“Okay.” I lift my legs higher around his waist and wrap my hands around his biceps, feeling his muscles bunch under my palms as he starts to fuck me slowly. It’s not wild or messy like the first time we were together; it’s slow and gentle, his mouth taking mine before peppering kisses down my throat to my breast.

The buildup to my orgasm—and his—is gradual as he makes love to me, and when we both finish, we are nothing but two bodies that have become one. Sated and completely exhausted, I curl against his side with my head on his chest and know I was right earlier: this is home.

He is my home.

CHAPTER 17

Francisca

“I need you to bring me a cheeseburger and fries next time you come,” Dad says quietly, and I take my eyes off the TV, which was just playing an ad for a fast-food chain and look over at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“It can be a kids’ meal. I’m honestly not going to be picky at this point.”

My eyes narrow. “You’re recovering from open-heart surgery after almost dying, and you want me to sneak you in fast food, which is part of the reason you had a heart attack and almost died?”

“One cheeseburger isn’t going to be my downfall.” He glances toward the door. He’s probably afraid Mom heard him say the word “cheeseburger” from wherever she is in the house and is going to come rushing in at any moment.

She might.

Ever since Dad got home a week and a half ago, she’s been hovering like a helicopter mom with a wild toddler. He doesn’t make a move without her knowing. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t attempted to break out of here. Then again, it takes all of his strength just to get up and use the bathroom.

“Find someone else to be your cholesterol dealer,” I grumble.

“I can’t ask anyone else; your mother has brainwashed all of you. You were my last hope.”

“You’re very dramatic, Dad.” I roll my eyes.

“Dramatic? Your mom has me on a vegan diet! Have you ever eaten vegan cheese?” His face is masked with disgust. “I can tell you right now it tastes nothing like cheese. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s plastic. Plastic cheese to eat with plastic tofurky—whatever the hell that is—and pretend-mayo to top it off. The only food I recognize lately is the vegetables she forces me to eat every day.”

“Vegetables are good for you,” I mutter, then look to the bedroom door when a shadow fills it.

Even though I just saw Dayton hours ago when he dropped me off at my parents’ to spend some time with my dad, my body still buzzes at the sight of him.