“Everly,” I whisper, at the same time she says my name.
We shout at the top of our lungs from the pleasure. Fuck, so much pleasure. I empty my seed inside her, pushing it deeper with every thrust as her spasming walls help bring it to her womb.
I collapse on top of her, shaking, and take her lips in a slow, passionate kiss. I go to roll to my side to situate myself next to her, but I roll off the bed and hit the wood floor with a hard smack.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I groan as the dream vanishes and reality appears. “Ow.” I get on my hands and knees, groaning as pain sears my hip. Yep, that will leave a bruise. I stumble over to the bathroom and flip the light on and curse when I see myself in the mirror.
Cheeks are flushed. Sweat drips down my temples. Come is splattered along my chest with a few drops in the thick of my bush above my cock. I run to the bed to make sure Everly isn’t there because that felt too real. There’s no way we weren’t having sex. Except I see more come on the bed—my come.
I pull the strands in my hair as I try not to freak out. A wet dream? A fucking wet dream? What am I? Fourteen?
I sit on the bed and look down at my semi-hard cock still leaking my orgasm. The best orgasm I’ve ever had since I was eighteen in the cab of my truck. “We need to move on. And you aren’t helping things by wanting her,” I say, as if my cock has a mind of its own. I fall back on the bed and curse as I land in the puddle of my own come.
“Great.” I get up, yank the sheets off the bed and turn on the shower to get all the sweat and sex off me.
Dream sex that is.
I step in the shower and lean my hands against the wall, hanging my head to let the hot water drape over me. I know it isn’t just my cock that wants her. It’s every ounce of me. My soul, my mind, my heart, my blood, my nerves, my skin, just my entire being yearns for that woman.
A woman who doesn’t want me.
Chapter 8 Everly
When I saw Rowan standing near my door, I’d thought all hell was going to break loose, but Gray grabbed him before he could say anything else that could make me cry. I assumed he would have said things that were hurtful.
I deserve it. I will take any words he has to say to me like a whipping post. He has a lot he needs to say to me, and I can’t argue with him about it because, at the end of the day, I’m the reason why we are in the situation we are in. I don’t blame him for wanting to confront me. I want to confront him too, but at this point, and with how bad things are, I don’t know how to. And will he even want to listen to me? I don’t know. I think he just needs to vent because the forgiveness train, for me to tell him I’m sorry, has left the station.
“Good afternoon,” my mother announces the next morning, kissing me on the cheek. “Have you and Rowan made up yet?”
“Don’t really want to talk about it, Mom,” I reply, scooping another spoonful of cereal in my mouth.
“So that’s a no, then,” she sighs, opening the cabinet to grab a white coffee mug. “I don’t understand. I thought you guys were in love. I mean I guess it is a good thing you’re not, since you’re related now.”
“We aren’t related. You and his dad are only engaged.” I drink the milk from the bowl and set it on the counter when I’m done. “Besides, even if you were married, Rowan and I are far from being siblings, Mom. We’re adults now. It’s pointless to think of it that way, really.”
“Oh, that’s great news, honey.” Right as she puts the rim of the mug to her lips, she mutters, “Because we got married last night.”
The orange juice slips out of my hands, and the glass shatters on the floor, sending small pieces and orange juice all over.
“What?” I shriek. I really thought this engagement was a fluke. I thought it would blow over.
“What?” Rowan echoes from the hallway.
“Married?” I sputter. “Already?”
“Well, it was kind of spur-of-the-moment. We decided we didn’t need all that fancy stuff. Just the two of us at the courthouse.”
Part of me is deeply hurt that she didn’t want to invite me to her wedding. Another part of me is grateful I didn’t have to go.
I glance over at Rowan, panicked, but he still won’t meet my eyes.
Gray helps himself to a peach from the bowl on the kitchen island and smiles. “Oh man, this keeps getting better and better.”
“We’re a family! Isn’t this wonderful?” My mother hugs him, and he shoots daggers at me like it’s my fault our parents fell in love. “Now, I don’t expect you to call me Mom or anything, but at least call me Barbara now, okay? No more of that Ms. Madison,” she giggles.
Giggles.
My mother does not giggle. Who is this woman?
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”
Gray leans over and whispers from the side of his mouth, “So I guess the sex would be forbidden now between you guys, or…?”
“I’m this close to stabbing you with this spoon, Gray.” I pick up the spoon and twirl it between my fingers; my reflection glaring off the polished silver.
He feigns insult by throwing his hand to his chest and gasping, “That’s assault. I thought we were closer than that.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t even know your last name, or your middle name. Friends know those things.”
“Grayson Lauren Jones,” he puffs out his chest proudly.
“Lauren?” I try
