19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

H e should have offered to help her pack up her stuff and move it to the trailer, but he just couldn't. Her revelation about what happened in the OR, about Tad and Ashli and everything else was like a sledgehammer to his solar plexus. It winded him. Stole his words.

Time to think was also what he needed.

He needed to process her request and all the information she'd thrown at him in the span of what was probably two minutes. Two minutes and she never took a breath until the very end. Then she gulped in air as if she'd been on the verge of drowning.

Their intense moment was subsequently interrupted by little girls and he both welcomed their distraction and wished his kids would have taken another five minutes in the shower so he could absorb everything in peace a little longer.

Then Aya had to go and make things a million times more awkward by trying to play matchmaker. Ugh! He loved that child more than life itself, but sometimes she could be really fucking annoying.

The girls were finally in bed; the house was quiet and yet, his brain gave him no rest before it began running through Justine's info dump yet again.

Tad was her ex-fiancé. He cheated on her with Ashli, a scrub nurse. Neither showed any remorse. Ashli was now pregnant with their lovechild and they were planning a wedding. Tad also claimed that he didn't want children, but then secretly did, and now he was having one. Meanwhile, Justine was barren and wanted nothing more than to be a mother. Justine then reacted to Ashli, and the news of Tad's cheating and the pregnancy like any sane person would. However, she had an unconscious man with an open chest cavity on her table and a scalpel in her hand. The patient died.

What a motherfucking clusterfuck.

Bennett and his brothers had the potential to make a shit ton of money from this last-minute event for these douchebags, but he was struck with the moral dilemma of loyalty to Justine, or loyalty to the business and his brothers.

The last thing he wanted was for Justine to feel like he was picking Satan and his bride over her.

Because he absolutely wasn't.

He was picking money.

That made him sound like a miser. Like a greedy bastard who only cared about the ‘dollar, dollar bills, y'all." But he wasn't. Money was essential for survival. He had children to raise, a business—many businesses—to run. He needed money to secure his children's future. To secure his family's future.

This wasn't just about him.

This wasn't just about Justine.

It was about five men and their dream to create a legacy for their six children.

He hoped she would come back into the house so they could talk, but as he puttered in the kitchen drying dishes and making busywork, he quickly realized she wasn't going to.

So he needed to go to her.

The girls would be fine upstairs if he jetted across the gravel driveway to the travel trailer.

He double-checked on them first; they were both out cold. Emme was curled up in a tight ball, hugging her favorite panda stuffy, while Aya was sprawled out like a contortionist starfish with no covers, her mouth open and three stuffed animals on the floor. He could pull her covers back over her, but she'd just kick them off again. The kid ran hot and often tore off all her clothes at some point during the night.

Then he popped into his room where Justine had stripped the bed and made a neat pile of the sheets and towels on the bathroom tile. The room smelled like her though. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Disappointment lapped at the edges of his awareness. She was just across the driveway, and yet, at the same time, she felt a million miles away. He used the washroom, washed his hands, fixed his hair in the mirror and gripped the countertop, staring at himself.

She was not a stupid woman.

In fact, she was probably one of the smartest fucking people he'd ever met.

She would be able to see reason and the practicality behind holding this stupid wedding for these terrible people. She would.

She had to.

With another deep inhale, he nodded at his reflection, then booked it downstairs and out the door, crossing the gravel driveway he shared with his brothers in only ten strides. He pounded on the trailer door before he allowed doubt to claim its throne in his subconscious.

She opened the door a moment later, unsurprised to see him. Her cheeks pinked up though.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

She nodded and stepped inside, holding open the door for him.

He ducked his head and entered. He hadn't actually seen inside the trailer until now.

It was nice.

Swanky.

The definition of glamping.

Her tote bins were strewn about in the sitting area and kitchen, but she moved them to the bedroom so they could sit down.

Twisting her fingers in her lap, she glanced up at him beneath her lashes.

First things first. He reached forward, gripped her by the back of the neck and kissed her.

She hesitated at first, but then melted into him, wriggling sexily in his arms. He kissed her harder, parting her lips with his tongue and exploring. Desperate for an unending amount of her. For all of her. Or whatever she was willing to give.

