The bathroom door shuts, and I take a seat on the bottom bunk as I let out a heavy sigh.
Holy shit, what a day.
I can’t believe that I stood in front of my friends, family, and some people from town and took Wyatt’s hand and placed a ring on it. I can’t believe I said I do. And most importantly, I can’t believe the fluttery, magical feeling I felt the entire day, as if it was all real.
That the kiss we shared when pronounced man and wife was real.
That the pictures we took of me leaning into his embrace was real.
That the first dance we shared with Ethel singing in the background was real.
It wasn’t.
It was all fake.
It was all for show.
And what a show it was.
Then he whisked me away, looking like the doting husband stealing me away for a few days. And as I sit here, in the cabin that brought on this entire plan, all I can think about is how I wish he felt the same way about me. Or how I wish I wasn’t feeling so drawn toward him and didn’t rely on him for comfort or peace of mind. I wish that weren’t the case at all, but it is.
And now that we’re alone in this cabin with two bedrooms, all I can think about is how disappointed I am. How I’m going to have to sleep in this bunk bed alone, with Wyatt a few feet away, enjoying a bed all to himself.
Is he happy about it?
Does he wish I asked to sleep with him?
Probably not, or else he wouldn’t have asked me what room I wanted to be in. He would have just put our stuff in one room.
That’s fine.
Going into marrying him, I knew that I was carrying these feelings and that he probably didn’t reciprocate them. And now that we’re married and he has the cabin—or he will have it when the paperwork goes through—there’s no need for him to continue to woo me and keep me on his good side.
Totally fine.
The bathroom door opens, and he says, “All yours.”
I lift from the bed, grab my shirt for the night and my toiletry bag, and move into the bathroom, but not before he stops me with his hand on my stomach. Shoulder to shoulder, I peer up at him.
“Are you sure about your bed?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say even though I want to say no. Even though I want to tell him I desperately want him to hold me tonight. Even though I wish he’d ask me to sleep with him.
“Okay.” He studies me for a few seconds and then says, “Thank you again for today. It means so much to me.”
“We both won today,” I say.
“We did,” he says, his thumb rubbing over my stomach and making it flip with butterflies. “I’m going to make sure everything is locked up.”
“Sounds good,” I say, moving into the bathroom and closing the door.
I set my things down and stare into the mirror as an annoying bout of emotions hits me all at once.
I like him so much.
Too much.
To the point that I actually feel my throat grow tight over the thought of not sleeping with him tonight. What would he do if I just showed up at his door and asked if I could sleep with him? The worst he could say would be no. Then I’d have a really clear idea of where he stands.
I brush my teeth, contemplating what to do. I know if Cassidy were here and I asked her, she’d tell me to go for it, to throw caution to the wind and put myself out there. She never took what she wanted when it came to her feelings. I know she’d use her past mistakes to help me decide.
I spit out my toothpaste and rinse my mouth. When I dry it, I look in the mirror again and whisper, “I don’t know, Cassidy, should I go for it?”
Deep down, I know she’d tell me to do it. If he doesn’t want me, he doesn’t want me, and I’ll move on. But I’ll never know unless I try.
I strip out of my clothes, including my underwear, and I put on one of my Almond Store shirts, this one black with white writing. I finger comb my hair and then splash some water on my face before drying it off. I grip the counter and take a few deep breaths.
Just do it, Aubree.
Just go in there and ask if you can sleep with him.
If he says yes, that’s when you make the next move.
You have to try.
I cover my hand over my face, my nerves ripping through me but my courage peaking as I open the bathroom door and bring my dirty clothes into the room. I deposit them by my bag, take a few more deep breaths, and then, on shaky legs, I move toward the hallway, where I catch Wyatt slipping into his bed. His muscular body flexes and retracts as he slides under the sheets. What I wouldn’t give to feel his body, to explore it, to hear him moan the same way he did when my mouth was dragging over his cock.
