Joel
Christ.
She was killing me.
Absolutely fucking killing me.
“You’re not your parents, Rosie baby,” I said softly, drawing one hand to my chest, pressing her palm to the spot above my heart.
“I know,” she murmured. “It just…took me a while to tease out that fear was making me react that way. Bailey helped. Dessie got me through the rest of it. But ultimately, honey, I know what I’ve always wanted, and I know what I want now.” She exhaled, stared deeply into my eyes. “And that’s to make babies with you.”
My heart was pounding.
But I didn’t want this.
Not if—
“Sweetheart,” I rasped. “I just need to make one thing absolutely clear. I love you. I don’t need kids to complete our life. I don’t need anything but you.”
Her eyes glimmered with tears. “I want kids, honey.”
My fingers brushing along her cheek, touching that silken skin. “I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“I don’t.” A breath. “I’ve always wanted them, and I can’t imagine anything more beautiful than making babies with you.” Her tone lightened. “I’d like to maybe get married first, would like to have some time without drama or criminal fathers or handcuffs.” A beat. “Outside the bedroom, anyway.”
Pulse settling, I tugged a curl.
“I want us,” she murmured. “And then I want babies. Lots and lots of babies—ours together, others who are hurting and alone and need us, some combination of both. I don’t care how it works out. I just want our family to be as beautiful and loving as you are. I’ve always wanted them, always dreamed of a future with them. I just couldn’t picture actually having that beautiful future until…you.”
Fuck, I was going to cry again.
Which my Rosie noticed—because she was my Rosie.
Her tone lightened, body shifting closer. “As long as you let me have naming rights because I made a rather long list of preferred names growing up.” She tapped a finger to her lips. “Josiah James. Angela Ambrose. Stephanie Sabrina. Calvin Charles.”
I shuddered. “That’s not going to happen, sweetheart.”
“You got a problem with my names?”
“Yeah,” I said baldly. “They’re terrible.”
“Rude.” But she was grinning.
And the huge feelings inside me settled as I drew her flush against me, smelling the soft scent of her shampoo, feeling those lush curves press against me.
Her grin transformed, holding a dash of wicked. “I could probably make it happen.”
Of that, I had no doubt.
I tugged another curl. “But you won’t.”
An affronted sigh, and then her smile went gentle. “No, honey. I won’t.” Her palm came back to my chest, pressed softly above my heart. “You. Me. A big wedding. A fucking great honeymoon. And then babies.”
I covered her hand with my own. “Sounds like a deal, sweetheart.”
“Good.” All business now, and even more so when she leaned back enough for those bright blue eyes to pin me in place. “And now that’s settled, you need to dish, honey.”
I frowned.
Her hand pressed into my chest again, a little more firmly. “What the fuck is going on with you and hockey?”
My insides knotting.
But only for a second.
Because this was my Rosie, my woman.
If there was ever a person to help me solve the twisted shit that was ricocheting through my mind and heart of late, it was the woman I loved.
I opened my mouth.
And I told her everything.
“Come for me, Rosie baby,” I ordered hours later, night having closed in around us.
It was quiet and cool, the wet grass stinging my back.
But when my Rosie had taken my hand and led me into our back yard, sitting on the bottom step of the deck and looking out at the moonlit trees, I’d found quiet.
Peace.
With the woman who owned my heart.
Who would stay at my side. Through anything.
Even when I was a fucking idiot.
“Soon,” she whispered, rocking on my cock, knees the only part of her I was allowing to touch the cold blades.
She arched back, hands lifting from my chest, going to her hair, sinking into the silken curls.
Fucking beautiful.
But I had to admit that I wasn’t focused on her hair.
Her tits looked fucking amazing, bouncing as she fucked me, her skin turned silver beneath the stars and moon.
Taking her time.
Driving me slowly insane.
But…neither of us were in much hurry.
Or I hadn’t been—until that tight cunt of hers was clasping around my cock, squeezing me, sending me way too close to the fucking edge.
Without her.
Because she was content to just rock on top of me, to tease me, to take her time.
And…I was slowly going insane, unable to flip us, to press her into the cold grass and pound into her.
Something she knew.
Because I didn’t want her ass to be the cold one.
Because I didn’t want her scratched up or fucked into the hard dirt.
Which was why her smile was so devious.
She knew she was making me crazy, knew that I fucking liked it, loved it, loved her, and even though it was agony to be holding still while she had her way with me—and okay, I had to be real, holding still with the exception of occasionally thrusting up, while holding her hips and keeping her flush against my pelvis, knowing she needed the friction but also…
Needing to fuck that tight pussy.
But even though it was torture to not take over.
I stayed where I was.
Because she wanted it this way. Because of the grass.
Because it was a fucking beautiful view watching those tits bounce as she worked herself on my dick.
Slowly.
Killing me by inches.
And I was happy to hold still as she plunged the knife into my belly.
“Baby,” she murmured, hands dropping to mine where they were clutching at her hips.
“Yeah,” I rasped out, my vision starting to haze, all of my focus sailing south, straight toward where our bodies were connected.
“You know if you were to fuck me doggy style, you wouldn’t have to worry about my back getting co—ah!”
She squeaked as I moved, sitting up, losing her on my cock, but it was a small sacrifice because it only took a couple of seconds to flip her over, to press her forward so that her palms were on the grass, to use my knee to knock hers apart.
I paused.
Tried to breathe.
Tried to find control.
Not wanting to lose it and hurt her and—
Fingers on my cock, still wet from being inside her, gripping tightly, stroking me once, twice—
Pausing.
Waiting until I looked at her, until I lost myself in the depths of her eyes, turned navy blue beneath the dark sky overhead.
“Don’t hold anything back, honey,” she murmured.
Snap.
My control. My focus. Any hope of taking this slow.
I knocked her hand away, gripped her hips.
And then I was thrusting home.
Slick. Hot. Tight.
Mine.
“So. Fucking. Beautiful,” I grunted, stroking in and out of her. “Wet. Clenching. Mine.”
“Joel,” she moaned, head falling back, hips meeting mine, thrust for thrust. “Baby, harder.”
That wasn’t a problem.
I pulled out, almost to the tip, felt her rippling around me, heard the way her breath was catching, the sudden slickness surrounding my cock, and I knew she was close—
Thank fuck for that.
Because I was one, two—
“Oh God!”
She clamped around me.
Three thrusts away from exploding.
“Oh my fucking God,” she said, head falling forward, cunt convulsing as she came around me, as we came together.
As we collapsed and ended up in the wet grass anyway.
But I managed to roll us at the last minute, managed to keep her on top of me, my ass in the damp blades instead of hers.
Not perfect.
But good enough.
And that, in of itself, meant that it was fucking perfect for us.