Mr. & Mrs. Norcross - Page 20
“I told Ma that you found her,” Rhys said. “But I’d expect a visit tomorrow.”
Clara Norcross was Italian-American. She had no boundaries when it came to her kids, even her former special forces adult son who was happily married.
A few moments after Rhys and Saxon had left, Brynn appeared. She wrapped her arms around Vander’s waist and pressed her face to his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
“All done?”
“Yes. A team will stay and bag the rest of the evidence.” She paused. “Animal control is taking the fighting dogs.” She sighed. “They’ll be put down.”
“It’s for the best, baby.”
“I know. They did promise that any that weren’t aggressive will go to shelters.”
He hugged her harder.
“I’m ready to go home,” she said.
He held her tightly. It was moments like this where everything settled inside him. Brynn made everything better.
“Then let’s go home, Mrs. Norcross.”
She smiled. “All right, Mr. Norcross.”
The dog yipped.
Vander sighed. “He should come home with us tonight. I owe him a steak.”
His wife smiled at him. “Okay.”
He recognized that glint in her blue eyes. “We aren’t keeping him.”
“He’d be the perfect dog for you. He’s a badass in training.”
“No.”
“Uh-huh.”
He slid an arm around her, then clicked his fingers for the dog. “I mean it.”
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
Brynn clung to Vander’s muscular shoulders as he surged inside her.
“I can never get deep enough,” he growled. “Never close enough.”
He wrapped a hand around her throat, collaring her. Claiming her. The intense look in his eyes burned through her, making it hard to breathe.
With his other hand, he gripped her thigh, pushing it wider. His gaze dropped to where his thick cock surged inside her.
Early morning light seeped into the bedroom. It was the third time he’d fucked her. The first time had been after they’d gotten home. The second time when he’d woken her in the middle of the night, riding her hard. And now, as morning broke.
It was like he needed to prove to himself that she was okay.
He pounded into her, the fingers on her neck tightening, rubbing over her racing pulse.
“Who do you belong to?” he asked.
“You,” she whispered.
