All We Want (Alabama Summer Book 6)

by J. Daniels

It’s easy to feel that way when you know you’re the problem. And it has to be me. We’ve ruled him out.

  “But if I can’t get pregnant, I will adopt with you,” I say, our faces close. I lightly kiss the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay with not being able to give you that myself, but I will go that far if we have to.”

  “What’d I tell you about that shit?” he asks, reaching up to cup my cheek. “I’m good with however this pans out, kid or no kid, `cause I got you. Quit actin’ like I’m not happy. You know I am. I told you before—I’ll never fuckin’ understand how I got this lucky.”

  His words warm the inside of my chest, my stomach, and lower still. I pinch my legs together when between them begins to ache.

  Anytime Luke speaks, no matter what it is he’s saying, there’s a good chance I’ll get turned on by it. Even if he’s being a prick. (Especially then. And people can fuck right off if they think that’s weird.) My love for this man is mirrored by my desire for him. I want and need equally. I’ve felt this way for years. But when Luke goes sweet on me like he’s doing now, a rare thing indeed, I feel the way I did the first time I saw him.

  Intense, unrelenting lust. It overwhelms me.

  “Luke,” I whisper, hovering my mouth above his.

  “Babe.”

  I shudder at the low, rough timbre of his voice and the way his hands move to my hips and drift beneath my top. He pushes underneath my bra and squeezes my breast until I groan.

  Luke knows without me saying, but I say it anyway.

  “I need to get fucked.”

  He stands with me in his arms, guiding my leg around his waist with one hand while his other palms my ass through my shorts. “Max, get out,” he orders.

  I lean away, confused, breaking our kiss.

  Why would Max need to leave? We’re leaving?

  Our sweet boy slowly saunters out of the kitchen.

  “That was rude,” I snap. “Why did you do that? He was comfortable.”

  “`Cause I’m fuckin’ you right here.” Luke kicks his chair out of the way. It slides across the tile and hits the wall. “He’ll go get comfortable on the couch. I don’t want you hatin’ this table and I’m doin’ something about it. And when you’re comin’ all over my dick, ridin’ it out right here, you won’t hate it anymore. You’ll love this fuckin’ table when I’m done.” He leans down, suspending me in the air, and moves plates, glasses, and the pizza box aside.

  “I don’t hate it now. I didn’t mean that.”

  He straightens with me in his arms.

  We lock eyes, his dark brows drawing together while mine feel like they hit my hairline.

  I realize what I’m saying and how stupid I sound right now.

  Am I really trying to persuade Luke not to fuck me right here?

  Have I lost my mind?

  “I hate this table more than I’ve ever hated anything in my entire life please fuck me on it,” I say in a one breath rush, lips moving against his. Begging . . .”Please, Luke. Do it.”

  He grips the back of my head and kisses me, shoving his tongue inside my mouth as he lowers me down until I’m sitting on the edge. His fingers pull at the front of my shorts, popping the button.

  “Are you going to make me come with your mouth first?” I lift my hips for him and kick off my clothes.

  “Do you want that?”

  “Yes.”

  I wrap my hand around his cock the second he pushes his shorts down his thighs.

  He’s smooth and warm. He twitches against my palm, groaning against my mouth and growing harder and bigger. He’s so thick my fingers will never touch. I begin to pump him steadily as he pulls the band out of my hair and fists it. He thrusts into my grip.

  “Your hand is a fuckin’ menace.”

  “You love it.” I bite his lip, licking the sting away. “Show me what yours can do. Touch me.”

  Luke pushes my thigh against my stomach and spreads me open.

  He starts to finger me, not wasting my time with one or even two digits. He strokes me out with three like he’s prepping me for his cock, and keeps his thumb off my clit, the cold bastard.

  “You’re evil,” I say against his smiling mouth, grinding down against his palm. I grip onto his shoulders. “Unf . . . fuck it. Just fuck me.”

  “Thought you were comin’ against my tongue. Change your mind?”

  “Put your dick in me or leave, Luke.”

