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I hate Rory Miller’s stupid fucking arrogant grin. I hate it so much that I think about it all the time.
She’s so pretty and mean and perfect, and this is going to fucking ruin me.
“Hi, baby.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple like it’s nothing.
Omg I would fold
“Get over here, my little fire-breathing dragon.” Pippa chokes on her drink, laughing. “That is not my nickname,” I tell him, elbowing him. Rory just smiles before his hands come to my waist and he lifts me into his lap.
My hips press back into Rory’s cock and he sucks in a sharp breath. He’s so stiff against my ass. That thing is fucking huge. I’ll be sore for days.
With his towering height in my tiny shower? “We wouldn’t fit.” His grin turns feral and smug. “We’d make it fit.”
When Rory Miller kisses me, I forget what it’s like to have my heart broken.
“Don’t bully me, Hartley.” He nips my earlobe and my lips part. “It makes me hard.”
“And even when we’re a hundred years old,” he whispers, “I’ll be flirting with you to get your attention.”
Rory would be a good dad. He’d be nothing like his own father. There’s a warm tug in my chest at the idea of kids who look like Rory, bright-eyed troublemakers with hearts of gold. The image of him chasing them around our house, playing with them, makes me ache with affection. Our house? Oh my god. Are these kids now our kids?
Desire swoops through me. Why, why is a man taking care of me so hot?
If my heart is a house, Rory now lives there.
