by Natalie Wrye
“Hmm.” Noah hums against my throat. “I was thinking… I still have your note, don’t I?”
“Are you blackmailing me? Again?”
“I like to think of it as payment, rather than punishment. And I am good for it, Miss Somerset.”
Hmm, sex at a wedding.
It wasn’t exactly the order in which most fairytales worked, but it would definitely do.
I had found my prince, after all.
Someone who knew his scotch—and when to put it down—and his way around a woman’s skin.
But most importantly, I found myself.
I’d once believed my sad little frozen-in-fear existence was enough. And in the end, it was one little note that linked my fate to a story I never wanted to stop living.
It wasn’t a love letter—this note. But it would be when I retold the tale to my eventual children.
Being Little Bear from the Goldilocks fairytale did have his perks, because instead of finding a little girl with ringlets in my bed, I was going to have the Big Bad Wolf there.
I’d leave that tiny part out from my future offspring for the re-telling.
Epilogue
NOAH
A few weeks later
There’s only one thing worse than going to a wedding rotten drunk. And that’s going to a wedding completely sober…and outrageously randy.
With little time left before Jesse Somerset’s wedding, I pace the length of my apartment’s dark-wooded kitchen, holding my phone close as I talk to my lawyer, Emily Armand, about my newly minted business partner, Barbara Fletcher of the New York finance tycoons, Fletcher Financial Group.
Their money was old, their patience was short and they too had once been bamboozled by Chris Jackson and his un-merry men of thieves.
Barbara was the president of the financial group and as classily ruthless as she was gray.
The confirmation of her partnership with Quinn Real Estate, Inc. had cleared away all of our debt, just under the two-week wire, but today?
I was lucky enough to confirm the terms with Emily, instead of the elder woman who was tough enough to shit barbed wire.
Clearing her throat over the line, Emily is the epitome of big-city sophistication as she recaps our entire conversation, her honeyed voice full of finesse.
“Well, then it’s settled then, Mr. Quinn. We’ll gladly take up the mantle for Millennium Gardens and turn its old Jackson-affiliated financials over to the authorities. As for the Luxe, everything is officially settled.” I swear I can hear her nod. “Welcome to the Fletcher Financial family.”
“It’s good to be part of it. Should we do something to officially seal the new relationship with the Fletchers? A celebratory dinner? An inappropriately awkward Christmas dinner where one relative shows up with a tattoo and a gynecological condition no one’s ever heard of?”
“I’d say sending a bottle of champagne here to Chicago would be sufficient, Mr. Quinn.”
“Make it a well-aged Scotch and you have a deal. And Emily, for the last time, you can call me Noah. You’re practically part of the family. From what Deacon and Kayla told us, my business wasn’t the only one you helped save.”
“Just doing my job,” I hear her sigh. “Helping to save The Alchemist all those months ago was just a bonus.”
“And you deserve another, after handling Barbara Fletcher.”
She snorts. “Barbara’s easy compared to the characters I know.”
“Why? Are they that rough in Chicago?”
She hesitates. “Rougher. I’m learning that lesson from one egotistical athlete neighbor the hard way.”
I smile. “Sounds like you need the scotch a helluva lot more than I do. I’ll send a bottle over immediately.” I swallow, feeling gratitude circle in my system like a drug. “And thanks, Emily. For taking our business on as a client with such short notice. For being the tough attorney we needed. For everything.”
Appreciation shines through the sing-songy tone of her voice. She exhales. “I’ll take that official thank-you from you the next time you’re in Chicago. Bring the scotch.”
I grin then, ending the call.
Reaching for my caffeine almost immediately, I let a strange sort of happiness soak into my soul, like the heat from the espresso, ecstatic to finally have a new lawyer and partner on board who’s as willing as I am to do what needs to be done.
Including making sure one former investment CEO and thief gets what’s coming to him.
I check my watch—my recovered father’s—finally appreciating its beauty behind the marble countertops. But I can feel my face twist as I note the time.
Fuck, only thirty minutes until the ceremony starts.