Sure, when Aya mentioned he and Justine getting married he'd shrugged it off and dismissed it, but he'd by lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind a time or two in the last week. Given how much the girls were taken with her. How much he was taken with her. It was a perfect fit, even if it was new and riddled with so much of her self-doubt and guilt.

That was all still raw.

She would come through it on the other side. He knew she would.

She was strong and brilliant and so incredibly disciplined. She would come through.

Finally, after minutes ticked by of them just making out on the couch, she gripped his wrist where his hand still cupped the back of her neck, and pulled away.

Her brown eyes were glazed over and her lips were so red and plump he just wanted to dive back in and taste them all over again. "You came here to talk," she said slightly breathless.

He nodded. "I did. But I needed to do that first. I needed you to know that …"

"You're going to host the wedding." Her gaze dropped to her lap.

"Don't you want us to milk those assholes for every penny?" He reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. "They'll get married regardless, whether we host it here or not. But if we host it here, we get their money. The cabin gets fixed. We can buy new, needed equipment. My brothers and I can actually pay ourselves a decent monthly wage for once."

Her eyes shot up to his. "You're not paying yourselves?"

"Not enough," he said simply. "Money is tight right now. COVID-19 hit us hard as we tried to take care of our staff. And my brothers keep buying expensive shit without talking to me first. But the money from the wedding would cover the cost of the cabin repairs and more."

She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment. "Can I ask what you consider a reasonable, yet also stick-it-to-them price? Or is that crass?"

A half-smile curled his face. "Because it's last minute and they want the cabin for five days, we'd have to shut down the restaurant for the entire day—which is Saturday and our biggest money-making day—we're leaning toward twenty-five to thirty. They want food, an open bar, signature cocktails. They even want Wyatt to bake the cake."

"Is he a pastry chef?"

"No, but Burke started out as a pastry chef, so he's going to do it. The more we can keep in-house and charge them for the better."

"Have you sent this quote to them yet?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I was going type up the proposal tonight or tomorrow."

She exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm not an unreasonable monster. And I can't tell you what to do. I also can't expect you to show me—a batcrap crazy person with insane mood swings—loyalty over your brothers, business, and family."

His smile curled up on the other side now, too. "You're not batcrap crazy."

She snorted. "But I do have insane mood swings."

"You said it, not me."

"When do they want to have the wedding?"

"Three weeks."

Her eyes bugged out, then she dropped her gaze to their intertwined hands and shook her head. "Entitled bastards."

"What kind of a doctor is Tad?"

Also, Tad was a terrible name.

"Neurosurgeon. His full name is Thadeus Alastair Xavier DuPonte."

"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little."

She giggled. "He's old money from New England, and like me, comes from a family of doctors. But unlike me, he also comes from a family of politicians. Everyone I ever met from the DuPontes, and his mother's side, the Grimaldis, were Ivy League educated and had sticks firmly embedded where you normally get a colonoscopy."

That made his smile widen. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear."

"Swearing is for the unintelligent, uneducated, and classless."

His eyes widened.

"Or so says my mother."

Phew.

"It was ingrained in us from early on not to swear. My parents don't swear." Light hit her eyes. "That's not true actually. My dad does, but only when my mother is not around and he's really angry. I heard him swear in French when he accidentally hammered his thumb in the garage."

"What did he say?" Bennett rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

" Tabarnak ." She made sure to add the perfect amount of a French accent and emphasis on it too.

"What does that mean?"

"It's Quebecois only. You won't hear a Belgian or person from France say it. But I believe it means holy fuck in English."

He rolled the word around on his tongue for a moment before saying it, trying to add just as much of a French accent flare as she had. " Tabarnak."

She nodded. "Only time I ever heard him say it too."

He grinned. "I like it."

As much as he thoroughly enjoyed getting this little glimpse into her childhood, they needed to get back to the real reason he came out here to speak with her. "I'm going to host this wedding. I don't want you to leave. I don't want to lose you. I already hate that you're not in my house anymore."

Her face softened.

