“Do you think I’m going anywhere?” he asks.

  Tears fill my eyes.

  He bites and plays with me. “You think that I’m going to widow my young bride and let another man have this?”

  He tugs off my clothes, stands up, and then yanks my shirt over my head as well as his.

  “Talk,” he growls in a low voice, pressing himself into me.

  I press my lips together.

  He takes my jaw in one hand, lightly squeezing both sides. “Your husband told you to open your mouth.”

  He squeezes and squeezes until I have fish lips, and I’m almost laughing.

  But I don’t. I’ve lived with four years of close calls like this. I’m entitled to a little pouting.

  “Or maybe you weren’t worried at all.” He releases me. “Maybe you think I was with another woman the whole time.”

  My eyes flare. That wasn’t even a thought, but now the image is in my head. Son of a bitch.

  He grinds himself into me, holding my waist. “Feel what you do to me, Krisjen.”

  I feel it.

  The hard ridge in his jeans that just appears every time I’m naked. Or when I walk around in his clothes, or reach into a high cabinet and my stomach shows. Or bend over and my thong shows. Or sit in his lap or help him in the garage. He loves seeing grease on my face.

  “You don’t think everyone knows Macon Jaeger’s little Saint has him wrapped around her little finger?”

  I flex my jaw, my heart swimming.

  He leans in. “Tell me what I need to hear,” he whispers.

  No.

  “Say it,” he demands.

  Nuh-uh.

  He caresses me everywhere, finally coming up to cup my face. “All I could think about was this.”

  He comes in to kiss me, and I whimper, putting my hands on him.

  “Baby…” he begs.

  The sound of his voice is desperate, and I can’t help it anymore. The relief floods me, and I wrap my arms around him.

  “Mine.” I press my forehead to his.

  “That’s what I want to hear.”

  He whips me around to face the dresser mirror, and I break into a smile as he hugs me to his body and buries his face in my hair. It’s his comfort move. How he feels safe.

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  Turning me back around, he holds my eyes as he lifts me into his arms and carries me to our bathroom.

  I hug with my arms and legs as he leans over and starts the shower, shrugs his jeans off, and steps in. He closes the door, the shower inside dark with the black tile I picked when we added it to our many renovations of the house.

  Liv’s old room no longer exists, Macon and his brothers having to tear down the walls to make a hallway toward the new wing.

  Liv and Clay are looking into buying an old, abandoned lighthouse a few miles away, but we have a few spare bedrooms in case they ever sleep over. Dex has his own room, Paisleigh has a balcony, where she likes to imagine she’s Juliet, and Mars opted to have his room in the attic. There’s a window that leads right to the tree where the old treehouse still sits. They built the wing around it, keeping a small courtyard in the middle on the lower level. Mars likes to sleep in the treehouse. Still. At sixteen years old.

  Macon puts me down, and I soap up a loofah, starting to wash the sweat and ocean off him.

  “I’ll get the satellite phone today,” he finally says.

  “Thank you.”

  “You really fucking love me, don’t you?”

  I dart my eyes up to his, watching his proud smile spread like he has me right where he wants me.

  I tear my eyes away from the way the suds drip down his golden skin and push him down on the stone seat of the shower. His eyes gleam as he watches me drop to my knees and take him in my mouth.

  He exhales, holding my head to his body.

  Yes, I love you. And I’m never losing you.

  It was a long road for him to learn how to manage everything that goes on in his head, and some days he forgets how altogether.

  But he knows that I love him, and that another good day is coming.

  Once he found a doctor who didn’t aggravate him—and got to know them—it got a lot easier for him to keep talking to someone.

  He knows he’s not alone. They check in with each other regularly.

  And the time between one bad day and another has gotten longer and longer, and there are so many days when he’s the one taking care of me.

  We’re lucky.

  Every time I feel him, smell his skin, see him crook his finger with a smile on his face, I’m so goddamn lucky I found him.

  “Mama Kris!” a kid yells.

  I pull my mouth off my husband.

  “Can I have pancakes?” the kid, Mato, from across the street, yells. I see a dark form peek around the bathroom door. “Willow says I can’t!”

  Macon looks at me. “What the fuck?”

  But the kid can’t see us clearly through the frosted glass. It’s fine. I stand up. “Of course you can have pancakes,” I tell the six-year-old. “It’s too early, though. Go home and get ready for school. I’ll be downstairs soon.”

  “ ’Kay!”

  And he slams the door on his way out. I look down at Macon as he runs a hand through his hair. “You need to talk to that kid about not coming into our bedroom.”

  “I did.”

  I lean down to kiss him.

  But he just gives me a scolding look. “How did we get into a situation where we’re feeding eight kids who aren’t ours every morning?”

  I slide my body on top of his, straddling him. “Kids can’t concentrate in school if they’re hungry,” I tell him. “If they don’t do well in school, they don’t become doctors, lawyers, and presidents. We’re in this for the long game, baby.”

  He laughs, and I know I won.