I’d proven to myself I could work well under pressure, finding a partner to invest and save Quinn Real Estate after all.
But there were certain pressures you had no choice in—the type a beautiful woman could put you under, for instance—and even the conversation with my new lawyer isn’t enough to put a dent in the two hours’ time I’ve been waiting for my very sultry, formerly soaked girlfriend to show her face.
Since she stepped from the shower, her dark hair soaking wet, her body tantalizingly touchable, I’ve spent the last two hours avoiding putting my hands on her, drinking coffee and biding my time as Sophia preps for her brother’s wedding in our apartment.
Unfortunately for me, however, my bedroom has been commandeered, commanded and confiscated by two little women who have switched shoes more times than Lachlan’s switched bedroom sheets at one of his infamous parties.
And I meander behind the bar for the fifth time, ready to pour another espresso to keep my Sophia-needing fingers busy when Nancy flounces from my bedroom, her ginger hair brushing the straps of a ruby, floor-length dress.
She crosses her arms, a self-proud smile on her face. “Almost done.”
“Really? Because I’ve heard of US Supreme Court justices whose lifetime tenure appointments were shorter.”
“Well, just wait a minute. Pour yourself another espresso and hold on tight, Grandpa. You’ll see that all of this time was worth the wait.”
“I officially feel like I’m in an airport TSA line, Nancy. If you’re ever out of job, seriously, you could work for the LaGuardia airport.” I set down the coffee, turning a tired eye on Sophia’s ex-boss. My words are slow. “But…Sophia is always worth the wait.”
“Damn. You said that like you meant it.”
“I did. I always do.”
Nance whistles, turning on her heel with a grin. “Then as a potential airport TSA agent, I’d like to leave you with a few rules when you see Sophia: Keep your hands and arms inside the designated area. No smoking. And for God’s sake, no fluids or liquids present past a certain point.”
I’d swear she were going to say more, but suddenly, her phone rings as she finishes the rules with a chuckle. Rummaging through her nearby purse, she curses when she whips her cell phone out, staring at the screen with venom, her cheeks as blushed as her hair. She sighs.
“It’s my brother. And I guess he forgot I’m going to a wedding today since he’s called me more times than a stalker ex.” She calls over her shoulder, as she heads towards the back, her last laugh still stuck in her throat.
I frown after her.
But the frown drops shortly thereafter as I hear footsteps on the other side of the apartment.
Less than a minute later, Sophia emerges, a lavender saffron draped over her slender, curvy frame. One side of her chocolate-colored curls pinned, she smiles from the doorframe, taking every single breath in my body away.
She is absolutely stunning. In every sense.
The bodice of the dress hugs her tiny waist, cinching at the small dips. A plunging v-cut neckline shows off her ample cleavage and as she walks, she reveals a simple slit, clear up to her thigh.
The long skirt of the purple ensemble sweeps all the way down to the floor and as she sashays closer, white polish peeking from her open-toed shoes, I can hear m
y own heartbeat in my ears, my breath quickening with every step she takes in my direction.
Beneath my tux, an erection that could double as a ruler rises and I reach for her, closing the distance between us in seconds. I grip her waist.
“Wow.” It’s the only word I can say.
Sophia’s pretty lips slide into a smile. “That’s it? After two hours of Nancy tinkering with my makeup and shoes and experimenting with blushes that made me look like a Moulin Rouge reject? That’s the only word you’ve got for me?” She snorts, one eyebrow reaching for the sky. “You had more words for Cynthia and Ainsley the last time you saw them.”
“What, you mean the words ‘You’re fired’ and ‘Good-Bye’?”
“Just be happy that the jury is still out on whether good-bye is one word or two.”
She’s teasing, taunting as she touches me back, sending my hardness into steel territory, and I tip her chin, angling it up to meet mine.
“I used one word for one reason only: Because it’s the only one that I need. I need no other explanation for what you are, Sophia. No other description is necessary.”
I get ready to close my mouth over hers, breathing in her skin, when Nancy steps back into the room.