"But we need the money. We need to put ourselves on the map as available to host weddings. We want Bonn Remmen's land so we can make a serious go of this dream. But if we don't get it—because there is a real chance we won't—we want to know that we could still pull it off without the land. That we could make it work here. We need the revenue. We need the publicity. We need to keep moving forward and building the business so we have a legacy for our children."

Her nod was slow, but he could see on her face that she understood. Turning her hand over in his, so their palms faced each other, she squeezed his fingers in hers. "I know. I had a bit of a mini-crisis when I first realized who your happy couple was and thought I'd had to convince you to say no to them, or else I would have to leave."

"Don't give them any more power."

She nodded again. "I'm not going to. But I also can't be here when they get married. I'll leave for the day."

"I get that."

"I don't want you to put your family's future or business in jeopardy because of me. I couldn't live with myself if you turned down this opportunity, but I also think you need to know what kind of people you're agreeing to do business with."

"I want to hear it all. I don't want there to be any more secrets between us."

Hesitation flickered in her eyes. "Do you hate me because I let my feelings enter the OR? Do you judge me for what happened to my patient?"

He had her in his arms and on his lap before she could take a breath. He cradled her slight frame against him, tipping her chin down and holding onto it so she couldn't look away. "You. Are. Human."

She shifted her eyes to the side.

"Look at me."

Her gaze snapped back to his. "You. Are. Human. Humans make mistakes. If you felt no remorse, I would judge you. If you felt no sadness, or regret, or guilt, I would judge you. Harshly, probably. But you hold yourself accountable for your actions. You take responsibility and understand that you made a mistake. That's what people with emotional intelligence, self-awareness and humility do. That's what someone with empathy does. And you have all of those things in droves. I can see it. I can feel it. I don't have to know you for eons, to be certain of this. I know you beat yourself up over Mr. O'Malley's death, and a little bit of self-flagellation is probably humbling, but you need to let it go. Don't let it ruin you. Don't let them ," he pointed down toward the main laneway to imply Tad and Ashli, "ruin you. That gives them too much power. Grieve your patient. Feel the guilt and learn from it. But I have no doubt in my mind you are an incredible surgeon and that you shouldn't give up on practicing medicine."

His mouth was dry from that soliloquy. But it needed to be said. All of it.

She needed to know that he didn't judge or hate her. She was beating herself up over an accident. Over a mistake. Anybody with an ounce of humanity in them would have reacted in some visceral way to finding out not only that their fiancé cheated on them, but knocked their mistress up too. And the fact that neither Tad nor Ashli showed any remorse for their actions just made them even bigger shit stains on humanity.

He still had her chin in his grasp. "Promise me."

She blinked.

"Promise me you will really work on forgiving yourself. On working through the guilt, the grief and the self-doubt. You are a good person and I'm sure you are a tremendous doctor. Please start believing it again."

Tears trickled down her cheeks, falling onto her lap. He released her chin and swept them away.

"Also, I'm really sorry about Aya and the whole matchmaking thing. I feel awful that she put you in such an uncomfortable position."

Her smile was small, but it still lit up her eyes. "She's too sweet to be perturbed with."

"No, she's not," he said bluntly.

They both chuckled, and she took a deep breath, releasing it on a sigh.

"How are you settling into the trailer? We miss you in the house."

She glanced around at her new living space. "It's great. I don't want to be an imposition any longer. As much as we are finding our footing, I think it's better if I give you and your daughters some breathing room."

He nodded, though he didn't entirely agree.

She exhaled again. "There's a chocolate shop in Seattle that has a "back room" menu."

His brows bunch in curiosity. "Meaning like chocolate shaped penises and nipples?"

She nodded. "Among other things. It's not well known … you need to know people to get the menu sent to you. But they have a revenge menu. The owner had an awful bully of a sister and was tasked with not only providing a giant chocolate centerpiece for her sister's wedding, but also the guest favors. She bought a butthole chocolate mold from a guy in the UK and proceeded to make hundreds of butthole-shaped chocolates. It was her secret, sneaky bit of revenge."

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You're saying we should try to persuade—"

"Lucifer and the Witch."

