by Frankie Love
“Come on, baby,” she murmurs, opening her eyes and taking my hand. “Make love to me.”
She leads me to the big bed in the middle of the suite and turns around so I can undo the buttons running down the back of her gown. I take my time, opening her like the best, most precious gift I’ve ever gotten, kissing every inch of her back as I peel the dress off her.
When Brooklyn’s wedding gown is a puddle of sequins and lace on the floor, I lift her into my arms and lay her down on the bed. I move to stand up again, to take my suit off, but she grabs me by my tie, a mischievous grin playing over her lips.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I was going to strip for you.”
“Uh-uh,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re staying right here with me.”
She pulls me back down on top of her, spreading her thighs and wrapping me in her warmth. We kiss, our tongues dancing over each other, while her fingers work between us, popping the buttons of my shirt and then teasing my cock as she unzips my pants.
I get onto my knees to finish undressing, my gorgeous bride naked beneath me. And as I drink her in, she lets one hand trail down her belly and dip between her thighs.
“What a beautiful sight,” I groan, my cock in my fist, aching and ready for her.
“I’m so wet for you,” she says, her fingers sliding through her perfect pussy. Then she sits up, and takes my cock in her hand, coating me with her juices.
“Oh God,” I groan again. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”
She smiles. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, Prescott.”
I laugh, then pounce on her, pinning her shoulders back against the bed. “Are you really trying to one-up me right now?”
I nibble her earlobe, then her neck, and she giggles and squirms beneath me. When my bites turn hungrier, her laughter becomes a chorus of sighs and moans that fill the room and make me shiver with desire. My cock slides between her slick folds until finally, she’s begging for me and I’m not sure I can take much more teasing either.
“Fuck me, Pres,” she whines in my ear, her pussy grinding against my cock. “Please.”
I draw back, looking into those big sapphire eyes full of love as I plunge into her and we both gasp as the sensations overtake us.
“Mmm, yes,” Brooklyn says, “harder.”
I thrust deep inside her, loving every whine, every moan, every little involuntary muscle twitch that tells me Brooklyn has given herself over completely to me, to the pleasure I’m giving her, to our love.
I fuck my wife for the very first time, making sure she comes hard around my cock, and when we’re lying together after—taking a little break to catch our breath—I hold my curvy librarian in my arms and promise her that every night will be like this one.
Full of love.
Spent with each other.
Writing our story and cherishing every minute of it.
Epilogue 2
Brooklyn
Five years later…
“‘Corduroy is a bear who once lived in the toy department of a big store,’” I read aloud, my little girl’s finger tracing the words on the page.
We’re curled up on the couch, my four-year-old Haley and me, and this has got to be our five-hundredth time through Corduroy. She’s got hundreds of books in her room—she’s a very spoiled little bookworm—and yet this beat up old classic is one of her favorites.
Mine too—it’s actually my book from when I was her age, one of the few things I’ve managed to hold onto over the years and pass down to her, making it that much more special.
Haley was a honeymoon baby—our little sequel—and she definitely inherited her mom and dad’s love of books. She’s also got Prescott’s thick hair, his enormous heart, my blue eyes, my laugh. In short, she’s freaking adorable.
And she’s just as excited as Prescott and I about the baby brother who’s due to join our little family in about a month.
I’m on leave from the library right now, resting and getting the baby’s room ready while we wait, but I’m also cherishing every moment I’ve got with Haley while she’s still an only child, and before she starts kindergarten in the fall.
We’ve got our big, cozy farmhouse, and plenty of bedrooms to fill up with kids and love and laughter. The past five years have been the best of my life—I only wish time moved a little slower.
“What’s the next line?” I prompt Haley as we turn the page.
“‘Then one morning a little girl stopped and looked straight into Corduroy’s bright eyes,’” she says. She’s not actually reading the words yet, but I’m still continually amazed at how smart our little girl is. She’s got the whole book memorized, and a few others besides.
“‘Oh, Mommy, look!’” I read, tickling her until she’s a squirming, giggling ball on the couch. “‘There’s the very bear I’ve always wanted!’”
Before we get any further, I hear a door opening in the hallway and Haley vaults off the couch, yelling, “Daddy’s home!”
“Daddy’s home!” I repeat, just as excited although at eight months pregnant, it’s a bit more of an ordeal for me to get off the couch than it is for Haley.
Prescott appears in the living room doorway a moment later, our daughter in one arm and a shopping bag looped over the other. “I come bearing gifts.”
“For me?” Haley asks, trying to reach the bag.
“For both of my girls,” he answers, coming over and giving me a kiss, then setting Haley down so he can kneel and kiss my belly too.
By then, Haley has turned into a jumping bean, trying to peek inside the shopping bag and asking, “What is it? What is it?”
Prescott chuckles and puts a hand on top of her head, trying to settle her down. “Here, why don’t you find out?”
He pulls a tissue-wrapped item out of the bag and gives it to her. I can tell by the shape that it’s another picture book to add to her collection, and she’s got the tissue paper ripped off in about half a second.
“A book!” She’s overjoyed before she’s even really looked at it, and I can’t help laughing. It could be a book about the joys of watching paint dry and she’d be ecstatic.
“What’s it say?” I ask. “Can you read the title?”
Haley plops down on the couch, up for the challenge. She traces her fingers over the words. “Lllloooo…”
She makes a pretty darn good effort for a four-year-old, and after sounding it out for about a minute, Prescott crouches beside her and reads along, “Lola Reads to Leo. It’s about a girl just like you who likes to read to her baby brother.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she says, throwing her arms around his neck.
I tear up. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, or maybe I’m just a big sap, but I happen to think my family is perfect.
Haley hops off the couch, taking the book into her playroom to flip through it, and Prescott draws me into a hug.
“I got you something too,” he says, reaching into the shopping bag again and producing a second tissue-wrapped book.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I missed you. I love you. You’re carrying our child. Do I really need a reason to give my wife a present?”
I laugh and give him a wry smile. “So, you’re trying to seduce me.”
“Bingo,” he says. “Is it working?”
I should probably play a little harder to get, but I have to confess that even after five years, all it takes is a look from those dark, smoldering eyes. I play coy and ignore his question, unwrapping the book instead.
“Oh my God, Prescott,” I say, running my hand over the smooth leather binding. “This is a first edition of Pride and Prejudice.”
“‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,’” he quotes, pulling me back into his arms, my big belly between us, his hands on my hips. “Remember our first night together?”
“I could never forget it.”
“You teased me f
or my Jane Austen collection,” he accuses.
“I didn’t tease, I simply pointed it out.”
“Well, that was the moment I knew you were not only smart and funny and beautiful and caring,” he says, his hands coming up to trace the line of my jaw and then tangle into my hair, “you were my match in every way. I love you, Brooklyn.”
“I love you so much, Prescott.”
We kiss, then I break out of the embrace, turning and walking toward the door. Confused, he calls after me, “Where are you going?”
I look over my shoulder, hooking a finger at him to follow me. “Upstairs. Bring your library card—I’ve got something for you to check out.”
About Frankie
Frankie Love writes filthy-sweet stories about bad boys and mountain men.
As a thirty-something mom who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters.
She also believes in the power of a quickie.
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About Kaylin
I’m Kaylin Evans and I write steamy romantic comedy with small-town charm.
I live in Ohio with my husband and two adorable, book-nibbling rabbits. I love black coffee and sweater weather, and I’m an unapologetic planner nerd.
My books are for you if you love cinnamon roll heroes, strong heroines, second chances, slow burns, and ensemble casts of close-knit friends.
New to my books? Grab a free copy of my Holidays & HEAs anthology.
