We were standing at the windows looking out at his view when Creed murmured, “Hot as an oven now, baby, but come September through to May, that right there is paradise.”

I looked up at him to see his eyes trained to the view. He must have felt my gaze because he tipped his down to me.

“What’s the stringy cactus?” I asked.

“Ocotillo. Orange flowers, twice a year. The desert in bloom, outside you and my kids, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re here in March, Sylvie, I’ll take you out. So pretty, you’ll forget to breathe.”

I held his eyes and forgot to breathe right then.

He liked it here, a lot. He’d found a home. He’d settled.

I forced myself to nod and looked back at the view before I turned out of his arm, took in all that lay behind me before looking back up at him and remarking, “You live in a showplace, Creed.”

“You grew up in a showplace,” he, for some reason, reminded me. “You grew up with that and your Dad proved your whole life he didn’t give one shit about you and in the end proved it beyond doubt, usin’ you to cover his ass. But I grew up in a pit with a Ma who proved daily she didn’t give a shit about anyone but herself. My kids don’t have to live with that. I left Chelle in a five bedroom house in a neighborhood in the west valley and she’s still there. Her man moved in with her. It isn’t like this, more family, less show. But it’s clean, new, nice, in a neighborhood filled with people who give a shit about their home, kids, friends and neighbors. What goes on behind closed doors could be somethin’ else but that’s the feel of the place. What my kids have with their Mom and here, though, is good and safe and it surrounds them with the knowledge that someone gives a shit.”

I stared up at him and said not a word.

He leaned down to me. “Way I see it, you escaped your traps with the way you live in Denver. This,” he motioned to our surroundings with an arm, “is me escapin’ mine. Bonus, I give good to my kids.”

Bonus, I give good to my kids.

God, my new badass Creed, who was a great Dad, who gave a shit and had a cool house and the ability to take out the trash without being asked, was awesome.

Therefore, I stated, “I love you, Tucker Creed,” and got to watch as he grinned.

Then he hooked a hand behind my neck, pulled me in and up and brushed his mouth to mine before lifting his head an inch, giving my neck a squeeze and asking, “Got no paneling or shag carpet and the kitchen is cleaned more than once every year, but you think you could be happy here?”

I ignored his teasing, my eyes slowly slid from side to side then back to his beautiful blue ones whereupon I answered on a shrug, “Don’t know. I might be able to make do.”

Creed burst out laughing but drowned the noise two seconds later by taking my mouth and laughing down my throat.

Then he showed me more of his house by taking my hand and guiding me to the master suite.

Like the rest of the house, it was awesome, except more, because it was all Creed.

Not to mention, it had a huge bed.

* * *

I twisted my neck and whispered, “Harder, baby. Faster.”

Creed had an arm wrapped around my chest at an angle so his hand was curved around my breast, thumb circling the tip. His other hand was between my legs, fingers toying with my clit. We were on our sides, his front was pressed against my back and his cock was sliding slow and gentle between my legs.

“Slow, Sylvie. Sweet,” he murmured, twisted his own neck, lifted his head and slid his tongue down my neck.

I shivered and tipped my ass further to get more of him.

“Like that,” he growled against my skin.

I did too. Oh yeah, I did too. All of it. Even the growl. Maybe especially the growl.

I focused hazily on the view of his pool and backyard through the floor to ceiling windows that made up one wall of his bedroom and I realized he was making love to me. Making love to me in his bed, his home, his city.

I loved it. I loved the feel of it. I loved that he was giving it to me and I loved why. He wanted me to want to join my life to his here and he wanted it badly. So he was trying to convince me and he was using a really good way to go about that.

So I was going to give it to him. All of it.

I took him, strained into his touch, arched into his strokes, gave him exactly what he wanted, taking everything he had to give in return.

He slid out, moved slightly away, rolled me to my back and then rolled over me. I spread my legs for him. He settled on me and glided right back in. My neck arched at the feel of having him back even though I only lost him for mere moments. I loved taking him inside, being connected, as close as we could get.