He chuckled. "You're saying we should try to persuade Lucifer and the Witch to allow us to also provide their guest favors and somehow sneak in butthole chocolates?"

She shrugged. "I mean … would it really be that tragic? Chocolate is chocolate. It's just kind of weird that chocolate is the same color as … poop … and it's you know, a butthole. But I also think that if anybody deserves sneaky chocolate buttholes it's those two."

"I couldn't agree more."

Their smiles were stupidly big, and soon they were both laughing until beautiful tears of joy shone in her eyes. He grabbed her chin again for a kiss.

She moaned against his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom, but the romantic gesture of laying her down on the bed came to an abrupt halt because the bed was littered with her clothes and suitcase. So first, they needed to put those on the floor. Then, they scrambled to get off their clothes and the soft, romantic moment transformed into a heated frenzy to disrobe and get skin-on-skin as fast as possible.

They dove under the covers and he rolled on top of her, caging her in beneath him.

She blinked up at him, all the humor from earlier gone from her eyes. Nothing stared back at him but hope and sincerity. He could tell that her finally coming clean with him about what happened with her patient was cathartic. It may have been painful, but she needed it to begin healing and moving forward. The longer she held that ache inside, the more it would fester and poison anything good.

Brushing the loose strands from her braid away from her face, he kissed her nose, then her eyelids, her cheekbones, her jaw, and finally, her lips.

Her arms floated up around his neck, and her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape. She wiggled her hips beneath him and spread her legs so he could settle between them. His cock was already hard and when he moved a little, the shaft of it rubbed her clit. Her lashes fluttered and a small, sweet moan echoed in her throat.

He did it again.

"Bennett …"

"Hmm?"

"Inside me … please. Make me feel good."

"Do you want to feel good?"

She nodded.

"Do you want to feel joy?"

"Mhmm."

"Do you want to feel pleasure?"

"Mhmm."

"I want to hear it, Justine. I want you to tell me what you want."

Pink stained her cheeks, dulling the freckles at the same time her lids sunk to half-mast and her lips parted.

He moved his hips again, rubbing her clit with the long part of his cock.

Her lashes fluttered again. "I want pleasure … Bennett. From you. With you. I want to feel pleasure. I want you inside of me. I want …" She swallowed. "I want orgasms and joy. I want to feel good, and I don't want to have any guilt about it."

"That's a good girl." Then he lifted up a little, reached between them and notched himself at her already slick center. Her eyes flared a bit when he pushed in, so he paused.

"Don't stop," she whispered, grappling at his back and digging in her nails.

"Wasn't planning on it." He inched in further, letting her really feel the pleasure of the stretch. She was still tight as fuck and hugged his cock like a soft, velvety fist. Another sexy moan fled her lips. He paused again. Her pussy pulsed around him. He slid in another inch, then another.

Then her hips leaped off the bed and she took him inside her completely, all the way to the base.

His chuckle came out grittier than he was expecting. "Cheeky."

"Desperate," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her ankles at the small of his back.

Then he started to move. Slow at first, measured. Until he could tell she was losing her patience and wanted him to go harder and faster. The way her hips gyrated and wriggled beneath him had his balls cinching up against his taint in no time. He needed to slow down, or he was going to blow.

But his woman didn't want to slow down. She wanted pleasure. She wanted joy. And she wanted it from him, so he was going to give her anything, and everything, she asked for.

Dipping his head low, he found a peaked nipple and sucked until it grew even harder. Then he laved it with his tongue until it softened, only to do the whole thing over again. Hardening it to a tight, red little point, then subduing it with gentle after care. She growled and gasped when he raked his teeth across the other nipple before he delivered the same attention to that one. All the while never stopping his thrusts. He was one of those rare men that was pretty good at multitasking.

Her pussy fluttered around him, and her bucking up with her hips faltered slightly. She was losing her rhythm. The rhythm they set together.

"Oh god," she breathed.

"Fuck … yeah," he grunted. "Not gonna last much longer, baby."

"Me either."

He halted for a moment and sat up on his knees, gripping her by the back of her toned thighs, pulling her closer to him.

Her eyes went wide.

"Touch your clit. Rub it. I want to see how you take care of yourself."

