Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
He pushed his way deep with one savage thrust.
Brea’s eyes widened. She cried out and arched, need clearly surging—just like his. “Pierce!”
“Want me to fuck you?” he growled in her ear, filling her frantically, trying to get as close to her as possible.
“Yes.”
“Need me to fuck you?”
“Yes.”
“Ache for me to fuck you for the rest of your life?”
Her eyes met his, looking so molten and hot. “Yes.”
“Marry me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Really?”
“Marry me.”
“Yes.” Her voice hitched as she half moaned.
His heart stopped. “You mean it? You’ll marry me?”
“Yes!” She tossed her head back, eyes closing as she rocked and gyrated under him. “Yes…”
He pressed his lips over hers and dove as deeply into her mouth as he plowed into her body. She accepted all of him and gave him every bit of herself in return. One-Mile reveled in the fact that there were finally no walls between them and no part of her that wasn’t utterly his. He didn’t stop giving her every bit of his desire and devotion until she clung to him—lips, arms, legs, pussy—as if she knew only he could make her whole.
“Brea?” he gritted out as he ground into her. He couldn’t hold out anymore. “Baby?”
“I’m here. I need…” She gasped as her whole body suddenly clamped down and stiffened. “Yes!”
The instant he felt her pulsing around him, One-Mile lost it, emptying himself into her, giving zero fucks that he had irrevocably given her his heart and soul and tomorrows. There was no one else he’d ever share any of those with except Brea.
As he collapsed on top of her, breathless and drained, his heart roared and his head swam. But he smiled. “If you think I fucking love you now, wait until you’re my wife.”
“I love you.” She gave him a spent little grin as she peppered breathy kisses all over his face. “I love you so much.”
“That’s something else I dreamed of in that godforsaken desert.” He brushed the soft waves of her hair away from her damp, flushed face. “Coming back and putting a ring on your finger.”
Her shy smile somehow torqued his just-sated desire back up. “I can’t wait for that…but we have a lot of things to work out first.”
“Like what?”
“Well, we have decisions to make like when and where to get married, not to mention where should we live and—”
“ASAP. You pick. And my place.”
“Okay. That’s fine. But”—she winced—“there’s something you have to do first. Well, two things.”
One-Mile sighed in contentment as he sifted through his thoughts. Then he realized at least one shit pile she probably wanted to talk about. “I owe you an explanation about my father.”
“That’s one, yes.”
He tried not to stiffen. He’d opened that Pandora’s box of crap and he owed her the truth. “All right. And the second?”
“You have to meet my dad and ask him for my hand.”
Somehow, he’d suspected she was going to say that. What if the man refused to give them his blessing? One-Mile wasn’t sure, but whatever it took, whatever he had to do, he couldn’t take no for an answer.
An hour after Sunday services, Brea floated on cloud nine as she chatted with some of Daddy’s parishioners who had come to their house from the seniors’ Bible study group for a luncheon. After a nice honey ham and potato salad, she’d cleared the dishes away and fired up the coffeepot. But a couple of the ladies bustled into the kitchen to join her.
“Can I get you something, Mrs. Rogers? Mrs. Lloyd?”
“No, dear.” Betty Rogers bustled closer, the string of pearls around her neck gleaming as brightly as her blue eyes. “We’re here to help you.”
Emma Lloyd nodded and reached for the coffee pot, despite her arthritis. “You should be sitting more. Don’t want to get too tired before the baby comes.”
She smiled at them both. Contrary to her fears, most of the members of the church had been lovely and accepting since learning that she was pregnant. All those fears about disappointing everyone and running off Daddy’s parishioners had been unfounded. Sure, a few seemed a tad dismayed, but mostly that Cutter had married someone else, rather than taking care of the girl he’d gotten “in trouble.” No matter how many times she’d conveyed this baby wasn’t Cutter’s, they chose to believe the tabloids. A couple of them even confessed to being addicted to TMZ. Go figure.
Hopefully they would believe her once she and Pierce finally made everything official.
Marry me.
Brea was so giddy, so ready to openly and officially be his fiancée.
“I appreciate the help, ladies, but I’m fine.”
“You might be, but I saw a devastatingly handsome man parking a black Jeep just down the street and striding up here like he means business. Sound like anyone you know?” Mrs. Rogers asked with a wink.
Pierce had come here to talk to her father? Already? Today? Now?