“I gave up wishing for shit a long time ago. You want something, you fight for it.” In one swift move he seals his lips on mine, our tongues dipping and swirling. He cups my face in a firm but comforting hold. Devin’s kiss is everything.

A confession. A claim. A promise.

I drink it in, wishing desperately to make this moment last forever.

He rolls us over, hugging me to his chest. “Go to sleep,” he commands. And within minutes I do. Trapped in Devin’s arms, I never want to escape.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Devin

My alarm goes off at six, as usual. This time, I hit Snooze and pull Jessie in against me. She’s a million degrees, her hot naked body burning into mine. She wiggles her ass against my morning wood and I growl into her sunshine hair.

“Morning, Big Man.” Her sleepy voice is sexy as hell.

I cop a feel when Jessie stretches her long, curvy body. She giggles and slaps my hand away. “No time. I’m gonna grab a quick shower. I reek of sex.”

I nod. She grabs a pillow and smacks me on the hip. “Go make coffee.”

She’s in the bathroom with the door closed before I can object. We fucked three times yesterday and I’m ready for round four. I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to her loud, off-key singing. I chuckle, picturing her using a shampoo bottle as a microphone. I’m eager to jump into that shower with her, but the doorknob won’t budge.

“Naughty boy,” she chides behind the locked door. I pound on it with a groan. “Coooooffeeeee!” Giving up, I get dressed and stomp to the kitchen as instructed.

I’m on my second cup of coffee, sitting at my two-person dining room table, when the unmistakable sound of a Jessie tornado echoes from the bedroom. She’s talking to herself now, rambling off a long list of things that she’s supposed to do today like she’ll forget if she doesn’t repeat her schedule out loud.

She struts into the living room in her jeans from last night and one of my shop T-shirts tied in a knot at her side. It’s cute as fuck. I watch her storm into the kitchen, opening and closing every cabinet until she finds a mug instead of asking me where they are.

“Coffee cup,” she mumbles to herself. “Spoon. Sugar. Milk.” She names each item she’s looking for, buzzing around my kitchen in a blur of unbridled energy. Finally satisfied, she slips around the counter and heads to the table.