"I … I've never." More pink filled her already flushed cheeks, spreading down into her chest.

"You've never … touched yourself? You've never masturbated? But you're a doctor? Aren't doctors the ones telling us that it's healthy and natural and good for us? It's priests saying it's a sin."

She shrugged and a tinge of embarrassment crept into her eyes. "I also have an overbearing and shaming mother."

"Christ."

"B-but I will try. For you."

Well, if that wasn't a twenty-first century declaration of devotion if he'd ever heard one.

Biting her plump bottom lip with her top teeth, she brought her slender fingers down between her legs to her swollen clit. "Like this?"

"However it feels best for you."

"I … I like it when you lick circles around it. So …" She rubbed circles on her clit with two fingers.

"Fuck … that's so hot."

"Don't stop moving … please. I'm close."

"Fuck," he breathed again, picking up the pace and digging his fingers a little harder into the backs of her thighs. His orgasm knocked impatiently on the door. It wanted to be let free. To run wild through his body, so he could fill Justine up with everything he had.

"Oh god," she mewled, closing her eyes and biting down harder on her lip until little white blotches formed beneath her teeth. "So good."

"So fucking good."

"I'm … I'm going to come."

"That's right, baby. You fucking come all over my cock. I'm going to fill you up too."

Her eyes flashed open and locked on his at the same time she broke around him. Her pussy throbbed and her hamstrings stiffened. Every muscle in her body contracted, even her belly, which showed off her well-defined abs. The cords in her neck strained and her eyes slammed shut. "Oh god."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each fresh wave of pleasure.

He couldn't hang on any longer. The sight of her, the feel of her, watching her fingers between her legs, not to mention the fact that already she was seeking pleasure and prepared to not feel guilty about it. It was all too much.

Or at least he thought it was, until she opened her eyes, still caught up in the throes of her own release, locked her gaze on his and said, "Come."

Fucking. Hell.

It was like a freaking dam broke in his balls.

He lost every ounce of composure, his eyelids squeezed shut and his body went ramrod straight as his cock pulsed inside her slick, tight heat, filling her up just like he promised.

He prided himself on being a gentleman. On making sure the woman always orgasmed first. And she did. But the things that paraded through his mind, and the words that came out of his mouth—not to mention the animal sounds—were not gentlemanly at all.

He must have said, "Fuck," at least five times Then there was something about how tight her little slit was for him and how he couldn't wait to see his cum drip out of it.

He'd never said this shit before. Sure, he'd thought it, but he kept it in his brain.

Not now. Not tonight while Justine had her fingers on her clit and told him to come.

All sense of chivalry was booted out the door, leaving room for nothing but the animal in rut that lurked inside him.

She was still working her little button with those two fingers and before he was even done with his own orgasm, another one rolled through her and she was crying out again.

Fuck. Yes.

He finished his own climax in time to watch her finish her second. It was fucking beautiful.

The way her complexion flushed, her muscles tightened, and her lips parted was nothing short of goddamn perfection.

After a few more moments passed, she relaxed her muscles and sleepily blinked open her eyes. A small, demure smile tipped up her mouth slightly more on the left.

He carefully set down her legs on the bed, got up to go to the bathroom and get her a washcloth, returning less than a minute later with a warm, wet cloth which he gently slid between her legs to mop up the mess he made. Though, truthfully, he fucking loved watching his cum seep out of her. It was a primal, animalistic high that he neither recognized nor wanted to dismiss. Something about Justine made him lose all sense of composure. She brought out his inhibitions, and he smiled so much more when she was around too.

"I'm going to pee," she said, her voice hoarse as she slipped out from beneath the tangled white sheets and padded naked to the bathroom.

He climbed back into bed and tucked his hands behind his head, staring up at the low ceiling.

He was chuckling to himself about butthole chocolates when she returned, climbing into the bed beside him and curling up against his body, her hand on his chest. "What's got you chuckling?"

"Butthole chocolates," he said, still laughing slightly.

She grinned, and he kissed her head.