“Okay, okay, break it up, lovebirds. Now that Soph’s moved in here, you’ll both have plenty of time for hanky-panky later. It’s almost showtime.”
I check my watch, realizing that Nancy’s right. The limousine’s almost here.
And five minutes later, when it arrives, I am only too eager to bring Sophia’s body beside mine, clutching her closer as we slip inside the backseat.
The drive is only fifteen minutes to the church, but I plan to use every one of them. My gaze sweeps over Sophia’s lithe form.
“You look fucking amazing, Little Bear. I want you to know that.”
“More than one word this time,” she breathes against my lips. “I’ll take it.”
“Actually… I’ve got plenty more words where that came from. Give me five minutes and I’ll gladly give you all of them.” And then I grab her hips.
Sitting Sophia atop my slacks, I capture her kiss with mine. One finger on the partition button, another along her jaw, we stay that way, our mouths enraptured.
The partition closes inside the limousine, rendering us alone.
That taste of pure Sophia explodes on my tongue, and as our lips tangle, mouths melding as we kiss and lick and suck with increasing fervor, Sophia’s round arse grinds into my groin, making me harder than I ever thought possible, my cock straining against the fabric as her hand slips between us, rubbing softly.
I can’t hold back the groan that makes its way to my mouth as Sophia’s palm cups the edge of my cock. I grab her throat, gripping its edge.
“Christ, woman, you’re killing me.”
She grins. “Now you know what it feels like. You’ve ‘killed’ me too many times to count.”
“And I plan on doing so a million times more.” I tighten my hold on her. “But let’s compare notes, shall we?” I reach down, rubbing her clit and she gasps out loud, her voice a mere breath in the back seat. I put my lips to her ears, whispering. “Take off those panties for me, Little Bear.”
Like a good little one, she obliges immediately. I slip my hands under the skirt of Sophia’s pastel purple dress, grabbing the slips of lace underneath. Pulling them over her smooth backside as she lifts, I slowly slide them down her thighs until her fingers find their edges pulling them the rest of the way.
Naked beneath the fabric, Sophia’s hips circle a seductive path in my lap and it is all I can do not to zip down my fly without another word. Not to open my slacks, grip my solid-stone dick and drive it deep into the wily woman slowly driving me insane.
Sliding my fingers once again beneath Sophia’s dress, I stroke her hot, damp sex carefully, slowly, painstakingly until she is a hot squirming mess in my arms, her guttural groans and whimpers the only sound in the quiet back seat as the car rolls on.
I kiss the edge of Sophia’s neck, needing more, my fingers splaying and parting her wet pussy. I watch my Little Bear’s eyes close in ecstasy.
“Not yet, Bear. Not yet. Just hold on.”
Her words are muffled mutters, spoken between her teeth, tightened on her bottom lip. She whimpers my name.
“Noah, I can’t hold on…”
“Yes, you can. You can, and you will. I need you to hold on until…” I lift her tight body just enough. Releasing my thickness from my tux’s fly, I grip Sophia’s hips tight, sliding her down. She sinks onto my cock with a quiet scream, and I almost come, relishing in the feel of her unimaginable wetness, the slippery feel of her sex fitting around me as tight as a glove and ten times more perfect than Heaven.
I stifle a groan. “Right now.”
At my words, Sophia comes, exploding around me. Her cries are sudden, splitting the silence of the car into two, and I capture her moans with my mouth, swallowing each with my kiss.
As I move into Sophia, she orgasms on my cock, her mouth hungry as she angles it over mine.
I continue sliding up and into my Little Bear, bouncing her body on top of mine until she comes again, taking me with her, my orgasm ripping through me and into her as I stroke her harder, my kiss softening, slowing as our bodies come down from this unbelievable high.
I tap her lips with mine in a quick peck, parting my mouth as I meet hers. I pull back just enough to speak.
“I love you so fucking much, Sophia.”
“I love you, too, Noah.” Sophia sighs against my face, her dark curls tickling my cheek. “Now, tell me: How do our notes compare?”