  “The house? What the fuck?” He pulls his hand out from between my legs, and I fall onto my back, giggling, my knees spreading wide as he steps closer. “You’re such a rude little shit.” He holds the base of his cock and thrusts in, hard, lips parting with a groan. He grabs onto my hips.

  “Goddamn, but you got the hottest pussy I’ve ever fucked.”

  “I’m rude.” I fake glare at him, biting my lip when he slides out, so, so slowly. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  The most perfect smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “Bullshit. You love knowin’ that.”

  “So, what if I do? Is that weird?”

  “No.” He pushes in again. We both moan. “It’s us. It’s all I want.”

  His words sink inside my heart.

  “Come here.” I reach out and grip his shirt, tugging him down until he’s on top of me. I hold onto his face as we kiss and fuck. My breath catches when he bottoms out. “God, you feel so good . . . don’t stop.”

  He leans back, changing angles and sinking deeper. He curses through a groan.

  “You love this table yet?” he asks, one hand gripping my hip to keep me in place while his other pushes up my shirt and bra, exposing me.

  “I love it,” I breathe, eyes rolling closed. My body jerks when he pinches my nipple. “Fuck, Luke!”

  He smiles at me as sweat beads up on his brow, and has the audacity to ask, “Would you rather I do this?” as his thumb moves heavily over my clit.

  Jesus Christ. Who wouldn’t?

  I gasp and frantically nod my head as if I might die if he doesn’t keep his fingers there.

  Luke drives into me then, building it, knowing exactly what I like and how I like it.

  We’re good at this. We’re so fucking good together.

  He plays with my body as he fucks me. He tells me he loves this, that no one gets him off like I do. He tells me to come all over his dick.

  “Yes . . . yes.”

  My back arches off the table, thighs spreading wider and legs shaking. I squeeze my breasts to drive him wild, and when Luke comes inside me, he moans my name.

  We’re both breathless as we finish, hearts pounding in sync.

  His buzzed hair tickles my palms as I rake my nails along his scalp. Luke kisses up my body, between my breasts, my neck, my jaw, and ends at my mouth where he goes deep with his tongue.

  “Any other furniture in this house you’re not really feelin’?” he asks, hovering above me.

  I beam up at him. “No, but . . . I can’t stand Reed’s couch. It’s uncomfortable as shit.”

  Luke arches his brow. “You gotta key to his house, right?”

  “They’re probably home,” I say, laughing. “Oh wait . . . I think Beth said they were eating dinner with her aunt and uncle tonight—Luke!”

  I squeal when he lifts me off the table and carries me out of the room.

  I press two fingers against the bandage on the inside of my arm as I walk out of the lab inside St. Joseph’s Hospital.

  It’s been a little over two weeks since I started my pills. I haven’t had any reactions, not during the days I took them or the ones that followed. And I definitely don’t feel any different. Although, I never felt different before when I ovulated, and that’s what the blood work was for—to make sure I did in fact ovulate. I have zero reason to think this medication didn’t work.

  But it is strange. More eggs in my basket should feel at least slightly different, in my opinion, and the only thing I feel right now is a dull, throbbing pain shooting up the inside
of my arm. I’m fairly certain that butcher “phlebotomist” who stuck me blew a vein.

  I wince as I bend up my arm and step into the waiting elevator at the end of the hallway.

  A young girl is hovering near the panel and moves back when I enter, allowing me room to access the buttons.

  When I see the lobby floor already lit up, I cross to the other side of the box and press my back against the wall as I continue holding pressure to the bandage. The girl turns to face the doors as they slide closed, and my gaze drops to her swollen baby bump.

  The top she’s wearing doesn’t have a waistline. It falls on her like a dress, billowing out and around her small, petite frame. I couldn’t tell she was pregnant when I first got on the elevator. Only now, with her standing sideways to me is her bump noticeable at all.

  I watch her hand rub the underside of her stomach, and when her shirt molds against her, I see she’s farther along than I thought at first glance. Or maybe it’s how tiny she is and the fact that she’s basically all belly. Maybe she isn’t that far along at all.