  It wasn’t really a big deal to start out. Willow and Mato’s dad is offshore working most of the time, and their mom has odd shifts at the hospital a lot, so I started having them come over here for breakfast. A few other kids started joining them. Kids need a well-rounded breakfast. Maybe if I’d tried not to starve myself so much in high school, I would’ve done better in math, too.

  I reach underneath me, stroking my husband and fitting him inside of me.

  “I’m getting to be an old man.” He sits up, holding me close. “I can’t have scares like that when my dick is hard.”

  I place his hand on my breast. “An older man is the only one who knows what to do with this.”

  And I slide his hand down my body that he’s kissed and tasted every inch of thousands of times, because he knows how to appreciate a woman properly.

  We kiss, and I sink down on him, but then I stop.

  Holding his face, I caress his cheek with my thumb, feeling his eyes on me.

  But I can’t look, because if I look at him, I’ll chicken out. “I want a baby,” I say.

  He’s silent. I keep caressing, finally forcing my gaze up.

  He stares at me, his expression unreadable.

  “Can I have a baby?” I ask him.

  We avoided the subject for a long time. I wasn’t in any hurry. I had plenty of time, and I loved having him to myself.

  But I also know he avoided the subject because he was scared.

  I wait for him to argue. Or to make some excuse about why we should wait longer.

  Or worse, to tell me he doesn’t want children at all.

  He doesn’t say any of those things, though. Taking my hand, he puts it against his chest, over his heart. “Say that again.”

  I feel the beat in his chest quicken.

  I smile just a little. “Can I have a baby?”

  He hardens even more inside me, and gasps, “Yes.” Then he kisses me hard and deep, moving slowly over my mouth.

  I start to rock on him, but then a knock hits the bathroom door. “Macon! Krisjen!”

  I startle at Trace’s voice, pulling away from the kiss.

  “We’re leaving at nine!” he bellows.

  I wince. Shit.

  Iron. I completely forgot.

  I start to move away, but Macon pulls me back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “There’s so much to do,” I whine.

  Breakfast and backpacks, and I’ll need to log in to check that Mars handed in his assignment because he always forgets. Then there’s groceries to stock up on.

  But Macon locks me in, pressing his cock up inside me. “Fuck no,” he gripes. “We pick up Iron today, and then there’s Callum-fucking-Ames…This shitshow of a summer starts tonight, and I need another fucking minute alone with you before that.”

  He kisses me through my laughter, and our quickie—which never turns out to be very quick at all—commences as I roll my hips and pant on top of him. Iron is finally coming home—after getting an extra four months for bad behavior, and Callum Ames is finally returning, or that’s the word.

  It’s going to be a hot summer. If Macon gets through this without going to prison himself, it’ll be a miracle.

  He touches my lips with his. “I love you,” he says.

  I hug him. “Mine.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To all the women I grew up with…

  To my mom, who always finds a solution.

  To Grandma, whose thirteen hundred square feet are still the most magical place I’ve ever been.

  To my aunt Carol, who always shows up for people.

  And to my stepmom, who showed me the way.

  I’m grateful for everything that went right, but more for everything that went wrong.

  I learned, so thank you.

  To all of the women who help make my stories possible—Jane Dystel, Lauren Abramo, Kerry Donovan, Adrienne Ambrose, Lee Tenaglia, Claudia Alfaro, Elaine York, Christine Porter, Ashlee O’Brien, Michelle Chu, Ivette Portillo, and Vibeke Courtney—thank you for finding me and for helping me be here.

  Turn the page to enjoy a bonus scene from Dallas…

  The scene takes place during Five Brothers,

  after the Bug Jam.

  Dallas

  I don’t think I dislike Krisjen. She’s not boring.

  I would’ve thought she’d fight back. At least defend herself against those girls at the Bug Jam. Aracely says she didn’t, though. She just took it, and I find that perplexing.

  But more so because she kept getting up.

  I smile, the cool sheet sinking between my legs and resting against my groin. I tuck my arm underneath my head, staring up at the shadows of the branches outside fluttering across the bedroom ceiling. I’ve been in bed for hours, but I’m not tired.

  I exhale, my chest slowly caving. I don’t understand her, but I like being perplexed. I like it a lot.

  My phone buzzes on the floor below me, and I roll, reaching over the edge of the bed and recognizing the number immediately as I grab the phone. A grin pulls at my mouth, and I lie flat on my back to answer.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “You texted.”

  “And you called.”

  I knew he was watching. The live cam above the visitor’s center captures a one-eighty of the grounds, and although it wouldn’t have been easy to find me in the crowd, he only had to look for motorcycles. Luckily for him, Krisjen dragged us all out today, so I was there.

  Callum Ames could watch me bringing her into the parking lot from his frat house at Penn State. He knows my bike.

  “And you answered,” he replies.

  “You jealous?”

  “You alone?” he teases.

  I can’t hold back the smile now. “You mean is her sore, sweaty little cunt in bed next to me?” I taunt. “Not yet.”

  I know what he’s thinking. What he’s been thinking since he saw Krisjen on my bike through the webcam.

  “You don’t want her.”

