Page 82 of Finding Peace
I look between her still spread legs, her pussy wet and ready for more. I reach down and pat my pants pocket. “Nah. I think I’ll just save these as a souvenir.”
I get up and retake my seat next to her, planting a dramatic kiss on her cheek.
“So what? I’m just supposed to walk around with no panties all night?”
Before I can answer, Lawson does. “I honestly couldn’t think of a better idea. How about you, Brother?”
Linc shakes his head. “Might be in the mood for some dessert later anyway.”
The five of us laugh as the limo continues to Billings. To where we will show everyone how proud we are to have Abigail Adams as ours.
Chapter twenty-four
Abigail
Thelimodooropens,and cold Montana air rushes in.
For half a second, I just sit here.
Because if I move, this will be real.
The fundraiser. The whispers. The attention on our relationship.
My stomach flips—and not entirely from nerves.
The ride over replays in rapid, sinful flashes. Jasper’s mouth between my legs. Beau’s hand firm on my thigh. Lincoln and Lawson’s eyes locked on me as I came apart.
As dirty and depraved as the whole moment was, it did exactly what Jasper intended. It reminded me that I mean more to them than anything ever has—or ever will—and no dirty look or whispered insult can take that away fromus.
The memory of his eyes blazing up at me makes my cheeks pink and sends a new wave of arousal to burn low in my belly. Because, despite the mind-blowing orgasm… I still want more. From Jasper. From Beau. From all of them.
And the fact that I’m about to step out of this limo with no panties on—in a dress with a very high slit, with a crowd of people waiting outside—and bite marks along my inner thigh makes sweat bead along my spine.
I repeat the mantra I’ve been telling myself the entire way over here.
I’m being ridiculous.
I know I’m being ridiculous.
I know they’re proud to have me.
I know they don’t want me to be a secret.
I know that what we have isreal.
A movement beside me pulls me back.
Lincoln steps out first, tall and broad in his suit that fits him like it was stitched onto his shoulders. I’ve seen him in suits before, but tonight is different. His hair is styled instead of casually tossed back from running his hands through it. His beard is trimmed sharp. And he looks less like the steady ranch lawyer and more like a man who owns the room he’s in before he even speaks.
Lawson follows. Charcoal jacket stretched across his chest, tie slightly loosened already, like he refuses to be completely tamed. He places his chocolate-colored felt hat on his head before adjusting his cufflinks with easy elegance—like he’s done this a thousand times.
Beau steps out next, smoothing a hand down the front of his navy suit. The crisp white shirt under his jacket tightens across his broad chest when he moves, and the perfectly knotted tie sits clean against his throat. His dimples deepen as he smiles at me from where I’m stillhiding inside the limo, and just the sight of those damn things alone has me feeling more at ease.
And then Jasper follows. Black suit. No tie. Black shirt and pants. Black Stetson. The silver chains at his neck—the one I gave him at Christmas and the one from his sister—glint against the dark fabric, and I have a desperate, reckless urge to see them dangling over me instead. I bite my lip as he lifts his hat, drags a hand through his hair, and sets it back in place—slow, deliberate—the motion pulling his jacket tight across his shoulders, biceps straining the fabric like it’s holding on for dear life.
My god. How does one woman get so lucky?
Lincoln turns toward the limo door and reaches his hand inside. “Sweetheart.”