"Do you think saying ‘fuck' while fucking is like saying ‘parkour' while doing parkour?" he asked the moment that odd, random thought popped into his head. Well, okay, maybe it wasn't that random. He was still reflecting on his choice of words as he came.

She snorted and sat up a little, staring down at him. "What?"

"Well, you know those crazy people who do parkour and leap from building to building, trying to come up with the most convoluted and dangerous way to get from point A to point B?"

"I'm familiar with the dangerous sport. Saw quite a few parkour idiots in the ER when I was an intern."

"Right. And a lot of them will shout, ‘parkour' as they're trying to become organ donors."

She snorted again. "Yes."

"So shouting ‘fuck' while fucking is kind of the same thing. No?"

She gaped down at him for a moment, then burst into raucous laughter that warmed his heart. "That's … terrible, but also very accurate."

"I'm simply reflecting on my choice of language." Heat rushed into his cheeks. "I'm sorry if I got a little out of hand, and perhaps offensive."

Her brown eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Oh, don't apologize. It was hot."

"Maybe I should start shouting ‘ Tabarnak !' when I come. Hmm?"

She barked out another infectious laugh and slapped his chest. "Oh god, that will give me cringey-daddy vibes."

He chuckled and reached up, cupping her face. "I hope you'll still come and have dinner with us once in a while. The girls would love it."

"Just the girls?"

"I would too."

She leaned down and kissed him.

"So is this the new norm? I sneak into the trailer at night, or you sneak into the house?"

"Do you want to tell the girls about us? Seems awfully early. We don't even know what this is."

"It's two people who care deeply about each other having parkour."

She snorted again.

"I mean, we can also just keep having sex against trees every morning on our runs. Make a goal to fuc—sorry, I mean parkour —against as many trees as we can this summer."

Her laugh only made him smile more.

"Why did two people at the funfair yesterday refer to you as Mr. Serious? I don't see that at all. They said of all the McEvoy brothers you are the most dour and smile the least. I mean, I don't know your brothers that well, but from who I have met, Dom seems to be the most dour."

"He's the shyest. He puts it on for the patrons at the bar, but it takes a lot out of him. He's an introvert. He loves his job and he loves customers, but when he's done for the night, he is done with people. He doesn't want to talk to anybody but his kid for at least twelve hours."

"I get that. I like helping people, but I'm also an introvert. I start my day with only so many—"

"Fucks to give about others?"

"I was going to say conversations in my bucket, and if I run out, I kind of just go … quiet." She rubbed his chest affectionately. "What are they talking about though? Why are you ‘Mr. Serious'?"

He pressed his lips together and opened up his arm to indicate she should slide down and snuggle with him again. She did.

"I … I was Mr. Serious. I mean, I am. Of the five of us, I am the most serious. I always have been. Even though Clint is the oldest, and he is incredibly responsible, I am the one with the head for business and money. They all live in a bit of a pipe dream and I'm the monster who has to crush their dreams. It can get exhausting. But, I know this about myself, and one day I heard Aya say to Emme that ‘Daddy is always so grumpy.' and it hit me harder than you would believe. So I vowed to try to be better. To smile more. To crack more jokes. To just be happier. We have a good life here. There isn't much of a reason to be grumpy."

"That's … really insightful of you. Very self-aware."

He snorted. "It was hard at first. I had to fake it, but now … now it's more of who I am. Or who I want to be for my kids."

She pressed a kiss to his pec.

He playfully tugged on her braid so she was forced to lift her head and look at him. "I also saw how well things worked out for Clint and Brooke and decided that it was too much work to keep my heart closed off to the possibility of love again. Having it open and relaxed is better. More comfortable." He drew circles around her hip bone with his other hand. "Also scary as fuck. But … I'm okay with that."

"Sometimes we need to do scary things for good things to happen," she said solemnly, looking down at him with those soulful brown eyes he could so easily get lost in … possibly forever.

With emotion causing his throat to get tight he merely nodded.

"My heart is open too."

As much as he was glad they were in a good place again, and opening up to each other—finally—it took a lot of energy to be so vulnerable. He wanted to get back to when they were laughing about parkour and buttholes.

"Are your legs open too?" he gritted out, rolling on top of her.

