I’ve already had two orgasms, and I’ll always take more, but I want to feel connected with him in the most biblical way.
My fingers tighten around the back of his neck as his dig into my hip, both of us tethered to each other before I drop down, impaling myself on his length.
His mouth opens, tongue sweeping inside mine, as we both moan in pleasure. His chest is rock hard when I smash my tits against him, loving the warmth of his body and the softness of his skin. I raise myself up and slam my lower half down, over and over again until he’s kissing me so hard, I know my lips are going to be sore and swollen.
He slides his hand to my ass, grabbing me roughly as I ride him, moving quicker with each passing stroke. My greedy pussy convulses as the third orgasm of the day crashes over me, milking his cock, wanting to give him the same pleasure. I haven’t even made it over the first wave of pleasure when he tightens his grip on my ass, following me off the cliff.
We sit there for a moment, me in his lap, his hand still on my ass, both of us gasping for air.
“I love you,” he whispers.
I rest my forehead against his, gazing into his hauntingly beautiful eyes. “I love you too,” I say back, pushing away the feelings of fear I had a few days ago when I thought I could lose him forever.
Mammoth collapses backward, taking me with him, and I roll to his good side, nuzzling into him. His fingers glide up my back, burrowing in my hair. “What’s the one thing you want that you don’t have now?” he asks, staring up at the ceiling.
I close my eyes, exhaustion after three orgasms slowly taking over. “I have what I want,” I tell him, referring to us. “I’m content.”
“I don’t want you to be content. You deserve more than contentment. You deserve everything you want and more.”
“I’m good. Really good.” I snuggle into him harder, resting my cheek against his chest. “Life is about to get better too. I’ll be done with school soon, and you’ll be here with me full time and out of the club. What more is there?”
“There’s so much more, princess.”
I tip my head back, looking up at him. “What do you want?”
“I want a house where we can have privacy. I want my own business so I can be my own boss. I want babies, lots of babies, running around with their wild hair blowing in the wind and their infectious smiles making every day brighter.”
“Slow your roll, tootsie pop.”
He laughs, brushing his lips against my forehead. “Five kids. Think about how great that would be.”
My vagina literally aches thinking about squeezing five babies out of my body. He’s clearly still high on the pain meds because there’s no way I’m having five kids.
I blink, furrowing my brows. “Two.”
“Four.”
“Three.”
“Perfect,” he says and smirks.
Damn.
I walked right into that one.
“I hated being an only child,” he confides in me. “I don’t want that shit for my kid.”
“Funny because I always wished I was an only child.”
“We don’t have to have them right away,” he tells me.
Well, thank God for that.
“What are you going to do after college? Have you started thinking about where you’re going to work? We need to make a plan.”
I chew the inside of my lip, realizing I haven’t spent much time thinking about the future. At least not beyond graduation and Mammoth. “I don’t know. I’ve never been much of a planner.”
“We got to get our shit together. Time’s passing, and we’re standing still. We could work together. Be a team.”
I raise up on one arm, staring down at him as he lies against my purple comforter. “You want to work together?”
He smiles. “Why not?”
“We’d be at each other’s throats.”
“Make-up sex and hate-fucking are the best,” he tells me, keeping a straight face while saying those words.
I think about it.
There’s some truth to what he’s saying.
Sure, hate-fucking has its bonuses.
The intensity is always high and the emotions more intense, but that doesn’t mean I want to be around him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
I love him more than anyone in the world, but I also like a little alone time.
“Come on. Why work for someone else when we can build something together? I’m buying Tank’s garage from him. We already worked out all the details. Don’t you want to work with me?” He pouts, laying it on so damn thick.
“What the hell would you have me do? I can’t fix things. My math skills are absolute shit unless you’re asking me the discounted price for an item on a sale rack. What use could I possibly be to you?”
“I don’t want a small-town garage. I’m not looking to spend my days replacing tires and brakes. I want this thing to be big. I want to be known as the best of the best for custom restorations of vintage cars. Your degree is in marketing, yeah?”
“It will be.”
“I need a marketer. I need someone to blow up my social media and get the garage noticed. Why would I hire someone else when my woman can do the best job? We could build the life we want without having to worry about anyone else or answering to someone who doesn’t give a shit about us.”
“I don’t know.” I run my finger across his chest, pausing near his nipple piercing. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I love you, but I don’t know if the around-the-clock thing is the greatest idea you’ve ever had.”
“Listen, we’ll set up an office for you, but you can work at home if you’d prefer. You don’t need to be in the shop with me and the other guys. Just promise me you’ll think about it, princess. It’s going to be fuckin’ fantastic.”
“Have you seen the garage?” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s old and a complete mess.”
“It’s cheap and has everything we need. It’ll take a little work, but I can have that baby humming and looking like new in no time, especially by the time you graduate.”
He’s right.
The building is solid but needs some repairs. Tank hasn’t done much in the last few years to make the place look pretty. He always says it’s meant to look dirty because it’s a garage and not a bland, generic corporate location. He’s all about the work and not the aesthetics of the joint. Which is more than clear to anyone driving by the dingy place.
“You really want to do this together?” I ask, letting those words sink in.
“This is all about us and our three little boys.”
“Three little girls,” I correct him, poking him in the chest.
“Two boys and a girl,” he shoots back.
“Whatever.”
“But that poor girl. She’ll be all alone. She’d love a sister.”
“Stop.” I roll my eyes. “We’re not having four kids.”
“We’ll see,” he mutters, closing his eyes.
“No. No. No.”
“Mmm,” he mumbles. “So, will you take the job?”
Jesus.
He’s making my head spin.
He’s popping back and forth between too many topics.