And she’s all mine.

  I kiss down her neck, nibbling at the soft skin of her throat and relishing in the vibrations of her moans under my lips. “Yes, Daniel . . . yes. Please, make me feel good.”

  “I will,” I promise her, stroking her body through the thin fabric of her blouse and down to her skirt. It’s not one of her work skirts but rather a looser, flirtier one.

  Exactly the way she makes me feel.

  “Close your eyes,” I tell her as I move my hand up to her waist and start tugging her blouse free.

  “Daniel?” she whispers, though her eyes snap shut. She trembles when I find the soft skin and flat muscles of her stomach. “Daniel.” There’s no question in it this time, just a moan of my name on her lips.

  “Tonight, you don’t get to see what I’m doing,” I tell her, unbuttoning her blouse to expose the lacy cups of her bra and the sweet swells of her breasts to my eyes. “Just feel. Feel me, feel us and how right we are together.”

  Tiffany nods, squeezing her eyes closed as she fights to obey.

  “Good girl,” I growl softly, enjoying the gasp of arousal my words bring. I kiss down her body, tracing the edges of her cups with my tongue before reaching below her skirt to lift her hips and ease her panties down.

  This is my secret, one of the small benefits I can offer her as an older man. I appreciate the full experience of being with Tiffany. Connecting in this way is not merely about the orgasm I’ll eventually have or even the multiple I intend to give her. The power of our intimacy is in every touch, taste, and moan. I want to explore every inch of her body with my lips, my fingers, my breath, and my eyes.

  I want her to know without a shadow of a doubt how sensual and beautiful she is.

  When I was younger, I’m ashamed to say I was more selfish, even as a lover. I can see that now. But with maturity comes the realization that every moment is worthwhile and should be enjoyed fully. No rushing, no racing for the finish line, but simply taking the time to worship Tiffany the way she deserves.

  The way I want to.

  Using my fingertips, I pull down one cup of her bra to find her stiff nipple. I nuzzle it with my nose, inhaling her before tugging on it with my teeth until she arches beneath me with a cry.

  "Too much?” I ask, and her head thrashes on my pillow.

  “More,” she pleads. “Again.”

  I pour myself into her. With my lips, I give her breasts electric kisses. With my tongue, I taste the sweat that forms on her skin, and with my hand . . . well, with my hand, I trace the softness of her pussy.

  She tenses, gasping when my finger slips into her folds, her body clinging to the intruder as I slide deeper inside her, curling my finger to find her tender spot.

  Her mouth drops open as I stroke her, using my workaholic tendencies for good. Because right now, Tiffany Young is my work, my devotion, my obsession. I give her everything, my finger thrusting in, stroking her spot, and then withdrawing to thrust in again. Over and over. When she’s lifting her hips for more, I insert a second finger, finally bringing my thumb to her swollen, needy clit. I kiss her hard, slamming my tongue into her mouth to taste the breath from her lungs and swallowing the sounds when she calls out again.

  “You’re mine, Tiffany,” I whisper in her ear. I finger fuck her hard and deep, my thumb speeding up and my fingers curling with every stroke to hit that perfect spot inside her. Despite my punishing pace, my words are even and measured so she hears every one.

  “Feel how puffy your lips are from my kisses.”

  “Feel the sensitive sting of your nipples where I’ve sucked them so much they stand up with the barest breath.” I blow a soft breeze across one to prove my point, relishing the way it stiffens instantly.

  “Feel my fingers filling you as you cover me with your wetness. Feel me hitting that secret spot deep inside you that drives you to the edge of sanity. Feel the sharp pleasure running from your clit out to your whole body.”

  Her hands are grabbing for purchase at anything they can find—the sheets, my shoulders, her own breasts.

  “Do you feel it, Tiffany? Tell me you feel it.” I’m as desperate as she is, maybe even more so. My cock is rock hard and leaking in my slacks, and I might come just from watching her get closer and closer to ecstasy.

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  I feel her climax before she makes a noise, her pussy tightening around my two fingers like a vise for a split second before her hips jerk and her stomach turns to steel. I kiss her open mouth, savoring her moans, though she’s so far gone in pleasure, she can’t even kiss me back.

