Free Crushed (Breaking the Rules Series Book 5) by K Webster Page A

rubs my cock, I lose my mind. Her hand quickly slips inside of my boxers, and I lift myself a bit so she can grasp me.
    Those fingers. So delicate yet powerful. So perfect.
    “Baby,” I grunt against her lips.
    She works me efficiently. We’ve been together long enough that she knows exactly how I like it. With each stroke, she owns my dick and controls my mind. As she takes me closer and closer, I grind against her hand, and before I know it, I’m shooting my load into my boxers.
    She giggles and I swear I explode with happiness.
    My wife.
    Laughing.
    Never thought I’d see the day again.
    “Can I touch you? Make you feel better?” I murmur as I roll off her. Then I yank the boxers from my body and clean my mess up with them. Once I toss them to the floor, I roll back toward her, waiting for a response. “Please?”
    When she doesn’t answer, I trace my fingers along her belly, but she grasps my wrist, stopping me.
    “Just hold me, Jackson. Please.”
    I wrap my arm around her and haul her to me, plastering her to my chest. My arms protectively encircle her and I do as she asked.
    I hold my wife.

Today was Thomas’s funeral. It was gutting to watch my baby boy be lowered into the ground. Friends, family, and especially Jackson tried to comfort me. But how do you comfort a mother who has lost her child?
    Even though Jackson and I spent last night cuddled together and things seem to be improving between us, I’m still avoiding Tyler.
    And I feel guilty as hell.
    Each time he cries, I have the urge to go to him, but somehow, it feels like a betrayal to Thomas. Even so, I can’t get Tyler out of my head.
    When Jackson isn’t looking, I steal glances at him. Sometimes, when Jackson is passed out, I stand in the doorway of the nursery and stare at Tyler from afar. I’ve picked up his sweet baby scent on Jackson’s clothes, and I have the desire to run in there and bury my face in his chest.
    These feelings seem traitorous to the son I’ve only buried today.
    The ache in my chest is so deep that I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to move on with my life. The pain seems here to stay. Forever.
    “Can I get you anything?” Jackson questions as he peeks his head in the doorway of our room.
    I want to look away from the beautiful sight, but I can’t. My husband looks every bit the perfect, delicious daddy that he is while standing in his pajama pants with no shirt on, holding a swaddled Tyler in his arms.
    “Uh, I, um . . .” I stammer.
    I have the desire to go to them. My heart begs me to climb off the bed and hug the both of them. But I don’t.
    “No,” I finally tell him, “I’m fine. Was just about to go to sleep.”
    As he walks around to my side of the bed, I smell him. Not Jackson. Tyler.
    God, he smells so sweet.
    Jackson reaches a hand out and strokes my hair. I wish I could find a way to connect with them. I wish my mind could let me wade through some of my grief long enough to allow me to give poor Tyler a chance.
    I hold my breath because, if he stands this close to me with that sweet baby in his arms for much longer, I’m going to steal him away. And I’m not sure if I’m ready.
    “Goodnight,” I say suddenly and lie back on my pillows, quickly shutting my eyes. Maybe another day. Just not today. Not the day of my son’s funeral.
    Jackson sighs in disappointment. “Goodnight, Andi.”

    Crying.
    Tyler!
    When I wake up, Jackson is snoring hard. Poor guy is exhausted. What if I . . . ? No, I can’t—not yet.
    “Jackson, wake up,” I whisper urgently as I nudge him with my foot.
    But my poor husband is utterly spent. He doesn’t even move when I kick him hard enough to leave a bruise.
    Shit!
    “Jackson! Wake up, dammit!” I shriek, no longer able to control my anxiety.
    He doesn’t wake up though. And the crying only gets louder.
    Stop!
    I take several deep breaths to calm myself before I make a decision. I’ll feed the baby. That’s all. It’s just one bottle. I’ve watched