  “What’s your problem, lady?”

  Her sharp, irritated voice snaps my head up and freezes my tongue inside my mouth.

  I blink wide-eyed at her scowling face as the elevator slows to a stop, and before I have the chance to explain myself or even offer so much as an apology to this girl for staring at her and clearly, making her feel uncomfortable, the doors slide open.

  “Weirdo,” she mumbles under her breath before stepping out into the lobby.

  I wince, eyelids pinching tightly together.

  Nice, Tessa. Way to creep.

  I exit the elevator, keeping pace behind this girl, and quickly realize we’re both headed for the small coffee bar set up near the front entrance of the hospital.

  I could do away with the idea of an iced coffee and avoid any further interaction, or I could woman-up and use this opportunity to get that apology in.

  I shouldn’t stare at people like that. I would’ve done the same thing she did if it were me in that position—call a bitch out.

  Besides, I endured three attempts to find a decent vein. My arm kills like a motherfucker. I deserve a treat after that ordeal.

  I step up behind the girl as she fishes through the bag hanging at her hip.

  She pulls out a crumpled bill, fists it, and keeps digging around for more money as the woman behind the bar packages a blueberry muffin into a little brown takeaway bag.

  “How much was it?” the young girl asks.

  “Three seventy-five.”

  “Shit,” she whispers, the hand in her bag searching frantically now, moving items aside and digging under. She grunts and lifts her head, peering at the woman. “Sorry. Never mind.”

  “I got it.” I step forward and get up beside the girl, offering her a smile I’m hoping she’ll reciprocate. “For being weird . . . it’s the least I can do.”

  Hesitation or uncertainty, maybe a mixture of both, holds her back for a breath, then the corner of her mouth twitches. “Uh, thanks. I thought I had more money on me.”

  “It’s not your fault they overcharge.” I look at the woman behind the bar and ease the sting of my insult with a smile. “I know you don’t set the prices, but still . . .”

  “Hey, I’m with you,” she says. “Without the employee discount, I wouldn’t be able to eat here myself.” She waves her finger back and forth. “Are you two together?”

  “Yes. Can I get a small iced coffee with two sugars?”

  “Sure.” She passes me the pastry bag before turning away to make my order.

  I hand the muffin over to the girl, refusing the money she tries to offer me with a shake of my head. “I really didn’t mean to stare at you. It isn’t you, I do it to all pregnant women. It’s becoming a habit.”

  The girl, who can’t possibly be out of high school yet, gives me an odd look as she tucks strands of long dark hair behind her ear.

  “My husband and I are trying to get pregnant,” I explain. “So, I just, I tend to zone out on bumps. Sorry, again. I know it’s strange.”

  She glances down at herself, holding onto her stomach. “You actually want to look like this? I hate it.”

  “I would cut a bitch to look like that,” I tell her. “No joke.”

  A giggle pushes past her lips as she raises her head. “That’s weird.” She digs into the small pastry bag and pulls out a bite of muffin, popping it into her mouth. “Thanks again for paying,” she says, stepping back.

  “No problem.” I smile at her. “See ya.”

  She smiles back before turning away and heading for the double doors.

  I GET HOME later than usual that night, expecting Tessa to be upstairs already since she typically heads up around eight to continue watching T.V. in bed with that foul-tasting tea she drinks, but when I step inside the house, I find her still seated on the couch, mug in hand.

  “Hey.” I close the door behind me and move farther into the family room. “I’m surprised you’re still down here.”

  For the briefest moment, she seems unsure of how to respond and merely blinks at me above her mug. But that look of hesitation is quick to leave her, and when a sweet, sexy smile lifts her mouth, I forget I ever saw it.

  Jesus, fuck, my wife is hot.

  “How was the meeting?” she asks.

  The meeting—it’s like Al-Anon, but for this one, the people in recovery attend with their family members. My dad found out about it two years ago and thought it would be good for us. Something we could do together. The support group meets once a month.