  Her hands cling to my shirt, wrinkling the once-smooth fabric in her grip. She holds me tightly, pulling me in as if I’d ever leave her in this moment. I press into her, giving her some of my weight so she feels secure and knows I’m here. Without words, I let her know she can fall apart for me because I’ll always be here to gather her up again.

  Always.

  She sags back, blinking away the aftermath of her orgasm, and the smile she gives me is angelic. “I love you.”

  Her eyes are clear and bright when she focuses on me, and any weirdness from tonight has been obliterated. “I love you, too. Now turn over because I’m claiming that pussy with my cock too.”

  She squeals, flipping over immediately and lifting her hips to give me access. “Yes, sir!” I can hear her smile even as she presses a cheek to the bed.

  I groan at the sight, having to squeeze my primed cock to stave off the instantly on-edge climax. “I love you,” I say again.

  Chapter 27

  Tiffany

  Daniel and Elle are going to lunch together today. They invited me, but they’re going to Frankie’s and that’s their special place. I haven’t told Elle that Daniel took me there once, and honestly, I probably won’t.

  I don’t know that she’d care, but it was an unusual occurrence for Daniel and I won’t risk sullying their traditions that way.

  Plus, giving them some time together leaves me free to get one of the many other things marked off my to-do list. Blowing off a night of work with Harper to go sing karaoke, while fun and memorable, has put me more behind the eight ball, and I’m not the kind to let it go, no matter what I told Harper.

  Not that I’m making any progress on anything of substance. My brain might as well be stuffed full of cotton balls and landmines, flip-flopping between ‘what the fuck’ worries, explosive freak-outs about imaginary scenarios, and fantasies about tiny baby toes and fingers. Then I close my eyes for a second, and those fantasies turn into day terrors of tiny baby fingers growing out of nostrils and toes where a bellybutton should be.

  Apparently, my brain’s decided that what I need is a good, strong dose of twisted terror to go with all the rest of my shit. Because really, how does a toe know where to grow? What magic is that? And can it go wrong? Exactly how wrong?

  Meanwhile, I stare at the spreadsheet on my screen, the numbers and letters blurring into oblivion.

  Oh, shit, and now I’m crying again.

  Luckily, my door is closed so I can fall apart in peace. The last thing I want is for Megan and Stephanie to worry about me or the rumor mill to start rolling full-steam ahead before I’ve told Daniel about Mini-Me.

  I give in to the tidal wave of emotions, letting the tears fall freely and silently down my cheeks. I don’t know what to do. Every time I approach the precipice, every time I feel like I’ve worked up the nerve to tell him, I chicken out.

  Is he going to be pissed at me for keeping it to myself for so long?

  And what about Elle? Is she going to kill me for not telling her sooner?

  No matter how many times I ask myself those questions, answers don’t come. I feel trapped, unable to make a decision, which only makes things worse. Normally, I’m the one who fixes everyone else’s problems and knows exactly what to do.

  But when I’ve got a whopper of one myself, I’m spinning my wheels like I’m stuck in the mud.

  Mud . . . quicksand. I think back to that crazy story I told the clerk at the hotel. Was that the time I got pregnant? Or was it against my door? I don’t know, will probably never know, but it’s a question Daniel’s probably going to have too.

  Nah . . . fuck this. Action, that’s what I need. Not sitting around boohooing because I can’t make a decision. Slamming my fists into my desk, I stand up. Nausea makes my stomach roll at the sudden movement, but I swallow the wave down and reach for a tissue. I dab at my eyes quickly, praying they’re not too red or bloodshot from the tears, and with a straight back, I walk out to the lobby.

  “Hey, ladies, I’m gonna check in on Ace on my lunch break,” I tell them, sort of halfway kind of lying to cover up my plans. “See if he needs anything before the wedding.”

  Megan grins, excited for the whole thing. “T-minus two days?” she asks, confirming what she already knows. “Go for it!”

