Her mouth twitches with humor and she holds the plate out.
I lift a half sandwich and examine it. The Goober stuff is pretty fucking thick.
I take a bite.
“Mm,” I nod.
“Good?” she asks hopefully, setting the plate on a stack of lumber.
It takes a minute before I can talk because the peanut butter and jam mixture is so thick it’s like my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. She put about three times the requisite sandwich amount on the bread. But once I’ve gotten my first bite down my throat, I give her a thumbs up. “A little pasty. Felt like you did that on purpose to hide medicine in there, but otherwise not bad.”
She looks so proud of herself I decide right here and now that whatever she makes for me, I’ll eat it and do my best to like it.
“I’ll go get us a drink.” She turns to rush away but I set the rest of the sandwich on the plate so I can snatch her and pull her close, hauling her scent into my lungs. She melts into me.
A heavy weight sinks in my gut.
I could’ve lost her today.
I grab her face and stare into her eyes, letting her see just how fucking pissed I am. The backs of my fingers caress where those gouges marred her face.
She puts both palms to my cheeks, fingers feathering into my hair.
“I’m okay,” she says.
She sees how I feel but she also feels the fury inside me. The fury, the emotion, the need to know she’s okay. This mate connection is a gift I never realized would mean so fucking much.
I don’t need to say a thing because Bailey knows. She says she’s okay, but I’m not okay. Not by a longshot.
I know what I need right now. Physical connection. The life-affirming kind.
I lift her and kiss her all the way to our bed. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s a bruising, demanding claiming of her mouth by mine. My tongue plunders her mouth as I shred the sundress she’s wearing, baring her apple and cinnamon scented skin. I snap that bra’s clasp and it’s gone. She arches, offering her breasts to me. I feast on them while also ripping her silky underwear. I put them to my nose and growl before I lick the strip of cotton that’s coated with Bailey’s arousal. Bailey’s arousal forme.
Driving two fingers into her tight heat and crooking them, I bask in the fact that I’m making her body buck with sensation. I suck her nipples hard, one after the other while gently squeezing over and over, milking that g-spot.
“J-Jason,” she cries out and she’s not asking me to do less.
“I need to rut you, Bailey. Gotta fuck this rage out.”
“Do it,” she invites. “I’m yours.”
I hope she’s ready and willing to give me all I need. She loves me so much she believes she’s willing to give me everything, willing to let me take what I need, but I hope my current level of need doesn’t scare her.
It has to go somewhere. I can’t run it off, hunt it off. I can’t let her out of my sight right now. Can’t. Won’t. I’ll need to bleed this aggression out in a carnal way.
“Don’t you hold this against me, okay? It’s gonna be rough.”
“Give it to me, Jase… Take what you need.”
I free my dick and drive it inside her perfect body, a body that was made for me. She clamps around me and immediately her walls are milking me hard.
Fuck, yes. This. This is what I need.
Gasping, she wraps her legs around my thighs while I jackhammer into her repeatedly until my knot takes over.
“I love you so fucking much, Bailey.”
Bailey’s palms roam my shoulders, my neck, my back. She can’t say it back because she’s crying out between kissing me, sucking on my earlobe, biting my throat, wanting to mark me, too. She pants and now her nails dig into my back before she shudders through a climax.