  Tessa attends a lot of them, but she’ll also sit some out, like she did tonight. I know she does that for me. She wants to give me that one-on-one time with my dad. There were years when we couldn’t even speak to each other because of his drinking and we’re slowly making up for it. It’s important to Tessa that I get those missed moments back.

  And since she knows I want her with me every single time, no matter where I’m going or what it involves, especially if it has something to do with my dad, my mother’s death, or any of the shit I had to go through before I even met Tessa, I go to the occasional meeting without her. If she didn’t feel included in that, I wouldn’t.

  I drop my duffle onto the coffee table and stop in front of the couch. “It was good. Dad said to tell you he prefers it when you’re with me. Something about me bein’ nicer to be around or some shit.”

  Her head drops back as she laughs, finding that hysterical.

  “You’re such a dick, I love it.”

  “Takes one to know one.” I bend over her, hand flexing around the back cushion, and smile when she playfully smacks at my chest. I press my lips to her forehead, then to her soft mouth when she tips up her chin. “Missed you bein’ with me,” I say.

  She touches my cheek, staring up at me. “Wanna go upstairs?”

  “Yeah.” I straighten up and watch her ease off the couch, careful of the mug she’s still holding. It’s half full. “Why’d you decide to drink that down here tonight?” I ask.

  “I didn’t want to leave Max by himself.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tessa’s lips pull down as she steps closer. Her hand wraps around my hip. “He couldn’t get up the stairs, and I couldn’t help him. I can’t lift him up. He’s too heavy for me.”

  “He didn’t wanna go up with you?”

  “No. He couldn’t, Luke. He tried . . . I think it’s arthritis or something. His legs were shaking really bad.”

  I peer over the top of the couch.

  Max is laying on his side in the middle of the floor, eyes closed and stomach rising and falling sluggishly.

  Again, he didn’t get up to greet me when I got home like he always used to do. Didn’t even bark at me this time.

  I swallow thickly.

  I fucking hate this. Max has never had problems getting upstairs before. He moves slow, but he makes it every time. He follows us throughout the house, and now Tessa is
telling me he can’t do that anymore.

  Fuck what’s coming. I don’t want to do this.

  “I’ll carry him up,” I say, looking down at Tessa again when her hand caresses my cheek. “I got him.”

  “I know you do.” Her pretty green eyes are sad now. Too fucking sad. If she starts crying, I won’t be able to take it. “We should probably get him to the vet soon. Let them check him out.”

  I nod, knowing she’s right.

  Breath pushes out of my nose when I clench my jaw. It begins to ache beneath her touch.

  Tessa reads me like an open fucking book and doesn’t push to talk about this anymore right now. She knows I can’t. She suspects I’m not ready.

  I’m not. How could I be?

  “Let’s get him upstairs,” she says, grabbing my duffle, knowing I’ll have my hands full.

  I walk around the couch and bend down, waking Max by rubbing his head and neck. His eyes slowly blink open. He doesn’t stand, but I don’t need him to. I slide my arms underneath his body and cradle him against my chest, following Tessa up the stairs and into our bedroom.

  “Here you go, buddy.” I lay Max down on the cool, wood floor beside the bed and smile when he pushes to his feet and sniffs my face. He licks my jaw when I pet him. “You were fakin’ it, weren’t you? You just want me carryin’ you around.”

  Max turns and exits the room.

  Tessa giggles behind me. “He’s like ‘Fuck you. No, I wasn’t.’”

  “I’d be the same way if someone said shit like that to me.”

  I stand and watch her tie her hair up off her neck and pull a few pieces free around her face.

  When she lowers her arms, my eyes fall to the inside of her elbow, and to the reddish-blue mark bruising her skin.

  “Jesus. What the fuck’s that from?”

  Tessa follows my hand when I gesture at her. “Blood-draw,” she answers, getting up onto the bed after peeling the covers back. “I had to go today, remember?”

  “What did they use? A fuckin’ pick-ax?”

  “Felt like it.” She presses her back against the headboard and tucks the sheet around her waist. “She dug around for like, twenty minutes. I think she went all the way through my vein.”