  “Yeah, I need to make sure he’s not getting cold feet,” I say with a laugh that sounds hollow to my ears. There’s no way Ace is nervous about marrying Harper. If anything, I’ve had to restrain him from dragging her out of the classroom and down to the county courthouse already. He’s more nervous that she’ll realize she can do better than him.

  But selling that I’m going to take care of him is infinitely easier than admitting I need my baby brother because he’s the only one I can talk to right now.

  “Yeah, go take care of your bro,” Stephanie adds. “We’ll hold down the fort.”

  “Thanks,” I tell them. “Make sure everything’s ready for Arnold 2.0, ’kay?”

  Megan salutes, and Stephanie rolls her eyes, both telling me in their own way that of course, they will.

  Ace will know instantly that something’s up when I unexpectedly walk into the Bone Zone in the middle of the day, so I’m trying to figure out an opener more creative than ‘how are you doing?’ as a cover story when I see a fried chicken place ahead.

  French fries sound like heaven in hot grease and potato form, so I yank the wheel and pull in to order lunch for us. I add in an order of gravy, because gravy’s ten times better than ketchup and suddenly sounds so good I could probably drink one of those little cups down by itself. Cravings are weird as fuck.

  I don’t even wait to get to Ace’s, propping one container of gravy in my cupholder while practically double-fisting fries at world record pace. I do manage to not drink it, but it’s only by technicality because I’m scooping loads of it onto every fry so I might as well be.

  A few minutes later and my first order of fries down, I pull into The Bone Zone’s parking lot. The door chimes as I go in, greeted first by the sound of happy yapping dogs. From the back, Ace calls out, “Welcome to The Bone Zone. I’ll be right with you.”

  “No rush! It’s me,” I call back. “I brought lunch!”

  His head pops out from behind the door frame into the back room, followed by the fluffy head of the Maltese he’s holding. “Tiff? What’s wrong?”

  Damn. He’s called it right away. “Nothing. Can’t a girl have lunch with her brother for no reason?”

  I hold the bag of fried chicken and fries up, shaking them enticingly. The Maltese barks, but Ace isn’t quite as easily swayed. “Yes. Of course, she can.” He smiles agreeably. “But not my sister. She’s never going to ditch the office mid-day unless there’s an emergency. So, what’s going on?”

  I blink, not sure what to say. This had seemed like a great idea, a way for me to talk through things with someone not immediately affected by my being pregnant. But Ace has so much on his own plate already that maybe it’s not fair for me to dump my excess on him during what should be the happiest days of his life. Having second thoughts about this course of action, I backpedal from my plan.

  “Nothing. I just thought we could eat. But if you’re too busy, it’s fine.” I shrug a shoulder, looking everywhere but at him, not wanting to meet his eyes in case he can see the lie residing in mine.

  Ace’s brows furrow, and he sets the dog down inside the playroom to come out to me. “No, it’s okay. I could eat. But one thing really quick . . .”

  I force my gaze up. “What’s that?”

  “Did Harper send you?” he asks, and now it’s his turn to sound worried.

  I shake my head, confused. “No? Why would she send me?”

  Ace shrugs, looking sheepish. “Oh, you know, to tell me she came to her senses and doesn’t want to marry me.”

  I plop the food down on the countertop, feeling a rush of relief and love for my brother at the same time. “Ace! Stop that! You know she loves you and can’t wait to marry you. Hell, she wanted the shortest engagement possible so she could marry you sooner. Don’t worry, she’ll be there.”

  The words seem to reassure him, so at least I can do that right. He comes to the counter, planting his elbows on the surface and grinning in embarrassment. “Okay, okay. Maybe I’m being a little mental. But what about her dress? It didn’t get wine spilled on it? Or the officiant didn’t have a heart attack? Or the venue didn’t forget to pay their electric bill and have their power shut off? I feel like bad luck’s lurking around every corner.”

  “No, no, and no. It’s gonna be fine, but you want to know the truth?” I ask, and Ace nods. “Harper would happily walk down the aisle wearing an oversized white undershirt as a gown and a Snuggie as a veil. Actually, she’d look quite cute that way, I bet. Probably come up with some sequins to glue to it or a ribbon belt. Teacher crafty chic,” I tease.

