Page 64 of Avery's Hero

I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do about that.

And Lincoln… What the hell is he going to say?

But damned if I can make myself care right now. Right now, I’m happier than I’ve been in years. My heart finally feels something besides pain and dark desolation.

As I stroke into her, over and over, her head falls back, a low moan grows in her throat.

“Look at me, Avery.”

“I… I can’t. It’s too much.”

I growl, “Look at me.”

This time, when she does, her eyes are shining with tears. My heart is in a vice that makes the decrepit metal creak and groan.

“I know. I know,” I growl. “I fucking know.”

Her orgasm comes in a hard, long wave. Her eyes shine brighter, but never leave mine. I come deep inside of her, filling her with hot jets of my seed, letting go, resigning myself to whatever madness this is.

Because there’s no going back now.

I’m not letting her go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When I climb out of Brock’s bed the next morning, I’m wobbly, yummy-sore, and alone. From the kitchen, cooking sounds drift down the hallway.

Something smells amazing. Coffee and cinnamon and something else float like tasty clouds in the air.

Enjoying the gigantic master bath, I make myself at home, and even use his toothpaste on my finger. When I emerge, I scan the bedroom until I find a small clock on the dresser. It’s one of those old-fashioned travel clocks. It’s tiny, made from gold metal with a built-in leather case that turns into a stand. It’s not something I would imagine Brock owning. Which means it must be sentimental.

The time reads six-forty. A flare of nerves kick off in my gut. I should be getting to work soon.

On the chair by the bedroom door, I find a stack of clean T-shirts. The T-shirt fairy has been busy again. When I lift the cloth to my nose, there’s just a hint of fragrance. Nothing overwhelming. Just a hint of fresh air and sunshine, which makes me wonder if they’ve been line-dried. Brock’s T-shirt fairy must be really domestic.

When I tug a white shirt on, it falls mid-thigh and swallows my arms. Grinning, I tie it in a knot at the side of my hip. I might not be a very experienced sex kitten, but I’m not clueless. I think he’ll like the view.

Following the sounds and mouthwatering scents, I pad, barefoot down the hallway. “Good morning.”

Screw whatever’s cooking. Brock looks good enough to eat. He glances up. A slow, deep smile creeps onto his handsome face. I’ve never seen him wear that exact expression, but I like it. More than a lot.

The morning light is loving him too. He’s got a dark beard shadow on his jaw, his hair is damp but a little tousled. It’s my new favorite sight.

Walking slowly forward, I ask, “What time do we have to be at work?” I’m secretly hoping he says, ‘never.’

“Eight-thirty, I’m thinking, nothing’s in stone.”

“Good. I’m gonna need a few minutes here to get myself together.”

He opens the oven and takes a quick look before rounding the island toward me. My eyes pop a little when I see the boxer briefs he’s got on. They’re black and skin tight. Okay, maybe it’s not the briefs that have my eyes popping, but it sure as heck is the wayhelooks in the tight black fabric. His bulge is song-worthy.

Reaching for me, he says, “You’re looking a little dreamy-eyed there.”

I laugh against his chest as he hugs me. His embrace is so warm, I can’t help but melt into it. “Who knew having sex with a Louisville Slugger would give a girl such a nice, rosy disposition?”

He holds me tight, rests his head on top of mine. I inhale him like it’s my dying breath. My heart swells so much it makes my insides hurt. It would be far too easy to get used to waking up to this man.

Don’t lose your head here, Avery.