Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
She gasps, part outrage, part ecstasy.
The threat does the trick, though.
As soon as I slide her down again, she unravels for me, moaning my name into the steam of the shower.
"Good girl," I breathe against her skin, my hands digging into her hips before I haul her a little higher up the wall to give her what she really wants.
She shouts my name, her nails scrabbling down my back as I fuck her like a madman, my pace brutal. Her voice echoes around the bathroom, bouncing off the walls as she rocks against me, taking everything I give her and then begging for more.
She always begs for more. No matter how hard I fuck her or how many times I make her come, my greedy little wife always wants more. I fucking love it. It's precisely why she's pregnant again.
"Mason!" she sobs, coming so hard her head thunks against the wall.
I mutter a curse, shifting her enough to free one hand to cradle it as I plant myself deep, her orgasm milking my own from my cock. I bury my face in her throat, chanting her name as her hot little body pulls me right over the edge into oblivion.
Christ, I can't get enough of her, especially when she's pregnant. I'm a greedy bastard every day of the week, but it's a whole different level when she's carrying my kid.
"Mason," she sighs, melting against the wall.
"I love you," I murmur.
"Love you."
I hold her for a long moment before I groan and then reluctantly pull out to get her cleaned up before she's late to work again. She's pliant in my arms, her eyes closed as I wash her up.
"You know what today is?" I ask.
"Tuesday. Three more sleeps until the weekend."
"Yeah, it's Tuesday," I chuckle. "But it's also three years since you called the police on Paulina."
She cracks her eyes open, meeting my gaze. "Seriously?"
"Yep."
"You remember the date?"
"You think I'd ever forget the day I decided I was marrying you, no matter what it took?" I cock a brow at her. "Hell no, I didn't forget."
She blinks wide, startled eyes at me. "What? That's when you decided you were going to marry me?"
"Yep. I mean, I was already falling for you, but when the cops knocked on my door, I knew I wouldn't rest until you were mine." I tip her head back. "It's not every day your hot-as-fuck neighbor decides you're a serial killer and still looks at you like she desperately wants you to kiss her, you know."
"I did not have my priorities right," she mumbles.
"Oh, yeah? What would you do differently now?"
"I'd agree to the date, kiss you, then call the police."
I throw my head back, laughing loudly.
"Sorry, but the police are still coming." She grins at me. "I was trying to be a hero."
"You are a hero, Olive." I brush my lips against hers in a sweet kiss. "You're a hero to me, to our little girl, to my unhinged bird, and to the savage little dog you rescued from a dumpster. You're also going to be a hero to the little girl in your belly."
"That's a boy, Mason."
"She's a girl."
"God, I hope you're wrong. One daughter is more than enough for you," she mutters.
"I'm an excellent girl dad."
"You threatened to homeschool her forever because she smiled at a little boy, Mason!"
"It was a valid complaint," I protest.
"She's in day care!" Olive cries through laughter.
"Still a valid complaint."
She just shakes her head at me, looping her arms around my neck. "Don't ever change, Mason Hudson."
"Don't plan on it, Rebel." I palm her ass, squeezing. "I fully intend to be this obsessed about you, and this overprotective of our daughters for the rest of my goddamn life."
Her lips curve into my favorite smile—the one that lets me know I'm doing my job right because she's happier than ever. The one that says I'm giving her the world, just like I planned. "I like this plan."
"Thought you might." I kiss her softly, gently pushing her up against the wall again.
"Mason," she moans. "I'm going to be late."
"Blame traffic," I growl, my hand slipping between her legs.
"What traffic?"
"Fine, blame the husband who can't keep his hands off you."
"Deal," she moans.