Page 105 of Fourth Wheel

I roll my eyes and smirk up at my very worked up but oh-so-whipped fiancé.

The irony is that it doesn’t matter how loud I am. I can pant, moan, and scream at the top of my lungs, and Hudson couldn’t care less.

But the second that dog knows Dempsey’s in here—givingmeattention instead of him—the sad, pathetic puppy whimpers begin, and Dem can’t stand to hear it.

Forget pussy whipped. My man is puppy whipped.

Dempsey groans again, shifting up and resting his forehead on mine.

“Just tune him out,” I laugh, clenching around his dick to tempt him into finishing what he started.

“You know I can’t stand to hear him whine,” he whispers.

I laugh again, because I really don’t have a dog in this fight—pun intended. I’ve already come twice. Now it’s just a matter of whether Dempsey loves his cock more than his dog.

My money’s on the mutt.

“What if you turned me over and fucked me so hard I can’t help but scream? Would that help you tune him out?” I offer.

“You’re a genius,” he murmurs before kissing me, pulling out, then flipping me over and pulling me up so I’m on my hands and knees.

He smacks my ass once, and I yelp. He pushes all the way in, and I moan.

“That’s it, baby girl. Let me hear you,” he whispers as he hooks both hands around my hips and ruts into me from behind. I can’t help but push back and meet him thrust for thrust, moaning every time his balls smack against me.

I’m screaming in pleasure in no time, no extra theatrics needed, as I gush around him and build toward my third orgasm. When his fingers dig into my skin, I know he’s close. I also know he won’t dare make another sound. I double down on my thrusts, squeeze around his dick, and cry out his name until I feel the first pulses of his release inside me.

We come together, a mess of pleasure, both groaning as we savor the wind down of release. Dempsey pushes gently between my shoulder blades, encouraging me to lie flat, and he covers my body with his, just the way I like, with his cock still buried deep inside me.

I clench around him appreciatively as he kisses my shoulders, runs his fingertips down my arms, and showers me with affection.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs into my hair.

I shiver again at his praise.

“I love you. I love everything about you. You’re so fucking perfect for me.”

I groan when he pulls out too soon for my liking, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. I reach over to his side and find the T-shirt he was wearing earlier and slip it on just as he opens the door and Hudson barrels into the room.

I would have preferred to have him to myself for a few extra minutes, but I can’t help but smile as he baby talks to his beloved dog.

They’re both in bed with me ten seconds later, Dem sandwiched between me and the mutt we adopted last year. He kisses me, then pets him. He tells Hudson he’s such a good boy, then rolls over to tell me how much he loves me. I gripe about having to change the sheets because he let the dog in bed. Again.

But when I see his smile, I can’t even pretend to be mad. Witnessing him this happy—this satisfied and this loved, lying between me and the dog he always wanted—is more than I could have dreamed of for our life together.

Dempsey has never once asked me to alter the path of my life or to scale back the size of my dreams. I’m determined to spend the rest of forever making his dreams come true, too.