I moan as my body stretches to take him. Exquisite pleasure mixed with the slightest burn of pain. It feels so perfect, and reminds me of the most important things . . .

I’m alive, and this man is mine.

Twenty-Seven

Lincoln

Over and over, I plunge into Whitney’s slick, tight pussy, and I know I’m home. I stretch, reaching down to tap her clit with my thumb, and her muscles tense before they ripple with an orgasm, clenching around my cock until I almost succumb.

But I’m not ready yet. With this woman, I’m never ready. I never want to pull away and leave her. I want to spend the rest of my life and beyond wrapped in her arms, because that’s where I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

Whitney Gable is the only woman I’ll ever love. I’ve known that for a decade, even if I couldn’t admit it to myself.

“I love you so much, Blue. Always.”

Her blue eyes are hazy when she replies. “Always.”

I thrust harder and deeper, waiting for her body to give me the signal again, and I don’t have to wait long. Her pussy clamps down on me like a vise, and I’m lost.

My roar is loud enough to bring down the house, and I don’t care at all who hears me.

This woman is mine.

I lose track of how long we’ve been in the room, until I hear Whitney’s stomach grumble.

“You need food.”

She rolls over in bed beside me, her hair mussed and cheeks pink. “I don’t want to go back to reality yet.”

I know what she’s thinking. If we can just stay in this room, maybe we can avoid the shitstorm raging outside these walls. As much as I wish that were the case, we can’t hide for long.

“Your cousin would be sad if you missed her wedding.”

Whitney gives me a lopsided smile. “I guess that means we go foraging for food, and then what?”

“Figure out what’s next.”

I don’t have to say it, but the list of what’s next is long—find out if my mother took the fentanyl herself or whether someone else gave it to her, figure out where the hell my brother went, sort out the details of my mother’s funeral, and make sure the media stays far away from Cricket and Hunter’s wedding so that Whitney smiles on her cousin’s wedding day.

And it will all be done.

I hold out a hand to Whitney and help her out of the bed. As soon as the sheet drops away from her body, my dick perks up, telling me he can find a second wind.

Whitney’s gaze drops to my cock. “Are you sure you want to leave just yet? Because I can wait to eat . . .”

Twenty-Eight

Whitney

An hour later, my grumbling belly forces us to go in search of food. I would have thought that the kitchen of the Riscoff estate was the last place I might witness a potential murder, but Lincoln and Commodore’s raised voices fill the massive space until I’m afraid my eardrums may burst.