Happy For You (Love & Family Book 3) by Anyta Sunday

Author:Anyta Sunday [Sunday, Anyta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Anyta Sunday
Published: 2019-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

I miss Mort when I’m in bed. The memory of his gaze penetrating mine makes my insides restless. I know it’s unhealthy to imagine him as I stroke myself, but I do. I always do.

And my mind always skips to that one bitter-sexy memory. The one that makes my dick hard and my heart weep.

My free hand fishes under my thigh, one saliva-slickened finger probing my ass. I try to stick two fingers, three—it’s messy. It’s not enough.

Fantasies fill my mind. Questions. But I’m never wondering what a cock would feel like pounding into me. I’m wondering what his cock would feel like.

Strokes quicken, then slacken, quicken again. My body locks, my toes curl and my ass clenches around my fingers as I come.

I finger my scar through the come on my belly—a little tradition I started to remind myself that fantasies must remain fantasies. It usually sobers me quickly, but tonight I’m wondering if his come would feel different. Would be healing.

I knock my head back against my pillow and groan.

Well, crap.

I clean myself up in the bathroom and fling back into bed with my phone, swiping to my messages with Mort.

I type a message, then delete it. Three times. I’m about to put the phone down, when three dots start jumping—Mort is writing to me. But then he stops without sending.

I fall asleep to that mystery, and I wake to it too.

I’m still mulling over what Mort wanted to say when I climb into the back of the wagon at six the next morning.

I catch Mort studying me through the rearview mirror and my stomach lurches. I glance away.

“What?” I say to Mort, still feeling his eyes on me.

Mort pauses a moment and then says, “I’m not used to you sans bow tie.”

“I’m not used to you with bed hair.”

He runs a hand through it. “Didn’t sleep much. Misplaced my cap.”

“You sure you want to take this lesson?”

He smirks. “Who doesn’t want to wake up at six in the morning on their holiday?”

“It slipped out last night. I was in a decision-making mood.”

“I liked it.”

“Anyway,” I roll my shoulders. “The parking lots are empty now, so . . .”

“We going where I taught you?”

“Outside The Warehouse, yeah.”

Mort claps his hands with a let’s do this smack. He peeks over his seat. “No backseat drivers.”

I scowl playfully and roam my fingers lovingly over the vinyl seat. “Feels familiar back here. I forgot how much I like it.”

Mort clarifies, bemused. “Minimal backseat driver instructing.”

I wink. “You got it.”

Air washes into the car and Tiffany piles into the passenger seat clutching bright yellow L plates. I lean between the seats, pinch one from her, and stick it in the back window.

“What a beautiful morning for a driving lesson,” Mort says to Tiffany.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” she grumbles.

Mort drives us to an empty parking lot outside The Warehouse, shuts off the car, and turns to Tiffany. “Want to hop in the driver’s seat?”

“Not really, no.”

“Why not?”

“Better view from this side.”

“Okay, honey,” Mort says warmly, and my heart melts.

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