I felt his hands at my sides moving up and automatically lifted my arms. Creed liked to hold me down, he did it often and I had to say, I liked it too. It wasn’t the same as what I’d experienced before. He enjoyed lifting up, watching his cock take me, our bodies moving together, joining. He liked taking control and allowing me to do nothing but accept all he gave.

To be honest, I wished we could do it with mirrors so I could see what he could see. So I could watch the strong, vital, massive power of his body moving over and thrusting into my petite one.

It was already hot. Watching him hold me down while he fucked me, that would be smoking.

As expected, his cock moved inside me as his hands trailed up my sides, over my pits, over my arms then his fingers curled around my wrists and he lifted up to gaze down at our linked bodies.

God, I loved it when he watched.

I bent my knees, feet in the bed, tipping up my hips and he slid in deeper.

Yeah, I loved that too.

His eyes came to my face as he transferred my wrists to one hand. Still holding me down, his other hand slid down my arm, over to my neck and down my chest, between my breasts to my belly.

Nice. So fucking nice.

My breath escalated.

“Love you, baby,” I whispered.

I saw his eyes go soft, his strong and white teeth came out to bite his lower lip. I liked that look so much, I arched my back, pulled my knees back and pressed the insides of my thighs to his hips as he bent his head and took my mouth.

The second he did, he started powering in harder, deeper, faster.

Fantastic.

Beautiful.

Only Creed could give this to me.

Only Creed.

Creed stopped kissing me when our breathing grew heavy, we were panting, he was grunting and I was moaning. Our lips brushed, our breaths mingled, our hips collided and his lips slid down my cheek to my ear.

“I want you here. I want you in my home, my bed, my life,” he murmured, the smooth out of his voice, it was low and so rough with sex and emotion, it was abrasive, scoring through me.

“Baby –”

“I want your clothes in my closet. I wanna hear your voice in my house when you’re talkin’ on the phone. I want you sittin’ beside me when we’re watchin’ TV. I want shit you like in my fridge. I want your razors in my shower. I want my roof over your head. Your car in my garage. I want to give you what I should have been giving you for sixteen years. As good as you deserve. A showplace. A place where I can make you happy.”

God. He was killing me.

“Creed, let me –”

He didn’t let me finish. He pressed on, driving in, our bodies jolting with his thrusts, his voice harsh in my ear.

“Give me that, Sylvie. Give me that and, swear to God, I’ll give you everything.”

“I –”

His head came up, his cock drove deep and stayed planted and his eyes burned into mine.

“All I’ll ask. All I’ll ever ask. You give me that and you got a lifetime of nothin’ but take.”

“Give me my hands, baby,” I whispered and he released my wrists immediately. I moved them to frame his face, lifted up so I was close and kept whispering, “You can have that. You can have anything from me but only if I get to give as good as I get.”

He shook his head, moving my hands with it and grinding his cock into me. It felt so good my lips parted.

Creed spoke.

“All I want is you. You make my home yours, you’ll never have to give.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Creed.”

He pulled out, slammed in and his face jerked down toward mine so fast, I pressed my head into the pillow in an automatic response. I held my breath at the expression in his eyes even as I gasped it in deeper when his hand slid down my belly and his thumb pressed hard against my clit.

“I vowed to you I’d take care of you. I vowed it. I thought I was doin’ that when I left you. I wasn’t. I need this, Sylvie, and you gotta give it to me.”

“It’s not –”

He started moving again, powering fast and deep, his thumb circling my clit and my neck arched on a deep moan.

His lips went to my throat and my fingers slid into his hair. “You gotta give this to me,” he demanded, voice thick.

“Creed –”

He went faster, deeper, harder.

Oh God.

My fingers in his hair fisted.

“Baby –” I breathed, it was building and it was going to overwhelm me.

“Give that to me, Sylvie,” he ordered.

“Okay, yes,” I gasped. “You have me. You can have anything.”

“Fuck yeah,” he grunted, his thumb pressing harder, his hips driving faster, his mouth took mine. He shoved his free arm under me, wrapped it around my hips, slammed me down as he powered up and I moaned my orgasm down his throat.

Two minutes later, he groaned his down mine.