“Dane.” I gasp his name as he pushes the head of his cock inside of me.
“Tell me you’re okay.”
“I want more.” I lift my hips, making his cock slide in more. It rests against my innocence.
“You belong to me now.” He says. I nod in agreement. “Say it.”
“I belong to you.”
“Forever,” he adds.
“Yes, forever. I belong to you.” He thrusts all the way inside of me. His mouth takes mine. He kisses me, not moving. The sharp pain I felt moments before fades away at his sweet kisses. I cling to him, holding him tight against me. “Move,” I order him, taking my mouth from his.
He does as I command. Slow at first. I wrap my legs around him. His mouth goes to my neck, kissing and licking me all over.
“Khloe. You gotta come with me. I want to feel it on my cock.” He shifts, making me gasp when he hits a spot deep inside of me. I dig my fingers into his back, knowing this orgasm is going to be different.
It rocks my whole body as my sex clenches around him, milking his cock. He groans out my name as his warm release spills deep inside of me.
He took me bare. It feels like he’s marking me. A thrill runs up my spine before I let my legs drop from around him. He peppers kisses all over me. It’s freaking sweet. I open my eyes to stare up at him.
“I’m never going to move again.”
“Fine by me. You’re in my bed.” His cock slips out of me. He grabs me, moving me to the center of the bed and wrapping his arms around me, holding me close.
My eyes sting with tears. I’ve never in my whole life felt this close to someone. My body grows heavy as sleep tries to take me.
I swear I heard him say I love you, but maybe I dreamed it. No one has ever said those words to me before.
“Love you,” I murmur before sleep finally takes me.
“Mmm. Is that bacon I smell?” I come up behind Khloe and nuzzle her neck.
“Yes. How many pancakes do you want?”
She whips around. “Are you joking?”
“No. Should I be?” Is ten a lot? “I worked out pretty heavily and need to replenish my energy.”
“When did you work out? You’ve been here the whole time-ohhh.” She blushes as understanding dawns as to exactly what workout I was referring to. I give her ass a squeeze before backing away. The bacon and pancakes look good.
“What do you want to drink? Water, milk, coffee?”
“Tea, actually. Do you have any tea and honey?”
“Honey, for sure.” I rummage around in the cupboard and pull out some tea my mom must have left. I hold up the box. “This okay?”
I put the kettle on high and go to set the table.
“I was going to do that,” Khloe says.
“It’s no problem.” I pull the kettle off and pour hot water into a mug. “You seem surprised though.”
“Well, some guys don’t believe in housework. They say that it’s not manly.”
“Sounds like a small dick problem to me.” I help carry everything over to the table. “By the way, how many guys have you encountered that don’t believe in helping out around the house?”
She grins a little cheekily. “Why do you ask? Jealous?”
“Damn straight.” I don’t like to think about another man sitting down at the same table as her, eating her food. Even though I was her first, another man knows what she looks like when she laughs and when she cries and when she eats her food. That fucking sucks.
“Well, you can stop squeezing that knife in your hand because it’s only been Derrick, and I never cooked any meal for him.”
I force my fingers to relax. “Yeah?” That’s reassuring.
“My mom did all the cooking whenever he came over and I was working a lot. I guess that’s why he strayed. I didn’t pay enough attention to him.”
“Doesn’t seem like he was worth your time.”
“No. He wasn’t,” she agrees.
I reach over and cup her face. “You still hurting over it?” I know she doesn’t want to get back with Derrick, but there’s some residual there—probably having to do with her mom. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be knifed in the back by someone I love. I’d probably want to commit murder.
Khloe’s long eyelashes flutter down. “No,” she lies.
“Ah, baby.” I shove away from the table and reach over to pull her onto my lap. “You don’t have to be strong for me.”
She sniffles and then tucks her head against my chest. “I just don’t know what I did to make my mom hate me so,” she says. Her tone is so abject and sorrowful that my heart squeezes in pain.
“It’s just jealousy. She’s getting old and saw a way to hold on to her youth through the asshole. I think it has way less to do with you and more to do with her own lack.” I rub a hand over my girl’s back, wishing I could ease some of that hurt. “Why don’t you tell me about your work? You record audio books?”