Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I pull her close, kissing her with all the joy and gratitude pumping through my veins.
She hums before murmuring against my lips, “Damn, Stone. Did you get even better at kissing in the past four days?”
“Yes,” I say, without hesitation, loving the way her laughter turns to a sigh as I kiss her again.
This kiss is deeper, slower, a silent promise that I’m never going to take a minute of our time together for granted. When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing faster, and the look in Remy’s eyes makes it clear, I’m not the only one feeling the need to celebrate our engagement properly.
I.e., naked.
“It’s fine to be a little late to the after-party,” she says, her voice huskier than before. “Right?”
“Barb, go to your bed,” I rumble softly, not taking my eyes off Remy. “Mommy and Daddy need some alone time.”
“Like that ever works,” Remy says, her lips hooking up on one side. “Barb does what Barb damned well pleases.”
Barb yips in agreement, making us both laugh.
“When you’re right, you’re right,” I say, sending Remy’s laugh into giggle territory as I scoop her up in my arms. Guiding her legs around my waist, I aim myself toward the nearest room with a door.
“The pantry? Seriously?” She wraps her arms tighter around my neck as I kick the door closed behind us.
“Damn straight, can’t wait.” I barely register Barb’s outraged bark from outside as I pin Remy against the shelves, kissing her like a man who’s forgotten every survival skill except her.
“Me either,” she agrees, shoving my suit jacket off and going for the buttons on my shirt.
I do the same with hers, but after a few seconds, we lose patience and embrace brute force. Buttons fly, and a beat later, a box of pasta falls off the shelf, knocking me in the head.
But I couldn’t care less.
Angel hair can’t wound me now, not when I’m flying high off winning the cup and the girl, all in one fell swoop.
"Best. Day. Ever," I rasp against Remy’s mouth as I jerk her skirt up.
“So good,” she says, shoving my pants and boxers down far enough to free my cock. She fists me, making me groan as she adds, “Stanley Cup champion looks good on you.”
“Future husband looks even better," I counter, guiding her legs back around my waist again.
I push her panties to one side and slide home.
And damn…she’s hot and wet, and so eager in my arms, it’s clear neither of us wants to take things slow. I fuck her hard and deep, cushioning her back with my hand as we rattle the shelves. Something heavier thunks to the floor—pickles? olives? a witch’s potion?—but it doesn’t shatter, and we don’t stop.
If anything, the sound makes us even wilder.
Her nails score my back as I grind even closer, making sure to hit her clit with every stroke.
“We’re gonna wreck this pantry," Remy gasps, clinging to me as her pussy begins to pulse. “God, Stone. I’m close, so close.”
“So am I, baby. Fuck, you feel so good, Bossy. Love you so much,” I pant, hips surging, stuttering, the world narrowing to this red-hot woman and the slap of skin on skin.
Outside the door, Barb’s scratching turns into full-on howling, making us both laugh even as our orgasms crash over us in swift succession. Remy comes laughing and calling my name, and I follow her into that bright, sweetly filthy place I’ve only been to with her.
I come and come, filling her up, so grateful for IUDs and the condom free lifestyle they provide. I never want anything between us, nothing but skin.
Afterwards, we catch our breath amongst the wreckage. There’s pasta all over the floor, but as I suspected, the jar—pickles—didn’t break, and the shelves are still in one piece.
“I didn’t think we’d be christening the pantry so soon,” Remy says proudly, surveying the devastation with a grin. “Go us.”
“We’re the best,” I agree, kissing her sweat-damp forehead. “But we should probably put on some clothes before Barb—”
Barb cuts in with a long, pitiful howl that sends us into another fit of helpless laughter.
“This poor puppy,” Remy says as I pull out, using my discarded shirt to mop between her legs. “I hope she can forgive us.”
“She will,” I assure her. “I’ll get her changed into her favorite sleep shirt while you get dressed?”