He clears his throat. “But, neither did my situation excuse my behavior.” I blink at him, trying to understand his statement, my mind stuttering back and piecing his sentences together.
He leans forward, pulling me off the ottoman and onto his lap, cradling me in his arms, my head in the crook of his arm, looking up and into that gorgeous, impossibly perfect face. He furrows his brow, his finger tracing the line of my mouth as he speaks. “I did a lot of things during our first time together that I am ashamed of. You had every reason to hate me during that time. We, despite what was on paper, were not husband and wife. I was in no way, shape, or form, worthy of being called your husband. I wouldn’t blame you for anything you did during that time, especially if it brought you peace of mind or security.” He bends down, brushing his lips over mine. Then he pulls away, a smile tugging at his mouth. He taps the check gently on my chest. “This money?” He drops the paper, letting it fall gently on my shirt. “I always knew, Candy. CeeCee's statements have come to this address since the day I opened that account for her. I’ve known the balance of that account to the penny and watched it grow.”
It takes me a moment to understand. “What? You’ve known this whole time?”
He grins, sliding his hand under the bottom hem of my shirt, his warm palm tickling my skin as he gently rubs his thumb over the planes of my stomach. “Yes, my devious, sexy wife. I knew.”
“Why didn’t you say something? Weren’t you mad?” He slides his hand downward, the tips of his fingers slipping under my shorts and trailing the lace of my panties. His expression sobers, his eyes locking on mine. “At the time, I thought it was a good sign—proof that you wouldn’t take it all and run. Proof that you would follow through and help me out.”
Relief floods me, stress leaving my body at his words. I close my eyes as he undoes my shorts, his hand stealing deeper, further into the lace boundary of my sex. “So … I’m forgiven?” I mumble, catching my breath when his fingers climb deftly lower, his hand cupping me as his fingers push the fabric of my panties against and slightly inside of my wet core.
His mouth moves to mine. “If you can forgive the ass that I was, I can forgive anything and everything you choose to torture me with over the next lifetime.”
“Torture, huh?” I smile against his mouth, pulling away from his kiss long enough to stand, sliding my shorts over my hips and dropping them to the floor.
“You have something in mind?” he growls.
“Sit back, Mr. Dumont.” I kneel before him, running my hands firmly up the thighs of his suit and over the outline of his cock, unbuckling his belt and tugging on the zipper. “Torture is an art I have mastered.”
He inhales when I slide my hands inside, his hard skin hot against my palm. “God, I love you.”
And then, our relationship continues the way it began, with me on my knees, his hard cock in my hand. But other than the wetness between my thighs, and the dominating sexuality of his too-gorgeous-for-words presence, everything else has changed.
I’ve gotten my happily ever after. Nathan was my golden ticket to the good life, and—much more importantly—true love and genuine happiness. If I weren’t throat-deep in delicious cock, I would pinch myself.
EPILOGUE
FIVE YEARS LATER
“No.” Her eyes flash at him, the stubbornness causing him to laugh. “I will not put my pants on.”
“You have to put your pants on.” I interrupt, snagging the back of her shirt and pulling her toward me. “Grandpa is going to be here in less than ten minutes to take you to the park and the park requires little girls to wear pants.”
“It is a stupid rule,” Nathan comments, holding out the hot purple jeans, which Bella snatches at with a frown. She sits down, holding out her chubby feet, which I brush off before working the pants on, my eyes catching the look that Nathan gives the two of us, a tender one that fills me with happiness.
Once properly attired, I shoo her off to the porch, the click of her shoes followed by Groucho. Nathan stands, and I hold up my hands to him. “Help me up, my love.”
He pulls me to my feet and against his chest, taking a gentle nip of my neck before releasing him. “How long will this park event take?” he inquires, his hands sliding underneath my T-shirt, his thumbs working their way under my sports bra.
I giggle, tugging at the top of his jeans. “I told Dad to keep her for at least two hours, and to call on the way back.”
“Two hours?” he narrows his eyes. “Two hours isn’t long enough to defile every surface in this house.”
“Well you shouldn’t have such a big house, Mr. Dumont,” I chide.
“We shouldn’t?” He questions. “I thought you wanted to fill up those other rooms with babies.”
“I don’t know,” I muse, running my hands through his hair. “I’m not sure that life can get any more perfect than this.”
Fifteen minutes later, as my dad’s truck carries Bella past our front gates, I eat my words. Nathan lifts me onto the dining room table, and everything crystallizes in the moment he pushes inside of me. It turns out, life can get about nine inches better. I tell him so, and a grin interrupts the canvas of his fierce sexuality.
“I love you,” he says gruffly, his mouth lowering to mine, his movements slowing as he takes his time with the kiss.
“I love you too.” I wrap my arms around his neck, arching into his body, my breasts against his bare chest.
He growls out my name, twisting my hair in his hands, and when I wrap my legs around his waist, both of us get lost in the pleasure.
Our words stop.
Our skin slaps.
His breath pants.
My heart thuds.
The first orgasm rips, and in it, I lose any last sense of fear. I embrace the father of my child, the provider of my life, the deliverer of my pleasure, the owner of my heart. I cry out his name and meet his eyes, the connection one thick with need and passion and love.
I will have him as long as there is breath in our bodies.
I will hold him as long as there is strength in our arms.
“Till death” does not apply to us. We will live on in the afterlife, in next lives or heavenly places.
We will never part. I know it as certainly as my next words.
“Nathan?”
“What?”
“Fuck me harder.” I smile. “Now.”
NOTE FROM AUTHOR
Candy and Nathan have been a part of my life since 2013, when I first wrote, and released, their story as a series of novellas. I published them as I wrote them, which meant that I didn’t always plan properly for latter events to unfold. It causes a rougher experience for the reader, and this story has been a bit of a stick in my side for the past four years. I’ve always vowed to return to this couple, and when a window of time appeared, I grabbed it and dove back into their world.