Page 113 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
Meanwhile, he keeps reaching up to tease my nipples, whispering filthy sweet things against my skin, ensuring that by the time he finally wraps my legs around his waist, I’m wild for him.
“Yes, God, yes,” I gasp as he fills me deep, stretching me in that delicious way only he ever has.
He takes me slowly, carefully, at first—then harder, faster—as I urge him on with my heels against his ass. There’s no discomfort this time, no reason to go slow, only the heat burning between us and the need to have him as close as humanly possible.
“Love you,” I gasp as I near the edge. “Love you so much.”
“Forever,” he swears, making my chest ache with happiness. With hope. “Love you so much, baby. Fuck, I’m going to come. Come with me, Mack, come with me.”
“Yes,” I promise, my inner walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure wash through me, bright and beautiful.
He groans my name, his cock jerking deep inside as he fills me.
Suddenly, I remember the other thing I wanted to talk to him about…
“What if I change my mind about kids?” I whisper after, as we’re both catching our breath against the now disordered shelves. The canned beans are all on their sides, and half the spices are on the ground, but it’s nothing we can’t clean up in a few minutes.
And this question feels more important than making sure the rice container doesn’t tip the rest of the way over and spill.
He pulls back, breath still coming faster as he searches my face. “You don’t have to change your mind. I told you, I?—”
“I know,” I cut in. “But I really love Chaz. And I love you. I started thinking, while we were at her place…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I obviously don’t want to rush into anything, but it made me think that maybe we could make a different kind of home. A different kind of family. One that’s a safe place.”
“The safest place,” he echoes.
“Yeah,” I say, so relieved that he gets it.
“You’re already my safe place.” His lips curve in a soft smile that makes my chest even tighter. “But yeah, I’d be open to adding a few rugrats to our safe place someday. If we both decide it feels right.” He hugs me closer. “I’m open to anything with you, Mack. I want to do all the things we dreamed about when we were kids and more.”
I nod, grinning as I whisper, “Me, too.”
He presses his forehead to mine, making my smile stretch even wider as he says, “And we should make cake every weekend. I really love making cake with you.”
I giggle. “I love making cake with you, too. But we should clean up and get dressed before the timer goes off. Then, while the cakes are cooling, I’ll show you how to make icing.”
He pulls back, mischief in his eyes. “Icing? Fuck. That sounds like even more fun than batter. Should I have waited for the icing for the licking in the pantry?”
I shake my head. “No, of course not. The icing is for the yoga mat, silly. And this time, I’m going to be the one doing the licking.”
His breath rushes out. “I really do love you. A lot.”
“Me, too,” I say.
Twenty minutes later, I show him just how much, with icing in all the right places and the certainty that is—us—is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.
Epilogue
NIX
Charlotte’s backyard looks like a classy wedding planner’s vision board mated with a honky-tonk, but somehow it works.
String lights zigzag between the oak trees, but instead of those dainty fairy things you see at fancy weddings, these are big Edison bulbs that actually put out light. Burlap table runners pair nicely with expensive-looking linen, mason jars in all the colors of the rainbow wait lined up beside the beer kegs, and the photo booth props are a fun mix of vintage costume pieces, cowboy hats, and fake moustaches.
A three-piece band is set up near the back fence—steel guitar, fiddle, and a drummer who’s definitely seen some shit—playing old country covers that have even Blue, the most stoic man I’ve ever met, tapping his feet. Makena’s new food truck is parked outside the gate like a beacon of grease and glory, her new employees dishing out plates that smell like heaven.
I’ve already demolished six brisket ball thingies and am about to dig into my seventh, when Parker sidles up next to me, his “stupid in love” grin plastered across his face.
“You’re going to eat yourself into a coma. Here, let me help you out,” he says, snagging my final ball and popping it into his mouth before I can protest.
