“Jason,” I gasp, my heart threatening to splinter inside my chest. The declaration drives me higher, bringing my peak into imminence and I know that’s dangerous. I know it, but I can’t stop pushing back into his pumping hips with my own, meeting him in the middle. It’s coming for both of us…that final death…

Our fingers lace together on either side of my head, holding tight. So tight. “Whose pussy is this, woman?” Jason grinds out into my ear, his bulk ramming me from behind, clacking my teeth together. “Who do you get on your hands and knees for?”

“You,” I scream into the pillow.

“Who would get on his hands and knees for you?”

“Jason,” I sob, much quieter. But it’s loud. So loud.

Finally, he lets out a tortured rendition of my name and several heated drives later, he draws me back tight with a forearm, his big body shuddering through such an intense physical release, I can’t believe I caused it. He struggles to breathe, his mouth open on my back and I do the same into the pillow until the strain eases in my muscles. His, too. I feel the tension lessen in us both, little by little, leaving nothing but blissful satiation.

Arms closed around me, strong and reassuring. I’m on my side, absorbing Jason’s heat where it’s offered from behind. Demanding to be used. My heart orders me to trust the safe feeling. I’m safe right now. Right now is the only time where I want to exist. So I bury the possibilities held by the future and let Jason’s kisses in my hair lull me to sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

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Username: TheRappingTheorist

I don’t dance now…

I literally just sit in this chair and try to find one other person interested in spontaneous combustion.

Jason

I’m sitting on a folding metal chair in the church basement and there’s nowhere else in the world I want to be. My sister is about to begin her tenth attempt of the day to get the waltz right, but she still can’t get that final turn down. Since I’ve been knocking off work early for over a week to attend pageant practices, I have the damn waltz memorized, even finding myself humming the notes while cleaning the boat or showering.

Naomi turns and sends me a secret smile from her position at the stereo. It’s like someone turns the volume up on my heart, the jagged pounding reaching my ears. And when she twists her hips in that way—that I’m-thinking-of-how-you-banged-me-in-the-shower-this-morning-big-daddy way—my dick thickens in my briefs. Christ, I’m addicted to this woman. Full-on addicted, no way out, no cure.

In other words, I am royally fucked. But I’m not thinking about that yet. Not until tomorrow.

Pageant day.

I swallow the panic that rises in my throat. I’ve never been one to live with blinders on, but the reward of doing so has been keeping me distracted. I’ve been one half of a couple since the day I took Naomi diving. The three of us eat breakfast in the kitchen before Birdie goes to school, I fuck the bejeezus out of Naomi as soon as the door closes behind my sister. Then I race through work to get back to her. Sometimes we lie on the couch, her head on my chest, and talk about our favorite things. Memories. Other times we watch movies. Naomi cries at the end of every single one, whether they’re action or comedy. At least she cries the rare time we make it to the end of a movie without me trying to get her panties off.

We walk along the water holding hands. She opens her arms to me in the middle of the night when I wake up in a panic, flashbacks ripping through the seams of reality around me. I can’t imagine sleeping alone anymore. Or not having her in the kitchen laughing along with Birdie and me at the end of every day.

It’s an unconventional family we’ve formed, but in a short space of time, it’s become home. I’m at home here in this place for the first time.

But Naomi is days from ending her time here. And I’m a little over a month from returning to active duty. No more stalling. It’s time to admit to myself that hope has been building inside of me. Growing and solidifying by the day. Simply put, I’ve stopped believing I have no choice but to give up Naomi. My entire being is repelled by the very thought. Send her back to another man? I’ll end up in a straightjacket in a padded room. I’ll go legally insane, no exaggeration. The thought of another man’s fingertips on her skin makes me shake with powerlessness and fear and rage. She’s mine.

She’s mine. And I’m hers, mind, body and soul.

Across the room, Naomi’s smile has disappeared, probably because my expression is feral. Possessive. If we didn’t have an audience, I would pin her to the closest wall and fill her up with my hard cock. No. No, I’d get on my knees and pleasure her until she came with her thighs wrapped around my head, just to remind her who handles her needs.

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