She looped her arms around his neck and spread her thighs beneath him. "I think they might be." She nipped his chin.

"So, tell me again why you've never masturbated before today?"

She rolled her eyes and lifted her hips up slightly for a bit of friction. "If that blew your mind, you're going to lose it completely when I tell you I didn't have my first orgasm until I was thirty-one."

His heart nearly stopped, and he stared down at her, slack-jawed. "You're kidding. How old are you now?"

"Thirty-five."

"So wait, you've been having sex since—"

"I was nineteen." She rolled her eyes. "I was a late bloomer and there was lots of shame about sex and teen pregnancy in our house. God forbid we become a statistic. God forbid we get a reputation. How would that reflect on our family? On our parents who were very respected in the community? This mostly came from my mother. My dad just goes along with what she says."

"What about just the safe-sex talk? Trusting your children? Establishing an open, no-secrets house? What about birth control and condoms?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. What about all those things? My mom, even though she's a doctor, is very proper. Very conservative in a lot of ways. We never spoke of sex, sexuality, or any of that at home. My sisters and I were given a book to read when we were nine about menstruation, then pads and tampons just appeared in the bathroom. But we never spoke of it. I got in big trouble one time for leaving my pad—rolled up in toilet paper—in the bathroom garbage. I was to put all that stuff in a bag in my room, then tie the bag and take it immediately outside to the garbage. We were never allowed to ask questions really, either. I remember one time I heard some boys at school talking about jerking off and I didn't know what that meant, so I asked my mom and I was told never to bring up such things in the house again."

"What kind of a doctor is your mother?"

"An oncologist."

"And your dad?"

She snorted. "A urologist. He'll talk about bladders, urethras, and penises all day if given the chance— now —but when we were kids, he wasn't allowed to talk about that stuff in front of us."

"What about your sisters?"

"Tasha is an orthopedic surgeon and Daniella is doing her residency in obstetrics. I'm sure she's well aware of masturbation at this point. And it's not like I didn't know what it was before now. I just … whenever I tried, I heard my mother's voice in my head condemning me. Making me feel dirty. So I gave up."

"Jesus," he breathed. "I'm pretty sure all five of us spent the majority of our teen years abusing ourselves in the shower. So many crusty tube socks were found in Jagger and Wyatt's bedrooms."

"Not yours?" she asked with a sly look.

"No. Never. I did it in the shower. Wash away the evidence of my indiscretions."

Her giggle made him smile. "Your parents' water bill must have been insane."

"Oh, it was." He kissed her quick and sweet. "How is it possible though, that you had your first ever orgasm only four years ago?"

"I dunno, but it is."

"That just seems … unfair."

"And in those four years, I didn't have very many. Like maybe a dozen overall."

"A dozen in four years. A dozen in your life?" She was right. His mind was beyond blown now. And not in a good way. "But you came so … easily with me."

The look she gave him was so profound, so poignant, so … steadfast, he had to roll off her and collapse back into the pillows. "Jesus. That's a lot of pressure on a guy."

She was quick to straddle him, notching him at her center and sliding down. "Something tells me you're up for the task … Marine. "

The way she squeezed his cock as she dropped down, taking him inch by luscious inch into her tight heat, was nothing short of spectacular.

"Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to help me catch up to the rest of the female population lucky enough to get orgasms early in life. And lots of them. You seem to have unlocked the door to my … orgasm chamber. So—"

"Orgasm chamber?"

"You're currently inside me. I'm not thinking with all my brain cells right now. Cut me some slack."

He snorted and gripped her by the hips, staring up at this remarkable, brilliant, beautiful, and funny woman. She deserved all the orgasms in the world. She should never have to have sex that didn't end in an orgasm ever again.

"Slack cut," he said, bucking up a little, which made her lashes flutter.

"Do you accept this mission, Marine?"

He saluted her. "I do. Now will you self-destruct in ten seconds or—"

"I think it's your job to destroy me. In the best way possible."

Fuck. Him. She was absolutely the one . He surged up, gripped her by the back of the neck, and kissed her hard. This woman was everything he'd been searching for.

Now he just had to figure out a way to keep her.