Full Hart, page 5
Connor’s farts as an eight-year-old—not so much.
He heard the key slide into the lock on the front door, and he quickly shut down everything on his computer. Not that he would keep this from his wife—she understood why he needed to investigate Grant—but either way, he knew it would be easier if he wasn’t neck-deep in the man’s medical records when she got home.
“Gotta go,” he said, giving his brothers each a chin lift before canceling the video chat at the same time the doorknob turned and his glazy-eyed wife walked in.
The smile that spread across her freckled face and the way her brown eyes lasered in on his crotch covered in gray sweatpants was enough to get his pulse racing like an Olympic sprinter.
She closed the door without saying a word and flipped the deadbolt.
He’d set the high-end security system he installed before they went to bed, but for now, he had other things on his mind.
It also helped that they lived a bit out in the boondocks on Prospect Lake, so the chance of any crime or a break-in happening out here in the middle of winter was pretty fucking slim.
Stacey let her purse fall to the floor, and removed her coat.
It wasn’t exactly a striptease, given how many layers the woman was wearing, but either way, he could watch her take off her clothes every minute of every fucking day.
His cock was already itching to get out of its confined space, and his balls had started to ache.
She licked her lips before pulling her plain white T-shirt over her head, revealing a nude lace bra.
Her jeans were next.
The entire time, she never peeled her gaze from his. Never let that sly, sexy little lopsided smile drift from her lips. She saw only him, and holy fucking hell, did he see only her.
She was his new lease on life.
His saving grace.
His entire fucking world.
Just when he thought he would be lost inside his head, in the darkness with the monsters and the demons forever, she clawed her way across the thorns, battled the monsters, and brought him back out into the real world. She showed him what unconditional love was and how it was a fucking life raft in the white squall of life.
Only Stacey’s love wasn’t any blow-up dinghy. It was a goddamn aircraft carrier, and it carried him and their children through every rough patch of weather, every swell, and rather than having the hull torn out by a rock or icebergs, it merely split those motherfuckers into two pieces and just kept them all moving forward.
In nothing but her nude bra and black cotton panties, she sauntered over to him. “Did you wear your lingerie for me?” she asked, tracing the tip of her finger along his thigh. “Get all gussied up for mama?”
He snorted and smiled.
That made her grin widen even more.
“You’re drunk.” It wasn’t a question. The glazed-over look in her eyes, the goofy smile, and the way her body kind of swayed said she’d thoroughly enjoyed her night out with her sisters-in-law and Rayma.
He loved that his wife and brothers’ wives were so close. Stacey’s own family was a piece of shit, so the fact that she fit seamlessly into Chase’s meant that they were meant to be together.
She shrugged her freckled shoulder. “I’m not gonna lie. Mickey makes a mean whiskey sour. And you know how Krista likes her tequila shots. And since Lydia isn’t drinking right now, Krista, Pasha, Rayma, and I had to drink her share.” Her words were slightly slurred, but her don’t-give-two-shits expression made his smile grow tenfold.
“As long as you had a good time,” he said, reaching up and caressing her bare hip.
“Had a really good time. Did you know Mickey got a karaoke machine?”
Brock, who was part owner of Mickey’s bar, had mentioned last week that Mickey installed a karaoke machine, but Chase forgot about it when the women said they were heading to Mickey’s.
He wasn’t sure any of the women could carry a tune, and if Pasha, Krista, and Rayma were as drunk as Stacey, it was probably a pretty entertaining but audibly painful night for the rest of the bar patrons.
His cock in his sweatpants was now hard as granite, and since he wasn’t wearing any boxers, a small damp patch where the precum leaked out was noticeable toward his left hipbone.
Stacey zeroed in on it and licked her lips.
“Did you go digging?” she asked.
He nodded.
“And what did you find?” She climbed onto the couch and straddled him but lifted and waited so that he could shove his pants down far enough to release his cock.
“Guy’s clean. No priors. No rap sheet. No second family hiding in the woods anywhere. At least not from what I could find.” His thumbs stroked her hips, and she rocked against him.
“You going to leave it be now and let your mother be happy?” She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it slide down her arms and to the floor below. Her raspberry nipples were hard and taunting him.
“Rather not talk about that anymore,” he said through slightly labored breathing. The way she was grinding against his cock had his concentration levels waning.
Leaning forward, he latched onto one nipple and sucked it hard into his mouth until she gasped and bowed her back.
She continued to thrust against him, her panties growing damper against the underside of his cock with each tilt of her hips.
He sucked her nipple harder and moved one hand to the other breast to pull and twist the nipple, while the fingers from his right hand moved down between them and pushed her panties to the side so that he could feel just how fucking wet she was.
Stacey’s hands tugged at the sides of his white T-shirt, and eventually, he released her nipple with a wet pop and let her remove his shirt. Her gaze turned avid and her eyelids dropped as she let her eyes languidly roam his body. Her nails forged a delicate path over his shoulders and arms, causing goosebumps to follow her fingers.
