Page 73 of Broken Bonds

“Mmm-hmm!”

He cradles my head with both hands again and starts setting the tempo, slowly fucking my mouth, sensing how far he can go before I gag—nearly all the way to the root, thank you very fucking much—and settles into the seat with his feet propped on foot rests, allowing him to keep his legs spread and be freely serviced by me.

It’s only a few minutes before he fully takes over, long-stroking my mouth and flooding my taste buds with his pre-cum.

Goddamn he tastes amazing!

“Okay,” he gasps. “Get ready.” He picks up the pace, a few last, hard strokes, then he’s almost all the way into my throat with that gorgeous cock hard and hot as he pumps his load into me.

I’m moaning, he’s moaning, and frankly I’d fuck a rock at this point if it’d get me off.

He eases back enough I can breathe, and I keep sucking, licking, and he’s still not going fully soft.

I pivot my gaze up to find him staring down at me with a darkly hooded expression that drills straight into the center of my pleasure core.

“That was very good,” he rumbles. “And I reward good boys.” He pulls his cock from my mouth and kisses me, then stands and moves around the side of the frame.

When I go to sit up he plants a large, strong hand in the middle of my back. “Stay.”

Okay, yep. Staying sounds damn spiffy to me.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jax

Naming his fears

It’s nearly nine when I pull into our driveway and shut off the truck. My stomach’s growling like a motherfucker, but I didn’t want to delay my return home any longer than necessary.

I suspect this will already be bad enough.

When I walk in, I find Shawn curled up on the couch and watching TV. He doesn’t sit up or acknowledge my presence, and I shove down my goddamned Alpha wolf and smack him on the snout with a rolled-up newspaper because Father’s absolutely right.

I was an asshole.

Maybe not deliberately, but I hurt my mate and that’s not acceptable.

Rounding the end of the couch, I kneel next to him and silently, patiently wait for him to finally meet my gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “We will still try for a baby.”

He blinks, his lips parting like he was going to say something, then scowls as he stares at me. “Huh?”

“I should’ve gone after you this morning and told you that we’re still trying for a baby.”

He snorts. “You mean ‘after this shit’s over’?” He uses finger quotes around it.

“No. Good-faith effort. You’re right—everyone’s right. I’m terrified, but delaying won’t make it any easier.”

His expression softens as he studies me. “You mean it?”

“Yeah. Even Pops called me an asshole.”

That finally earns me the hint of a smile. “Yeah? Well, you are. Were.” He lifts his head so he can kiss me. “But you’re my asshole, asshole.” He plays with my shirt collar. “Sorry I flounced.”

I capture his hand and feather my lips over it. “You don’t owe me an apology. I’ve dropped the ball on this, repeatedly, and I’m sorry.”

His gaze narrows again. “Not just saying that to get laid, are you?”