Page 23 of Father Knows Best (A Family Affair #1)

fourteen

. . .

avery

The Hope

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I ask Amelie as she tucks the strap of her sandals in, belting it down. She does the same to the other, then wiggles her toes.

“I’m fine. I can drive, but the truth is, I may pull over halfway to take them off,” she says, sliding her purse over her arm.

We both admire the strappy sandals. She flips her hair over the shoulder.

“Okay, I’m off. Commercial audition a little later and I want to go home and change so the director doesn’t think I’m drunk. ”

“Probably a good idea,” I tell her, extending my hand to help her down the back steps.

“Wait,” I slap my forehead with my palm, then scurry inside, returning a moment later with the entire reason for the visit.

“Your bridesmaid dress.” Since I only have one bridesmaid and she’s a struggling actress, I paid for her dress.

And also, brides should pay for bridesmaid dresses—it’s only fair.

Amelie tucks the bag under her arm and toddles to her car, waving me off as she backs up then disappears up the street.

I’m about to close the door when Sutton’s car pulls in, and he ducks inside, flashing me a handsome, happy, end-of-day grin.

He parks in the garage, and I meet him inside, slipping my hands into his suit pockets and he holds my face in his hands, kissing the tip of my nose before finding my lips.

“She picking up her dress?” he asks, earning a nod from me.

“I met her here after the staging,” I reply, letting Sutton spin me, his hands coming to rest on my hips.

He guides me to the kitchen where I squeal when he surprises me by lifting me up, plunking me down on the counter top.

He pushes my knees apart to come stand between my spread thighs, and the combination of moves has my pulse racing and my clit thrumming.

“I missed you today,” he says, collecting my hair in his hand, giving it a tug to expose my throat.

He kisses me there gently, contrasting the pull of his hand as he guides my head further to the side, giving himself more skin to kiss.

His lips drag over my flesh, pressing kisses everywhere until he’s under my chin, and then back at my mouth.

I feed my fingers through his silky hair, loving the way the ends curl toward his collar after a long day.

“We worked together today,” I remind him, sliding my tongue against his as he kisses me again.

He’s never put me on the counter, never ravaged my throat in the kitchen before having adequate time to wind down post-work day.

This fire, this new passion and fervor—it excites me.

Our eyes lock as his hands come to my hips, thumbs tucked under the hem of my black skirt.

I’m still wearing my pencil skirt and sleeveless crepe blouse that I wore to work–I was partially in office, partially staging today, so I went with my comfiest pencil skirt and most breathable blouse and tossed my sneakers in the car. I switched back to heels on my drive.

Sutton’s hands trail my calf before coming to the shiny black pump on my foot.

He removes it, letting it fall to the floor before lifting my foot and pressing his lips to the top.

My stomach clenches at the sight of Sutton in a suit, holding my bare leg, carving a hot trail with his mouth toward my core.

Oh my God. What if he goes down on me right here in the kitchen with the lights on and dinner in the oven?

That would be so hot—the idea of it has my toes curling, which causes my other heel to fall off, plunking loudly on the granite.

He lifts his mouth from my knee and returns his hands to my skirt.

That is so hot—seeing Sutton want me so much is so erotic.

My eyes fall to the crotch of his slacks where his erection tents, large and impossible to ignore.

My mouth waters as he kisses me, pulling back to whisper, “Can I have you here?”

I nod, suddenly frantic by the idea that Sutton needs me so bad that he wants me on the kitchen counter, yet he still asked for permission.

With my skirt around my hips, he unzips, fishing himself out through the fly of his slacks.

His shaft always makes my insides flutter–he’s long, with burly veins running down the top and underside, giving way to a perfectly shaped cockhead, made slick with precum, pinkened by arousal.

He strokes himself—my kryptonite—and braces himself on the countertop, work papers and wedding plans scattered around us like confetti.

I grip the counter’s edges, and his groan echoes off the cabinets and windows as he sinks inside.

Moving his hips, he makes love to me in quick, unperfected strokes, as if he’s lost all ability to be in control.

I love it. I love when he’s haphazard with his affection, wild and carnal.

My toes curl again, only this time, it’s from the feel of him seated all the way inside me, nudging every warm spot that makes me feel like I’m going to explode.

