Page 83 of Crow's Haven
She gives me another long, deep kiss. We stay like that, locked together, not even moving yet for a few minutes before I start moving in long, slow strokes. Grinding deep forces little happy sounds out of her mouth.
Her gasps in my ear, her nails dragging down my back. Her hips rise to meet my every thrust. We’re not just fucking, we’re forging into one, right here in this little boathouse on the riverbank.
I fuck her until she comes again, eyes fluttering, whimpering into my mouth. Her legs lock tighter around me, pulling me in like she never wants to let go.
And when I come, it’s hard and I’m buried deep, shaking against her, her name snarled into the hollow of her throat.
We rest for a few minutes. She curls up beside me, nuzzling her face into my chest, fingers drawing lazy circles over my tattoos in the dimly lit room.
“I could marry you right here,” she whispers.
“You already said yes,” I mutter, smiling against her hair. “I’m just keeping you busy ‘til I get the ring tattooed on my fucking chest.”
When she giggles, I grab her thigh, drag her on top of me again.
“You said you wanted to ride me,” I growl. “Now’s your chance.”
This time’s dirtier. She rides me hard, hair wild, sweat dripping down between her tits, nails raking my chest as she bounces on my cock. I hold her hips, watching her lose control, her mouth falling open, head thrown back.
“God, you look good like this,” I pant. “So fucking beautiful.”
She cries out as she comes again, collapsing against me. I wrap her up, thrust into her deep and fast until I explode inside her a second time, both of us a goddamn mess of sweat, sex, and spent emotions.
No words for a while. Just the sound of the river outside. The crickets. The soft flicker of candlelight dancing across the rafters.
Then she whispers, “You think the boys will ask if we had fun?”
I chuckle. “They ask, I’m telling ‘em we were fishin’.”
She snorts, then kisses me again, slow and sleepy. “Best night of my life.”
“Best of mine too,” I murmur. “But it ain’t the last. Not even close.”
Epilogue
Crow
The mirror’s fogged just enough from my breath that I can barely see straight, but I don’t move. Just stare. My suit jacket’s unbuttoned, and I’m wearing my cut underneath. I’m glad Sharon didn’t demand I wear a tux. She valued my comfort over appearances, and I love her all the more for that.
Tusk stands behind me, lips pursed, smoothing down the wrinkles in the back of my jacket.
“Jesus, Crow,” he mutters, “We should have thought to iron your suit.”
I grunt. “It’s fine. The wrinkles aren’t noticeable, and they’ll fall out.”
He tugs at the bottom of my hem. I let him. Can’t focus anyway. My pulse is hammering in my chest and my hands haven’t stopped twitching since I got up this morning.
Then I hear two pairs of boots running down the hall, light and eager, followed by giggles and shushing that does the opposite of quieting anything.
The door cracks open and my boys charge in, both of ‘em in pressed black pants and matching baby vests, only they’ve got tiny silver safety pins holding a handmade prospect patch to each of their chests.
“We brought the thing!” Chase shouts, holding something behind his back like it’s a surprise.
Scout elbows him hard, whisper-yelling, “Wait for it! You’re ruining it!”
They fumble around for a minute and finally reveal a lopsided boutonnière, with feathers sticking out wild in every direction.
“Made it ourselves,” Scout says proudly, “the feathers are ‘cause you’re strong like an eagle. That’s what Rigs said.”