  “She would.” He doesn’t smile. Rather, he looks like he’s imagining his bride wearing the crazy outfit I’ve described and looking breathtakingly gorgeous.

  He’s so gone for her. It’s adorable.

  “And we worked on the centerpieces a few nights ago before Elle got here too. Thank you for that, by the way.”

  Ace grins, giving me a nod. “You’re welcome, but I didn’t need to do much. I figured you could use the backup with everything you’ve taken on for us. And don’t tell her I said this, but Elle really helped me out when I was in that dark place. She deserves to see the result of her tough love approach.” He pats his own back affectionately, proud of himself. “Harper said the three of you tore it up at the karaoke place?”

  “We did have fun. Harper surprisingly let loose, really belted out some WAP. She knew every word and had some pretty hot dance moves too.” Ace tilts his head, not believing that for a second. I grin, already aware that it was a reach. “And it was good to see Elle. I’ve missed her.”

  “Ah-ha, that’s what this is about,” he says with a sense of discovery. “What’s up between the two of you?”

  I shrug, feeling Ace sniff closer and closer to my main issue. “Nothing. We’re good. She says she’s fine with me and Daniel.”

  “You believe her?” He’s picking and poking, trying to narrow things down.

  “I’m taking her at her word, Ace. She’s my best friend.” When Ace’s look doesn’t change, I return his look. “You think I shouldn’t?”

  Ace looks at me carefully, and I feel like he’s looking into my soul. “I think there’s something on your mind and Elle is part of it. My guess is that Daniel is too. So, tell me what’s got you chowing down on French fries like they’re the last ones you’ll ever get.”

  I realize he’s right. I’ve nearly sucked down the second bag of fries and two more cups of gravy. All before he’s eaten a few chicken strips. I set the fry in my hand down and take a deep breath. “Ace . . . I need to tell you something, and I’ve been tearing myself up about it.”

  “Tiffany, whatever it is, I’m your brother. You saved my life, literally. No matter what it is, I’m on Team Tiff.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him. But the words don’t come. I pace back and forth across the room, trying to find the courage to spill my guts, and Ace watches quietly, giving me time. My movements have captured the attention of someone else, too. A fluffy German Shepherd that was sleeping in the corner comes to my side, heeling and matching my pace.

  “Winston,” Ace tells me, pointing to the dog. “He’s a retired K9 officer, and you’re speaking his language.” Ace moves his fingers through air, indicating my back-and-forth steps.

  I bend down, letting Winston sniff my hand and then petting his fluffy head when he seems ready.

  Ironically, it helps me be ready too. “I’m pregnant.”

  It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud, and it feels . . . good. Scary, but good.

  Ace says nothing, and when I look up again, he’s looking at me in total shock. “You’re . . .?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Uhm, congratulations?” he stammers, his brows knit together.

  “Is that a question?” I ask, my feathers ruffled. I don’t know what response I expected, maybe party streamers and hugs? But that’s not what Ace is giving me. At all.

  Ace throws his hands wide. “You tell me. I’m trying to read you, Tiff. But you’re smiling and crying at the same time. Am I supposed to be happy or kill someone?”

  That helps immensely. It’s not that Ace is worried, it’s that he’s on my side, no matter what. He truly has my back, but I might be sending some mixed signals here.

  My smile grows, and he looks relieved, matching mine with a smile of his own. “That’s better. Congratulations, Sis!” He comes over, hugging me tightly. That’s more what I expected, and I feel better. “Don’t scare me like that. I wouldn’t do well in prison. I’m too pretty.”

  I laugh even though tears are spilling now.

  “Are you okay?” Ace asks.

  “Yes, this keeps happening,” I say, gesturing to my leaking eyes. “I don’t know why.”

  “Don’t get mad, because I know this is something you should never say to a woman, but I think it’s because of a little thing called hormones.”

  I sniffle and stick my tongue out at him like we did when we were kids. “Thanks, asshole.”