My scoff is soft, a chuckle at best. “I have absolutely nothing on you, Little Bear. And I’m sure Nancy will be mad as hell after what we just did; I didn’t follow the rules.”
But as the words leave my mouth with a small laugh, the stretched car parks, easing up to the curb outside the church, and I fix Sophia’s dress.
“Who knew a Stephen King nerd could be this screwed?” I say as I kiss her bottom lip, savoring it. “Literally.”
“You’re probably setting records in Sci-Fi celibacy circles all around the globe.” She grins. “And there’s plenty more where that came from.” She hops off my lap, smoothing the front of her dress.
“My God, now that’s the kind of fairytale I dream about.”
And with that, we clean up quickly. Sophia kisses me, opening the back door towards the street after I straighten us both up, brushing my fingers against her cheek. I follow closely behind her, my body already ready for round two when we glance up from each other’s eyes, just long enough to see the man running towards us.
A man who shouldn’t be here. A man who should be getting ready for his own wedding.
Jesse Somerset storms towards us, his bowtie loose, dark hair tumbled around his forehead. His cummerbund is loose around his waist.
“Where is he?” He demands of Sophia. “Did he call you? God, because if he did, so help me, I will…”
Sophia stops in her tracks, me at her side, pulse thumping the entire time as confusion contorts the expression on my face. I approach Jesse, stepping forward so that he faces me instead.
“What the hell is going on, Jess? Why aren’t you preparing for your own wedding?”
“Because my dad disappeared from the halfway house last night.” He motions to Sophia. “Correction: Our dad disappeared last night. Skipped out on his parole officer.” He sighs. “And it looks like to make matters worse: Chris Jackson’s broken out of prison this morning… I thought you knew.”
I can see in Sophia’s face that she doesn’t. “Why would I know that at all?”
“Because of the Chris Jackson case, Sophia.” Jesse blinks several times. “He’s finally being tried for murder. And the victim…was Nancy’s dad. It was announced this morning, soon to be all over the news.”
The color drains from Sophia’s face as I reach out to hold her. A text buzzes from inside her small clutch purse. Fis
hing it out, she reads the surface of her cell, her lips straightening, skin paling as she looks up at me again.
Her bottom lip begins to shake.
“It’s Nancy… And I don’t know if she knows yet. How are we supposed to keep it from her? She’s on her way.”
I shake my head. Because I have no fucking clue.
I’m just as lost about my own father.
Seems our little motley crew was batting zero out of one hundred with our family trees.
Even after confessing everything to my brothers, I still hadn’t told Sophia the entire truth about my own dad. About how he was Marilyn’s father as well—her own sister-in-law.
And it seemed everyone’s family secrets were coming out of the closet. At least, in Sophia’s eyes, I’m sure. I wrap my arms around the gorgeous woman, sealing in her horror, hoping she’d forgive me when the day was done.
Damn that Jesse.
Stephen King couldn’t have scripted a more fucked up end to that fairytale ride.
Extended Epilogue
SOPHIA
Some secrets just couldn’t stay that way.
You can try to ignore them. Try to tuck them away, wrapping them in pretty holiday bows and stashing them away like Santa.
But eventually they would emerge.
And I’ve decided that’s my goal: To keep as many of them stowed away as possible. At least for the next four hours, until Jesse and Marilyn’s wedding is completely over.
And considering how we were but a breath away from Christmas, it only seemed appropriate that all of our secrets—no matter how gift-wrapped—were coming out of the closet, a fact that makes walking into the cathedral-like church with one huge secret frustrating as hell.
The only good part of some of our secrets creeping out from their hiding spaces were that, in several instances, they had brought us closer together.
After discovering Cynthia Stratford’s secret intentions to keep Noah and I apart, my brilliant, beautiful boyfriend had decided to let his cutthroat lawyer (and best friend) go—a decision I knew was eating at him some days. Once what Cynthia had done was out in the open, a hot topic of conversation at my brother’s wedding rehearsal, he and Noah had formed a sort of brotherly solitude, a bond that was building day by day.