And that’s all the ammo I need to propel myself forward. I step into the doorframe just as his eyes connect with mine. His face draws into concern. “Everything okay?”
Twisting my hands together in front of me, I ask, “Please feel free to say no, I won’t be offended at all, but, um . . . do you think I could sleep in here with you?”
His brow perks up. “Yeah, of course.”
“Are you sure? I know you’re probably excited to have a bed to yourself.”
“Babe, you can sleep with me anytime.”
And that’s the last bit of courage I need as I move toward the bed. Since it’s pushed up against the wall, Wyatt gets out and lets me slide in before he slips under the covers again.
“Thank you,” I say. “Strange place and all.”
“I get it,” he says as he turns off the nightstand light, casting the room into darkness. “Do you want me to hold you?” he asks.
“Only if you’re comfortable,” I answer, this conversation between us far too polite for two people who just got married.
“I’m comfortable,” he says as he moves in behind me, and then to my surprise, he slips his hand under my shirt and presses it against my bare stomach. Immediately from the warmth of his palm, a tingling sensation strikes up between my legs. My shirt is hiked up, I’m not wearing underwear, and I can feel his arm and body pressed against mine.
It makes my nipples hard.
It makes my skin tingle.
And it makes me feel like I have the power to move forward.
To make a move.
So I turn my head, lean back against him just slightly, and grip the back of his head, bringing his mouth down to mine.
Nerves rip through me as I lightly kiss him. It’s short, sweet, and to the point. A simple good night kiss. When I pull away, I whisper, “Good night, Wyatt.”
“G-good night,” he stutters, making me smile as I rest my head against the cushiony pillow.
As I sink into the mattress and grow more comfortable, I feel his chest take a few deep breaths, which could only mean one thing . . . perhaps I turned him on.
Perhaps there is hope, so I wait a few more seconds, and then I lean against him again, twisting my head and reaching for his. Once again, I bring his mouth to mine. On a sharp inhale, he kisses me back. This time, his hand that’s on my stomach floats up right below my breast, but before he can touch it, I pull away.
“Night, Wyatt.”
He swallows loud enough for me to hear. “Yeah . . . night,” he says, sounding flustered, which makes me smirk to myself.
I wait a few more seconds, eager to see if he makes a move, but when he doesn’t, I know I’ll have to go in again.
So I twist my head just enough, pull on the back of his one more time, and when I bring him down for a kiss this time, my mouth parts and my tongue slips into his mouth. He groans as his hand slides up to my breast, and he lightly brushes his thumb across my nipple.
My entire body heats from the touch, and I quickly pull away before it goes any further.
But it’s too late because I can feel his erection pressed up against my backside.
He’s turned on.
But so am I. That one swipe of his thumb has me already wet and wanting so much more. But I really want to see what he does, so I curl into my pillow, and I remain like that, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself.
And I wait.
And wait . . .
And just when I’m about to lose my mind, his hand moves down my stomach an inch.
Please God, let this be him closing in.
I take a few breaths, and then his fingers move another inch south. Yes, I nearly cry. Please, he wants this like I want this. I hold still, not wanting to make a sound. My cheeks burn, my pussy pulses with need, and my stomach flip-flops, begging for him to continue his pursuit.
It takes him a few more seconds, but when his fingers dance lower, right above my pubic bone, I turn on my back so I’m looking up at him.
“Aubree?”
“Yes?” I answer breathlessly.
His fingers stroke right above my bare pussy. “Are you not wearing underwear?”
“I’m not,” I answer.
“Why not?” he asks.
And I know this is the moment. This is what I’ve been leaning toward ever since I hopped into bed with him. I either take the moment now, or I never do, and I don’t think I could face another night by his side without having his mouth all over me or his hands . . . or his cock inside me.
I want it all.
I need it all.
So I sit on the bed and push him on his back. Then I reach for the hem of my shirt, and with all the courage I can muster, I pull my shirt up and over my head and deposit it on the floor, leaving me naked.