  His deep voice darkens, something sinister touching his tone. It’s only been a few months, but he sounds different.

  I hope he doesn’t come back at Christmas. Or next summer. I want to run into him again when he’s a man. When life has fucked with him a little more.

  “You don’t know what I want,” I retort.

  “I know what you like.”

  “I like women, too,” I point out, “and that always pissed you off, because you knew you could never be everything I wanted.”

  His voice drops to a whisper. “Don’t say that.”

  My chest tightens, but only for a moment.

  Callum Ames was one of a million mistakes I wanted to make before my life was over, but he wanted to be the only one. It was almost a year and half ago. I was twenty. He was in high school. It shouldn’t have happened.

  “You remember the first time you laid your hands on me?” he asks, his voice softening.

  “A right hook into your jaw.”

  I remember. A brawl between a couple of his little rich prick friends and a couple of us.

  “It was raining…” he goes on.

  The water drenched his shirt. I could see right through it. His hair turned dark blond when it was wet.

  My cock swells. I glide my hand down and stroke it under the sheet. “Raining like it is tonight.”

  “Saints versus Swamp,” he tells me. “Out in the woods, it was dark, we were soaked.”

  “My people were ripping yours apart…” I tease.

  “We were fighting, and then…” He grunts, and I can almost feel him. “My dick was in your mouth.”

  I bite my bottom lip. “You couldn’t get enough. You came so quickly.”

  He was hard immediately. We’d fought, found ourselves alone, and then…

  “And then you pushed me into the back seat of your car,” he says, “came down on my back, and sucked on my neck.”

  “And covered your mouth while I fucked you.”

  My cock fills my hand, so thick and hard, tenting the sheet.

  I was fast. But I was gentle. His shirt was gone. I don’t know where. His jeans halfway down his thighs. His wet hair hanging in his eyes. He was breathing so hard he couldn’t talk, and I was breathing so hard I couldn’t think. I didn’t expect it.

  “So tall,” I say to him in a low voice. “So dashing. Future CEO, hedge fund king, oozing power someday with your cocky smile in your five-thousand-dollar suits that women will get wet just looking at. Wish all your frat boy friends could see how hard you get for me.”

  “So hard the next week too when I pinned your fucking face into that same seat and fucked you right back,” he taunts.

  I smile. Yeah, you did. Iron saw the bite marks on my back and just shook his head.

  “Are you hard now?” Callum asks. “I am.”

  A hand slides up my leg and fists my cock. “Oh, I can’t take it,” Jessica coos, pulling the sheet aside and grinding her naked body along mine. “This is getting me horny again.”

  My heart jackhammers, and I grab her thigh, pulling her over me. “Sit on it.”

  The other end of the phone is silent as the girl who was asleep next to me fits my cock inside her again and sinks down on it.

  Warmth coats my body like a blanket slowly descending over my skin, and I groan, closing my eyes and arching my back a little.

  “Fuck yes,” I say into the phone.

  “Oh, yeah,” she moans, starting to ride me. “That feels good.”

  Rising up, I wrap one hand around her waist and suck her plump tits. She whimpers, and I flick my tongue over her nipples.

  Callum breathes in my ear. “What I did to Liv last year was a dream compared to the pain I will bring when I come home,” he says, all the need and heat in his voice gone and replaced with rage. “I will be the end of you, Jaeger.”

  I chuckle, falling back and watching the girl’s tits bounce as she thrusts her hips up and down my cock. “If you’re still thinking about me in three and a half years,” I tell him, “I’ll be laughing my ass off…”

  I hang up, tossing the phone aside and gripping her hips in both hands as I close my eyes.

  …and I’ll be ready.

  If you enjoyed Five Brothers, keep reading for an excerpt from

  TRYST SIX VENOM

  Tryst Six Venom is a sapphic love story between Macon’s sister Liv, and Clay Collins. It takes place about six months prior to the start of Five Brothers.

  Clay

  The cut at the corner of my mouth stings. I tongue it, slouching in the wooden chair as I gaze past Father McNealty’s empty seat in his office.

  God, it’s better than a drug. The feeling swirling in my gut and my heart pounding like I’m dangling a hundred feet in the air, only holding on by a single hand.

  She’s better than a drug. I always knew she had it in her.

  “If you ever come near me again,” Olivia grits through her teeth in the chair next to mine, “I will cut you.”

  I look over at her. The orange juice she threw at me stains her white Polo, too.

  But I almost smile, seeing the tear in her sleeve. I fought back, didn’t I?

  “Cut me?” I taunt, watching her as she watches me graze my hand up the inside of my thigh, dragging up my school skirt. “Where?”

  I pretend to rub myself, moaning.

  Her mouth twists into a snarl. “Cunt.”

  I turn away, smiling to myself. Dyke.

  Sitting up straight, I hold up my nails, inspecting the damage. It took three teachers to pull us off each other. My only regret is that she didn’t start this shit after school when we wouldn’t have been interrupted. I’m in every bit as good a shape as she is. This could’ve gone on for hours.

  The second bell rings, and now we’re officially late for fifth period. Where the hell is he?