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And the way both my parents have welcomed her with open arms.
I’ve never gone looking for easy. I don’t trust it. Good things come hard and cost something. That’s what I’ve always believed.
But being with Amelia?
Hell if she doesn’t make everything feel easy. Not simple. Not shallow. But like maybe this is what it feels like when something fits without needing to be forced.
“That’s a sexy-as-hell dress for lunch with the girls,” I say.
She catches the heat in my eyes and her hands immediately find my shirt, grasping it. A signature Amelia move; one I’m not sure she even knows she does. But I know. I feel it every damn time. It’s the kind of instinct that wrecks me, because it’s not calculated or conscious. It’s need. Quiet, everyday need. And every time, it reminds me that she’s here. In my space. Grabbing my shirt because I’m hers.
“It’s really not,” she says.
“It really fucking is.”
“You think every dress is sexy.”
Both our phones light up with a text that’s just hit the family group chat. Amelia checks the message while I try like fuck to remove my eyes from her tits.
She groans. “Kristen is still hounding me about that gala.”
It’s a gala Kristen’s hosting to raise money for arts for children. She wants Amelia to perform before giving a speech. The very thing that would make my woman’s soul exit the building.
She looks at me like she just had a genius idea. “We need to strategize over this.”
“Over what?”
“You, me, dinner, and a strategy session. Teach me your ways of getting out of things.”
“I don’t need a strategy for that, Amelia. I’d just fucking say no.”
She pulls a face. “Ugh. We can’t all be like you.”
Then, her expression changes, and I just know she’s about to hit me with something that’ll shoot my focus to shit.
“That’s okay,” she says sweetly, lips curving into trouble. “If I can’t practicewithyou, I’ll practiceonyou.” Her eyes run down my body, voice turning low and lethal. “I’ll sit on your throne. Naked. Just my collar. And I’ll touch myself. Edge myself for hours while you watch. And every time you try to touch me, I’ll say no.” She pauses, let’s that hang. “I’d probably need a lot of practice.” Her smile is fucking wicked. “Days. Weeks. Maybe months.”
Christ.
My palm is straight to her hip, rough and greedy, and I’m yanking her closer until there’s no air between us. “You say that shit to me when our daughters are here, and I can’t fucking do anything about it?”
She bites her lip. Doesn’t say a word.
Fuck.
“Princess, you keep running your mouth like that, I’m going to spend the entire day hard and homicidal.”
Still not a word, just that sweet and innocent act that sheknowsfucks with my control.
I kick the bathroom door shut and reach out to lock it, not giving Amelia even an inch.
Then, I lean in close. “Say one more thing like that, and you’ll sit on that fucking throne, tied and dripping, and I’ll use your body to remind you exactly who you belong to.” My hand grips her ass. “You wanna edge me with words? Turn me into something I can’t cage?” My fingers dig the hell in. “Then you better be ready for what that gets you.”
She’s hot and needy from my words alone, and it takes every-fucking-thing in me not to bend her over the vanity and fuck her so deep she won’t speak in complete sentences for days.
“I’ll kneel between your legs, tongue on your pussy, fingers in it, until you’re shaking and begging and soaking wet down your thighs.”
She’s fucking panting.