Page 79 of Risk

Her next smile is an arrow through my heart. We head up the narrow cement walkway and she digs her keys out of her purse.

The first step into her house and I’m smacked with Leah’s scent. “It smells like you in here.”

She drops her keys on a table in her little foyer. A fat black cat jumps down from the couch and starts meowing loudly. Leah picks it up and scratches the side of its face aggressively. “I know. I’m so mean leaving you alone.” She holds it out to me. “This fat bastard’s name is Wicklow. We tolerate each other.”

I scratch his head until he starts wiggling and meowing louder. Leah puts him down and fur flies all over the floor. “Let me give you the grand tour.”

Her home is pretty. Colorful and fun, like her. Pictures hang all over the walls and clutter side tables. Most of them have Leah with other people, but there are a few colorful art prints hanging too. We have very different styles. Hers is better than mine.

“I have a feeling my entire house could probably fit in your living room wherever you really live,” she half jokes.

She’s right. Leah’s home is lovely, but her entire kitchen is smaller than my second pantry. “Your home is perfect.”

Like her.

“Not hardly, but I love it. It’s enough for me.”

It’s a home. There’s no comparing what we have because no matter what house of mine you go to, it’s the same. Stark walls, pretentious art prints I didn’t even pick out myself, plain furniture with no comfort. Leah has one, two, three… seven blankets in the living room alone. I have a white comforter on my bed and that’s it.

“Let me show you my favorite space.”

I think she’s going to bring me into her bedroom, but I’m lured into a spare room with bookshelves lining all the walls and a collection of mugs and candles on display.

“Welcome to my nest.”

There’s a gigantic bean bag in the center of the room. More blankets and extra pillows are piled onto it and scattered on the floor. Wicklow bumbles in and climbs up a cat tree, settling on the highest perch.

It smells like pumpkin spice and vanilla.

“These…” She fans her arms out dramatically, “are my book trophies. I listen to an audiobook, then buy a physical copy so I can look at it.” She plucks one off the shelf and pets it. “So pretty.”

There are more books in this tiny space that I had in my parents’ library growing up. “And how many trophies do you have?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, we don’t count. No, no. None of that. We just look at the pretties and love them. Numbers don’t matter.” She shoves the book back on the shelf and plucks a coffee mug up that says, Talk Darcy To Me. “This is my most favorite mug in my ever-growing collection.”

She’s adorable.

“I fucking love you.” I don’t care if she wants to hear it or not. I don’t give a shit if it’s too soon to say it—because it definitely is. I’m not holding back. I never have before and I’m not starting now. “You’re the realest person I’ve ever been around.”

Leah runs her hands up my arms and hooks them around my neck. Dragging me under a wave of lust, she whispers, “I want you one more time before you leave.”

She’s got me for life. It just hasn’t penetrated her head yet. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

We waste no time between kisses, nipping and teasing, as we strip out of our clothes. Leah drops to her knees and takes my dick in her hands. Looking up with those big doe eyes, she opens her mouth wide and sucks on my head.

I’m marrying this woman.

Not because of the wicked moves she can do with her tongue, or because she’s the sexiest creature this side of the universe, but because she’s everything. She’s my missing piece. The secret ingredient to the life I’ve always dreamed of.

“Does my princess like sucking my cock?”

“Mmm hmm.”

I wish I could get this on camera. Her cheeks hollow out when sucks me and that little crinkle comes back between her eyes because I’m too big to fit down her throat, no matter how hard she tries.

Sinking my fingers in her hair, I grip a handful and rock my hips and fuck her pretty face. Then I pull out. “Your mouth is where I finish.” Reaching between her thighs, I test to see how wet she is. My girl is sopping wet. “I want to taste you.” Carrying her over to the beanbag, I toss her onto it. “Spread those luscious thighs for me.”

Leah does no such thing. In fact, she holds her legs closed. “Beg.”