Page 144 of Mended Hearts

Those filthy words ignited me from within. Before it should’ve been humanly possible, my knees buckled. Ollie wrapped his free hand around my waist to keep me from crumpling as tremors of pleasure ripped through me, my legs shaking with each wave he coaxed from me. But he didn’t stop. He fucked me with his fingers through each wave, dragging it out until all I could do was lean against his chest. Instead of easing, he fucked me harder. His free hand slid down my stomach until he reached my clit, circling it in rapid motions. My eyes rolled back in my head as my mouth dropped open.

“Quiet, Leighton,” he rasped, and I swallowed the scream building in my throat. “Good girl.”

By the time I could breathe again, I shoved at his hand. Every inch of me was vibrating like one exposed nerve ending.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured, kissing down my neck, easing his fingers out. He brought them to my mouth. I opened, no hesitation, and the look on his face when I sucked my release from his skin nearly undid me again.

“I need to see you,” he said, turning me in his arms. When my back hit the glass, I hissed at the chill, but he was already moving—reaching for his pants, then turning to the luggage.

“Where are you going?”

“Condom.”

I grabbed his wrist. “You can’t get me more pregnant, Oliver.”

His eyes flared. “Are you serious?”

“I trust you.”

“I’m clean. I always play it safe, but?—”

“I believe you. Now come fuck me.”

He showered me in a smile that took my breath away, then closed the distance. Without another word, he hooked one of my legs over his hip. The fat, dark head of his cock sent my body shaking as he rolled it over my clit—once, twice—then pushed inside with one deep, steady thrust that had me slamming back into the window.

He clamped a hand over my mouth. His other cupped my ass as he pressed kisses down my jaw and throat, his cock twitching inside me. For all his filthy words, when Ollie looked into my eyes, his rhythm turned reverent. Every stroke was a reluctant turn of a page in a book he didn’t want to finish.

Ollie slowed his motions to press a kiss to my mouth, each movement delicate, a forbidden prayer whispered against my skin. Steady, intentional, methodical strokes pulled against my innermost walls as he searched my eyes. For what, I wasn’t sure, but his intensity had the bridge of my nose burning. My nails scored over his shoulders as I wrapped my leg around his hips, pulling him closer.

He growled as he pumped into me. Literallygrowled—the sound deep and carnal—his fingers tightening where he gripped my waist and threaded into my hair. Then he fucked me harder. Rougher. His mouth found mine as he pulsed inside me, holding me tight, like the release ripped something from his chest.

When Ollie opened his eyes, they seemed to search me for an answer to a question I didn’t hear. My mother’s advice played in my mind—if you’re in, make sure he knows it.

Holding his intense gaze, both of our chests heaving, I nodded. The man smiled, softly, tentatively, like I’d given him what he needed even though he didn’t know how to ask for it.

“I love you too, Oliver Hart.”

Oliver

January

Leightonand I spent New Year’s Eve locked in a towering Orlando hotelHart Investmentsheld shares in, watching fireworks explode over the city.

By nine a.m. on the first, we were wheels up and headed back to Emerald Bay on our jet, with Matilda running up and down the aisle snapping photos of us with the Polaroid camera Leigh gave her for Christmas. Apparently, they were taking up scrapbooking together—and the absurd array of glitter, specialty paper, something called washi tape, and ribbons in every color known to man currently charged to my card was all in preparation for “proper scrapbooking adventures.”

Based on the gleam in Leighton’s eye, I had a feeling that was just the beginning.

On Monday, we met with the new cardiologist who’d be monitoring her for the foreseeable future. Thankfully, the doctor was fully confident that Leighton could carry the baby to term safely. She recommended an induction to avoid the unpredictability of spontaneous labor, but aside from that—and a few follow-ups—there was no need for daily medication or constant visits unless symptoms appeared. Leighton was elated.

Week two of the new year brought a note taped to my front door. A QR code and a scribbled message in Mattie’s handwriting:Scan me.

I sighed, humoring her, and scanned it.

A video clip fromTakenplayed—Liam Neeson growlingGood luck—and nothing else.

“What the fuck?” I muttered.

Inside the door, I found a fully loaded Nerf gun and a pair of safety goggles waiting like an offering. Grinning, I grabbed both, kicked off my shoes, and shouted, “You’re all toast!”

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