Gathering more of her wetness from her slick heat, he moved his index finger side-to-side over her clit, making her lashes flutter and her breathing grow shaky.
With her hands now perched on his shoulders, she lifted and waited for him to grab his cock and notch it at her center.
They didn’t need to speak.
They’d done this hundreds, possibly thousands of times before. Their connection, their language was beyond words.
Their eyes locked. She tipped her head and rested her forehead against his, a small, demure smile curling her lips as she slowly sank down, taking all of him inside her.
Her eyes closed.
His eyes closed.
She moaned.
He moaned.
“So … good,” she breathed out, pausing when she couldn’t drop down any farther. She squeezed around him, and he flexed his cock, causing her eyes to open and a sparkle to wink at him in the golden-brown.
“You gonna move, or should we just stay like this until morning when the kids come down for Cheerios and Bluey?” He still had the fingers of one hand on her breasts, and now seemed like the right time to give the nipple a little twist.
Her sharp inhale followed by a smile made him do it again.
“Is it torture, me just sitting here naked in your lap with your cock in my pussy?” she asked teasingly. “Is it that terrible?”
“Not terrible at all. Just even better when you start to move. Don’t you agree?”
Her teeth raked across her bottom lip before she nodded, made pouty duck lips and, slowly lifted her hips.
Fuck, that felt good.
She lifted even more until just the head of his dick was left inside her. Then she swirled those goddamn perfect hips of hers, and he nearly passed the fuck out.
“Jesus …” he breathed, twisting the nipple between his fingers again.
“Yeah?” she asked, lifting her forehead away from his just slightly but keeping her head tipped down, her strawberry-blonde bob creating a short curtain around her face.
Releasing her nipple, he cupped her face, sliding his fingers into her hair, and pulled her forward to take possession of her mouth.
She tasted like a combo of whiskey, Mickey’s loaded nachos, and all woman. Even though his cock was deep inside her—right where it belonged—he suddenly had the urge to pull out of her, flip her over so her ass was in the air, and dive face-first into her pussy.
The noises she made when he licked her clit, when he laved at her puckered hole or slid his tongue into her drenched slit always made him whimper on the inside for how hard it got his dick.
Keeping their lips and tongues tangled, he kept one firm grip on her head, tightening his hold in her hair, then slid the other hand down to her hip again. Surging up once, he seated himself fully inside her again until she was forced to break their kiss and gasp.
He tugged harder on her hair, making her cry out, then hoisted her off his lap, and just as he wanted, he flipped her around so she was kneeling on the couch. Her belly pressed into the arm at the other end, and after releasing her hair and hip, he spread her cheeks and dove in face-first.
“Fuuuuuck,” was all he got from the woman currently soaking his face.
He slipped two fingers inside his wife and began to pump while at the same time flicking his tongue over her swollen clit and thumbing her anus. He felt her pucker beneath his touch for only a moment before she relaxed and let him press it in an inch or so.
Her hips rocked back and forth, pushing her slippery slit harder against his face. From his nose down, he was soaking wet. Which made him a happy man.
Her little whimpers and mewls encouraged him, had him scissor his fingers inside her, then twist them to press upon that spot that made her moan.
His cock and balls ached, but he didn’t care.
This was about her right now.
She’d never leave him hanging, and he sure as fuck wouldn’t leave her hanging. He wanted her to come more than once tonight, and if the first time was across his tongue, all the better.
He heard her nails rake against the fabric of the couch, and her hip tilts were growing more erratic. She was close. She was also gushing like Old Faithful, filling his mouth with her sweet honey. Her clit swelled against his tongue. Her pussy pulsed around his fingers.
She stilled.
He didn’t.
He just kept going, knowing full well what happened next and fucking impatient about getting it.
Her muscles around his fingers squeezed like a fist, her engorged clit pulsed against his tongue, and her anus tightened around his thumb.
“Yessssssssss,” she said on a hiss. “Fuck … yessssssssss.”
More of her delicious juices fell into his open mouth, and he drank her down like he’d been wandering the desert for days and had finally found the oasis.
She pressed back against him, her body still tight.
He kept licking.
He kept fucking.
He kept going.
She would tell him when enough was enough.
After a few more heartbeats, Stacey’s body went lax and she pulled away from his face. He released her underwear and pulled his fingers free while giving her one more thorough lick through her sopping folds.
She spun around, her eyes sleepy, her smile placid and satisfied.
With a smile that matched hers, he sat back against the couch again, and after she ditched those soaked cotton panties, she straddled him, wasted no time teasing, and sank down over his length.
They both smiled as her hands found their way back to his shoulders and she started to bob up and down in his lap.
“Never get tired of fucking you,” he said, gripping her hips and helping her move, his balls tightening up and his cock now as hard as it could ever get.
“Me either.” She tucked her head and latched onto his bottom lip with her teeth, pulling up slightly before releasing it and sliding her tongue across the seam of his lips. “Never get tired of this cock and how good it feels when you’re inside me.”