“That’s it,” he croons softly, pulling all the way out, leaving me cold and hollow for a handful of seconds before sliding back in, holding himself there, deeply.

“Unraveling, aren’t you?” he asks, the heat of his groin, the scratch of his pubic hair against mine, his heart beating chaotically against me–it’s too much.

I nod my head. “I’m close.”

A smirk dusts his lips as he reaches between us, bracing himself on one arm on the kitchen island. My eyes roll closed when his thumb slides over my clit, humming and sticky, begging for his attention, but I reach down and grab him by the wrist.

His brows pull together, confusion evident. He always makes me come using his hands first. But right now, his passion is so enthralling, I can come without it. Many times. I know I can.

“Keep going, just… keep going, please,” I breathe, a bead of sweat traversing his temple, dropping down to my cheek.

He’s still fully clothed, and so am I, and when I look down at the thick trunk of his cock, the rest of him buried inside me, our clothing still on, oven running, daylight shining, TV softly playing in the other room, I come violently.

It’s so out of his character. It’s so exciting and passionate. I cannot wait for more of this side of Sutton.

“Whoa,” he groans, starting to move his hips in slow, deep circles, fucking me through my first unraveling as his jaw tightens, restraint evident in his dark eyes.

“Baby, you’re coming so hard,” he says through soft hushes and slow, lazy strokes.

When my eyes are open again, and I can reasonably manage speech, I lick my lips and say, “I need to feel you. Please, Sutton, keep going.”

“Hmm,” is the last audible noise he makes before pulling out and slamming into me again and again, his thrusts sloppy, his cock steely, a look of pure satisfaction twisted up on his features.

My lower half hums, the sensations all too much, and I slap at his chest as my second orgasm takes hold, making my walls clench and tighten all around him.

He stills, his eyes slamming shut as his cock throbs inside of me, filling me in waves with his cum.

“Avery,” he groans, my name never sounding more beautiful than when he moans it as he orgasms. “I want to get you pregnant so badly,” he says, his new favorite thing to say since I went off of my birth control last month.

He thrusts again, and I clench all around him, loving when he talks about breeding me when he’s fucking me.

I lay my head back against the counter and blink up at the recessed lights, trying for a minute to catch my breath as Sutton slides out of me. He returns, pressing a wad of damp paper towels to my pussy as he helps me sit up, covering my head so it doesn’t bonk the bar lights as I do.

“That was–”

“I’m sorry,” he says, scooping my hand off the counter to pepper it with kisses. “I just missed you this afternoon and you looked so gorgeous in your skirt and heels, and–” he shakes his head, as if adoring me is no excuse. “Our bedroom is where that should happen, and I apologize.”

I grab his tie and yank his mouth back to mine, kissing him. “I’m not sorry. That was really hot, Sutton.” Another kiss, this time slow and methodical, my tongue tangling with his in an effort to silently beg for more wild Sutton. To tell him that I like spontaneously horny Sutton. “Thank you.”

He smiles, and helps me off the counter. “I don’t want my child conceived on the counter, so I apologize.” Another smile. “Go get changed and I’ll get started on dinner.”

Two weeks. In two weeks I will be Avery Mercer.

I stick out my hand and look at my ring for the millionth time.

I think of my parents, who live in Southern California, and adopted the “once you’re eighteen, we’re done” motto of parenting.

I wasn’t ready to leave their house when I turned eighteen, but they were ready to not have a child at home, and they turned me out.

I slept at a friend’s house for the first month, until I found affordable rent—in the city.

I moved here six months after high school graduation, and I’ve only seen them a few times since.

We’re on speaking terms, but I don’t feel a great need to be close to them.

I don’t identify with their parenting style, and when I have my own children, I would never turn one out at age eighteen, simply for being a legal adult.

Sutton is aware of the way I feel about my parents, and one of the few times I’ve seen them in the last few years is when we drove down to visit them—so I could introduce them to my boyfriend.

They were nice. It was cordial. The visit was fine.

Knowing that Sutton and Geo have worked things out brings me so much happiness. Sutton asked me if repairing things with Geo was important to me because my family isn’t near, and we aren’t close, and I considered it. But truthfully, I don’t think that’s why.