Page 34 of To Regret a Raven

He hummed as he switched sides, the vibration only adding to the sensations. The movement of her hips became erratic as the tension built within her, spiraling tighter and tighter. Her fingernails bit into the skin of her own forearms, and the sounds she was making bordered precariously on the line of outright sobbing.

Fisher paused, sliding one hand up her back soothingly to rest gently over her shoulder. “Drie? You oka?—”

“Don’t you dare stop,” she cried out.

“I’m not stopping.” He grunted with a strained chuckle, the hand at her waist falling away as he reached up and tugged the shirt free of her arms. He caught her freed hands in one of his, and with the other arm wrapped tightly behind her shoulders, he spun them around, pressing her down into the mattress below. “Just need to feel you.”

“Hurry,” she answered, her eyes greedy as she watched him slide the shorts off and snag a condom from her bedside table. Then he was back, his arms wrapping beneath her as he surprised her by pulling her up to straddle his waist at the edge of the bed, back in the same position as before.

“How’s this?” he asked, the words trailing off into a groan as she settled over him, sinking down one perfect inch at a time.

“Not gonna lie”—she huffed, using the leverage of her knees to rise back up before taking him all in one smooth drop that made his head fall forward on a moan—“I kinda miss the shirt.”

He barked a laugh, shaking his head as he tunneled his arms beneath hers to wrap his hands around her shoulders, and with his next thrust, he pressed her down to meet him, his pubic bone grinding against her center as he held her securely. He tilted his face up, chasing her lips for a kiss before his head returned to her chest. His fingers teased one nipple in a pinch as he sucked theother into his mouth…and she was lost, her thighs shaking as her head fell back, his arm like heated iron the only thing keeping her upright. He kept his hold firm as she rode it out, resting his forehead at the base of her neck, his breath coming in short bursts against her chest as he tensed, finding his own release with a throaty moan.

Once Drie’s body relaxed and she slumped against him, Fisher let them fall back slowly, cushioning her descent. He brushed his lips against her brow in a chaste kiss before climbing to his feet and disappearing into the bathroom. She tilted her head to the side when he reappeared, appreciating the sinuous lines of muscle he kept hidden beneath those work pants, no doubt a result of working on cars all day, then squeaked in surprise when he broke the spell by slipping his arms beneath her shoulders and knees, lifting her into the air.

Her head met the pillow before she had time to voice a complaint, and she rolled to her side, taking in his cheeky grin. He was completely unbothered—a far cry from the panic in his eyes when he’d run out of her apartment just two nights prior. “There. I helped you,” he teased.

Drie pointed a limp finger at him. “I should kick your ass for that shirt trick.”

“It wasn’t a trick.” Fisher winked at her, sliding a loose strand of hair behind her ear with fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Just a happy accident. Shouldn’t you be relaxing on cloud nine right now?”

“It’s been months.” She scanned his body leisurely, smirking when his cock reacted to her perusal, returning to half-mast. “And it seems that we’ve both got some backlogged sexual tension to work through.”

“Well, in that case, I should probably call in a sick day.” Fisher smiled, rolling his big body on top of hers.

“Probably so.” She smirked, enjoying the feel of his weight pressing her down into the soft sheets.

He lowered his mouth to hover a hair’s breadth above hers. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I know,” she answered, a slow smile stretching her lips as she basked in the truth of the words she saw reflected in those warm, steely blue eyes. “I love you too.”

TO LOVE A RAVEN

Fisher shifted his weight nervously, lifting the cake higher to make sure his grip was solid. He wasnotabout to ruin the day because his sweaty hands couldn’t hold onto a box.

His fretting, however, was short-lived. For no more than ten seconds had lapsed after they’d knocked before the door was slung open, the box removed from his person, and he found himself stepping into a homey kitchen that smelleddivine—like cinnamon rolls and apples and sunshine. He glanced around for the source of the smell and discovered instead that he was surrounded by a small horde of brunette women.

Besides the hair being identical, Fisher could easily clock the features that resembled Drie in each of her sisters, in a nose or an eye or a curve of the mouth. But he was struck with the realization that much of her stature and appearance must have come from her father’s side. She stood several inches shorter than her sisters—two of whom were still in high school—looking like a little freckled pixie next to them.

Fisher scanned the group quickly, trying to distinguish who was who before he introduced himself. Jeden was easy enough due to herperpetual squint, as Drie referred to it. She lookedlike an athlete, strong and fierce. She was also the tallest of the group by several inches, despite leaning heavily to one side, all of her weight resting on the leg that did not have a brace wrapped around the knee.

Rosy was also quick to identify, being the second tallest and the curviest, with soft, delicate features. Though she was only a few inches shorter than Jeden, the difference in presence between them was striking. Even with the handicap, Jeden was intimidating, exuding confidence. Rosy, however, was shy to the extreme, standing toward the back of the group in an oversized hoodie, with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching him with a wary, appraising eye. Reclining against the wall beside her was the only other guy in the room, who Fisher knew to be the best friend, Lucas, a curly-headed teenager with a pimple patch on his chin.

Sam and Nellie, however, were trickier to identify. Drie had warned him that they were nearly identical replicas of their mother with oval faces, high cheekbones, and wide smiles. “Even their personalities mirror,” Drie had said, telling him stories of the shenanigans they’d gotten into growing up. But where she said Sam’s mild criminal tendencies manifested into more subtle manipulations, Nellie had left a path of destruction in her wake, despite remaining utterly unrepentant. Ironically, he was able to identify Nellie because she was the only one who crocheted, and she was sitting calmly on the kitchen counter, away from the group, working on what appeared to be a striped sweater.

Feeling grounded in his deductions, he smiled to the room at large. “It’s great to finally meet you all. I’m Fisher, and Drie has told me so many stories.” He stepped forward with a hand extended. “You must be Jeden?”

She nodded and shook his hand warmly. “Likewise. I feel like I know you already.”

He moved about the room, getting similarly polite responses from Sam and Rosy. Lucas tilted his head back in the briefest of nods, offering a, “Hey, man.” And from Nellie, who didn’t even bother to look up from her project, a mildly concerning, “I know who you are.”

“Nelja.” A fresh voice spoke up from the second doorway, and Fisher grinned in excitement when Grandma Ruby walked into the room.

“The lady of the hour!” he announced as he moved in her direction. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Ms. Raven. I hope you’ve been having a fantastic birthday so far.”

She waved a hand with a scoff. “I can’t remember the last time I was called that. Grube, please. Or Grandma Ruby, if Grube is too informal for you.”