Releasing one hip, he let his hand slowly trail up the length of her spine until he gripped the back of her neck, tilting her head just so until their eyes locked.
Her expression sobered and turned serious, but she kept moving. Kept driving them both closer to that beautiful edge.
“I love you, Chase,” she whispered.
I love you wasn’t enough for how Chase felt about his wife.
He didn’t just love this woman. He needed her. He was not whole, not himself, not even a functioning man without her by his side holding him up. She was his pillar.
He pressed his forehead against hers as he felt her walls beginning to pulse around his dick. She was close again.
Good. Because so was he.
She lifted and fell on his lap once more.
Twice more.
A third time. She stiffened, shut her eyes.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
Golden-brown flashed back at him.
Her lips parted just slightly, and small puffs of air from her ragged breath hit his chin. “I can’t breathe without you,” he said softly. “My heart doesn’t beat without you.”
Her eyes widened, then a little squeak rumbled up from the back of her throat as she gave in to the pleasure and came again.
His grip on the back of her neck intensified. He pressed his forehead harder against hers, stared deep into her eyes and finally let go.
Chapter 6
Rex & Lydia
Lydia quietly closed the front door of the townhouse she and Rex lived in, determined not to wake the sleeping people upstairs.
The lights in the living room were out and all was quiet.
A woof from the dog bed by the gas fireplace was all she got as a greeting from their pit bull, Diesel. Once he noticed it was her and not some intruder with nefarious intent, he put his head back down and closed his eyes. Pia, Lydia’s calico cat, was curled up as the little spoon. She hadn’t even bothered to move when Lydia came in.
Typical.
“Hello to both of you,” she whispered. “Nice to know our alarm dog and security cat are worth the biscuits and catnip we pay them.” She rolled her eyes at the snoring creatures, made sure to engage the security alarm for the front and back door, then flipped the extra locks. Rex would have already flipped the locks on the back door. Even though those who wanted to hurt them were now in prison and no longer a threat, her husband remained on high alert and ever vigilant. And he’d only gotten worse since Maeve was born.
Not that she could fault him. Lydia’s apartment had been broken into by the wife of a locksmith, and Lydia was tied to a bed and force-fed opioids in an attempt to make it look like a suicide overdose.
And since Rex was the one to find her and save her from her fate, she knew seeing someone like that—particularly someone you loved—would be pretty damn impossible to forget and set you on constant alert for threats.
And now with Maeve in their lives, he was the uber overprotective father. She knew the man would probably wrap their daughter in duct tape and pillows until she was thirty if he could.
So it would be up to Lydia to add some balance to their children’s lives because for Rex, safety was the top priority. After shucking her shoes in the hall closet, she ditched her many layers, cursed the damp west-coast winters, and padded softly down the hall.
First, she paused at Maeve’s bedroom door.
It was closed, of course, since it was safer to sleep with bedroom doors closed in the event of a fire. She already knew that Rex would have the baby monitor on with the camera pointed directly at their daughter’s crib.
Holding her breath, she gently turned the knob.
Not a peep.
Slowly, she stepped into Maeve’s dark room and over to where her wild-haired child slept on her belly, her thumb firmly in her mouth.
Ten months had gone by in a flash. One moment she was holding her minutes-old daughter in her arms, staring at the most beautiful thing on the entire planet. The next she had a ten-month-old who was determined to walk and had the most brilliant belly laugh of any baby ever.
Unlike her bald as a billiard ball father, Maeve had hair that was plentiful and unruly—a direct reflection of her personality—because, for less than a year old, Maeve had a big personality.
And it was a beautiful personality.
She had her father’s sense of humor, Lydia’s kindness, and the perfect combination of both Lydia and Rex’s smarts.
Bending over the dark wooden top rail of the crib, Lydia brushed Maeve’s feather-soft milk-chocolate-colored hair off her face.
The baby’s cheek was a little rosy, and the way her top lip flared out over her thumb and sucked profusely made Lydia’s breasts ache.
In her opinion, Maeve had given up nursing much too quickly. She would have gladly continued to nurse until Maeve was two or so if her daughter wished. But ever since Lydia found out she was pregnant again a little over a month ago, Maeve had refused to nurse.
Joy said it was probably because the taste of Lydia’s milk had changed when she became pregnant and Maeve didn’t like it.
With her hand on her daughter’s head and the other on her belly, she closed her eyes and just breathed in the moment.
They hadn’t been trying for baby number two. But much like Heath and Pasha, who had kids close together in age, the Hart men were virile and had a difficult time keeping their hands off their wives.
Not that Lydia was complaining. She was over the moon that she was having another baby with the man she loved more than anything. She just wished they’d waited until Maeve was at least a year before they started trying.
She was going to have two under two, and if Pasha and Heath had anything to say about it, it was pure chaos.
Oh well.
Good thing they had so much family around to help with the chaos.
“Goodnight, my love,” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips, then back to Maeve’s cheek. The mattress was too low in the crib for Lydia to bend over and kiss her daughter’s head without hurting her belly. So she had to do the next best thing.
