behind the counter. “John went to pick up some things from the store. He tried to text you to see if you’d pick up the items on your way home, but you never answered.”

Her words are colder than the winter winds off the bay. I shiver under my down coat.

“I thought you weren’t getting in until Friday,” I stammer.

“The wedding I was supposed to style was postponed, so I decided to take advantage and come early. That way I get to spend extra time with my granddaughter.”

“Oh. Cool. That’s…cool.”

I’ve turned into an idiot. I can’t help it, though. Tucker’s mother is so damn intimidating. I haven’t seen her since that disastrous visit over the summer, and even though Tucker texts her daily and arranges for video chats between her and Jamie, she hasn’t once asked to speak to me.

“Why were you late?” It’s an accusation and we both know it.

I gulp. “I was in a study group. Finals are coming up.”

She nods toward the living room. “I suppose that’s why the place isn’t as clean as you’d like.”

I follow her gaze with deepening dismay. This week had gotten away from me, and the apartment shows every bit of my distraction. The kitchen cupboards are embarrassingly bare. Dishes—clean at least—are stacked on the counter. I was going to put them away tonight after Jamie was fed. In the living room, textbooks and outlines and supplemental study guides take up every available surface. Jamie’s bathroom—the one Mrs. Tucker will be using—looks like a hurricane. Everything is terrible because I thought I had two more days to fix it.

Which is what I say to her. “I planned on tidying up before you arrived.”