Page 66 of Amy's Santa

Immediately after the words are out of my mouth, he’s leaning to pick up the key, and two snicks tell me I’m free.

I pull his head down and he obliges me with his lips, our kiss deep, but gentle. And all the time his cock is moving slowly in and out of my body.

“Drew, oh God, Drew, I can’t…”

“Don’t hold back babe. Come for me.”

I do, bowing forward and clasping him tightly. I feel him stop breathing, then take in a deep breath of air, then he loses rhythm and lets go with a deep groan.

“I can’t describe how much I love you, Drew. I knew I was coming home, but home’s not the compound. Home is you.”

Another kiss, then he pulls out and rolls over. “Fuck, Amy. The feeling of coming inside you with nothing between us, I can’t describe how it felt. One thing’s for fuckin’ certain. I’m not sure six kids will be enough, because you’re either going to be pregnant or we’re going to be trying.”

“Drew!” I punch his arm lightly, chuffed he’s remembered my childhood conversations about the number of children I once wanted.

“Come here.” He pulls me into his arms and wraps them around me.

I relax against him, feeling completely safe and secure. Feeling, as I told him, that at last I’m home.

I allow him a moment before I say, “Drew, I’m hungry.”

“Best get my woman fed then.”

Night has fallen, stars pepper the sky as we walk back down to the clubhouse. As I breathe in the fresh air, tinged with a hint of pine blown down from the tree-covered mountains, it hits me again.I’m home. At last, I’ve come home.

Chapter Nineteen

Amy

Flopping back on the chair I wipe my hand over my face. “I thought I was going to have some time to just chill and relax while I was taking a break between jobs. Didn’t expect to be caught up in a whirlwind of wedding arrangements.” I mock glare at Olivia.

I’ve been back three weeks. Three glorious weeks during which I’ve only confirmed what I thought all along, how wonderful it was going to be living with Drew and being his old lady. Of course it’s not all clear sailing. Learning to live with a man means putting up with his little quirks, or at least, trying to address them. While he treats his cut with the reverence it deserves, and that’s always placed carefully over the back of the chair, used towels are allowed to drop where they fall, and yesterday’s clothes don’t seem able to find their way to the hamper.

I, on the other hand, am a neat freak, and the sight of someone’s dirty socks littering the floor annoys me. The first few times it happened, I found myself cleaning up after my man, then I decided to stop tiptoeing around him, and had asked him whether he wanted a housekeeper or a wife? I may have threatened if it was a housekeeper he preferred, then keeping his dick satisfied wouldn’t be part of the job.

I grin as I remember the shocked look on his face, then the glance around as if he hadn’t noticed how slovenly he was.

“Babe,” he’d said. “Prospects come tidy that shit up.”

“Not anymore,” I’d reminded him. Nathan bursting in once at an inappropriate moment had been enough. “You’re not a single man any longer.”

Well, since our talk he has been trying. Luckily. It would be very hard to carry out my threat.

On his part, my tidiness means some of his shit goes missing as I put it away in places he doesn’t expect. He doesn’t get cross, just frustrated as he tries to work out the logic of how I like things stored.

So far, despite our differences, there hasn’t been one cross word between us. I’m falling deeper in love with him every day. And the sex? Not disappointing or boring in any way. Just last night…

A clearing of a throat makes me open my eyes to see Olivia grinning. “I don’t want to know what you’re thinking about, do I? I guess it’s got nothing to do with weddings. Or at least, not the ceremony itself.”

My cheeks burn as I give myself away. I sit forward. “So where are we up to?”

Ollie chuckles, but allows the diversion. “Had a response from San Diego. Lost, Dart, Alex and Tyler are definite yeses, along with Pennywise, Niran and Salem. Oh, and Scribe—remember he replaced Grumbler as the sergeant-at-arms last year?”

My brow creases. I hadn’t known, can’t even remember meeting the man, but then, I’ve been away for many years. “He retire?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Ill-health.”

“It will be good to see Tyler.” I smile. I have a vague memory of him having seizures in the clubhouse as he had a serious condition as a child. It wasn’t until I was older and I was studying nursing I’d understood that he’d suffered from sickle cell disease. Alex and he had moved to San Diego where Tyler was able to have a successful bone marrow transplant. He’s a patched member in the California club now.

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