Her legs over my shoulders, her hips bucking, jerking and thrashing and coming real sweet for me again while I licked her clean with my tongue. I gorged myself on her greedily, and I feel no shame for it.
How she'd suck me nice and hard between each round. She's an angel when that mouth speaks, but the woman is all devil once her tongue touches my cock. Her delicate tease up and down my length ends with her circling my swollen crown, focusing her soft licks under it, finding the spot that makes me want to shoot off in her mouth if I wasn't so crazed to fill her pussy.
I've taught her too damn well.
If I can’t walk in the morning, it’s entirely her fault for being this gorgeous.
I can’t stop myself from tracing the line of her hip with my hand, following the dip down toward her still slick opening again. She laughs, batting my hand away drowsily.
“Enough, tiger.” It's barely an exaggeration. I have to fight to suppress a growl that'd make a saber-toothed beast do a double take.
“Rest, babe. You've earned it,” I say, kissing her bare shoulder.
With a contented sound, she snuggles against me, spooning herself into the curve of my body with that delectable little ass rubbing right against my cock. “I feel like I’ve been beaten with a meat tenderizer.”
“That’s not something my cock’s ever been called before. Nice compliment.” I wink.
She laughs, twisting in my arms and facing me, resting her hands against my chest. “You know what I meant. You’re awful, Landon. Why do I love you?”
“Because you do. And because I love you. And because you'll want this dick again in the morning, and I'll want to give it to you so hard you'll come up with fun new names for being fucked.”
“Landon.” There's a playful warning in her voice, her eyes narrowed.
I run my fingers through her hair, pushing her against me, taking my sweet time burying my lips on hers. “You heard me, Reb. Don't act like you didn't. I love fucking you like a man possessed because I just fucking love you. Period.”
Kenna's gaze relaxes. She lets out a soft, contented sigh, her green eyes bright in the darkness. “Nice save. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”
“Good. Because it's gonna be your background track from now on.” I brush my lips to hers, tasting the sweat of us on her lips.
Fuck, do I love it. Just tasting us together. Another sign we’re inseparable.
I sigh, gathering her closer. “I’ve known we were connected since the moment I met you, Reb. Call it fate. Like the gravity in the stars. I was lost then. Spent so long looking for the constellations to guide me home...when I always should've known they were here, right in front of me.”
“You've found your way. Home,” she whispers, while I brush a lock of sex-kinked hair away from her eyes.
No word on her lips has ever tasted sweeter or truer than that last one. Home.
And I'm still thinking about the kind of eternal home we'll make for ourselves when I silence her with another hungry kiss.
*
Thanks for reading Still Not Over You! Look for Skylar's book coming soon.
Want to see what happens to Landon and Kenna three years later?
Check out their Happily Ever After and new surprises in this extended epilogue. - https://dl.bookfunnel.com/sjpghkkdaj
Then read on for a preview of another bestselling protector romance by me, Accidental Hero. FREE in Kindle Unlimited.
Accidental Hero Preview
I: Walking Masterpiece (Izzy)
I have to bite my lip at how the silence excites me.
This is exactly what I’ve dreamed about for years. A room full of talent. Bright eyes and young souls eager to impress, bleeding creativity.
Every student deep in concentration, glancing towards the drawing on the easel next to my desk only long enough to confirm the next swoosh of their pencil. I hadn’t known what to expect when I accepted this position, other than it would bring me one step closer to my goal. Plus a little more money.
Oh, and it's the perfect escape from the weekly family dinners. Losing those gossip-fests is worth more than the income boost any job brings.
Working with this room full of remarkable young artists is way more fun than listening to mom's tongue-in-cheek 'encouragement.'
Or entertaining cousin Clara's dire warnings about how I'm destined to wind up with a house full of cats and die in my eighties, still a virgin.
That’s my future. Isabella Derby. AKA crazy cat lady.
The fact that my family believes that’s the path I’m on and insists on reminding me so often never fails to piss me off. No matter how many times I hear it.
This is the twenty-first century. Supposedly. I don’t even own a cat, and I’m twenty-three.
Twenty. Three.
Not fifty-three, and pining about what might have been. I have years before I need to worry about getting married. I have ambitions. Always have.
If only everyone else in my life would see that and leave me the hell alone.
If only they'd notice accomplishments besides landing men and wracking up babies.
“Ms. Derby?”
I rise from my chair and walk around my desk, happy to have something else to focus on besides my sad, nosy relatives.
Stopping next to her, I look down at the girl and smile. “Yes, Natalie?”
She’s what some would call a child prodigy. Only ten, she has the talent of some people five times her age. Not just in fine arts either.
Her enrollment papers says she’s in eighth grade. Most kids her age are still fourth graders. I kneel next to her. “What's up?”
She gestures to my drawing at the front of the room. “Um, I just noticed...the dog you drew doesn’t have any eyelashes.” Her shy voice comes out in a whisper. “Is it all right if I add some on mine?”
“Of course! Your personal muse is always welcome in this class.” I look at the drawing on her easel, picturing exaggerated Minnie Mouse eyelashes.
Wrong idea.
My breath literally stalls in my lungs at the detail in her creation. This little girl wouldn't be caught dead making anything unrealistic. The collie she’s drawn looks like it's ready to leap into the room. Just like everything she does.
It's more like a black and white photo than a drawing. Especially one done by a child.
Every feathery line she's sketched brings the dog to life in ways I can’t even describe.
Hell, it's almost better than mine. And it took me a Master's degree and years practicing to get where I am.
I glance between her dog and mine. Forget almost.
Hers is far better. A masterpiece.
I choke up as I watch the eyes on her dog come to life as she carefully pencils in a few soft lashes. “Keep going. You’re doing a great job!”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
The way she’s biting the tip of her tongue demonstrates how fully she’s concentrating. I smile again, then stand, making a round of the whole room.
Only six students here this evening. The others are all high school kids. Natalie’s dad had to pull some strings to get her into this class, meant for kids at least in their freshmen year.
That’s what I was told. Since this is my first year with the district, I’m as unfamiliar with the students and their families as I am with the staff. That'll change in time, I'm sure. We’re only three weeks into the school year.
The other five drawings look much like I expect. They demonstrate passion and promise, but honestly, there isn’t another one that comes anywhere close to Natalie’s.
I wonder if her talent comes from her father. The man I try hard not to think about every time she steps foot in my class.
If the last two weeks are anything to go by, he’ll be here soon. A good twenty minutes before class ends. He'll stand in the back of the room with a spiral notebook, open it up, and let his big, rough hands touch the paper.
The first night, I thought he was making a list or notes. But last week, I had a strong feeling he was drawing. Sketching right along with his daughter and the rest of the class.