“Holy shit,” Wyatt mutters as I lift and straddle his lap, nestling his erection right between my legs. “Fuck,” he drags out as his hands move to my thighs.
“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave,” I say. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.”
“Baby,” he says softly as he sits up and loops his arm around my back. “Fuck, do I want this more than anything.” Why do I feel like there is a but coming? “But . . .” And there it is.
Humiliation falls over me, and I try to slide off him, but he stills me.
“Aubree.” His eyes meet mine. “I want this badly, but I don’t have protection.”
Oh . . .
“Okay,” I say, feeling relieved. “Well, I’m on birth control, so it’s up to you.”
His eyes study me for a moment. Then his hand loops behind my head, and his mouth comes crashing down on mine. He leans against the headboard as I continue to straddle him and get lost in his mouth.
Yes, is all I can think.
Thank God, yes.
I want this man so much. I want to feel him and touch him and not worry about what might happen or what he might say. I want him to look into my eyes, kiss my lips, enter me with his long, thick length, only to bring me to the edge and let me ride there for a while before he tips me over.
I grind my hips against his lap, my clit riding along the ridge of his cock, his underwear getting in the way of what I fully want, so I lean to the side, and while his mouth is still on mine, I help him get rid of the boxers, which he does quickly, and that’s when I settle back on his lap.
My clit to his cock.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says as I glide over him, loving how it feels.
“You’re huge,” I reply as I move faster. “God, so big, Wyatt.”
Then my mouth falls to his again, and I part my lips, letting my tongue tangle against his and getting lost in the feel of his arm around me, his hand snaking up between us to play with my nipple. His legs spread, giving me a better anchor to ride him harder.
He grows beneath me, his cock stretching up along his stomach, and I use the angle to my advantage, focusing on the friction over my pussy.
I grind, and I swivel.
I pump, and I pull.
My stomach coils, and my pleasure climbs.
His mouth takes control, moving over my jaw to my neck, and then he curls down and lifts my breast to his mouth, where his teeth nibble on my nipple.
He licks.
He sucks.
He bites.
He squeezes.
He repeats the process over and over again until I’m panting.
I smooth my slit over his length, rubbing myself out, bringing my body to the height of my pleasure.
I moan with my head tilted back.
I call out his name with every little bite along my skin.
And when he brings his mouth back to mine, I groan into it when our tongues collide once more.
We’re erratic, frenzied, trying to grasp onto each other as we seek out our pleasure.
“Fuck,” I moan as he pinches my nipple. “Oh God, I’m close,” I say as I rotate my hips faster.
“I want you coming around my cock,” he says as he tips me back on the mattress and hovers over me. I stare up at him and his magnificent body. His defined pecs and sculpted shoulders. The contracting six-pack as he breathes heavily, staring down at me. He holds his long, girthy cock in his hand, and he’s lightly pumping with a bit of pre-cum on the tip.
He’s just as close.
So keeping my eyes on him, I slip one of my legs over his shoulder, and then I spread the other.
“Fuck . . . me,” he says as he lowers his cock down to my entrance and slowly starts to push forward.
Immediately, my teeth fall over my bottom lip as I adjust to his size.
“You okay?” he asks.
“So perfect, don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t. He continues to push forward while he grabs my leg that’s over his shoulder, and when he bottoms out, we both groan together.
“Goddamn it,” he says as his eyes squeeze shut. “Baby, I can already feel you contracting around me.”
“I’m so close,” I nearly cry as my entire body is lit up and ready to fall over just from him entering me.
“Me too. But let me catch my breath.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Please, I need you to fuck me, Wyatt. Fuck . . . me.”
The fire in his eyes lights up, and he leans one hand against the headboard and braces himself as he plunges into me. He thrusts so hard that he bottoms out again and pushes me up toward the headboard. I raise my hands to keep my head from bonking into it, and he does it again.
I’ve never felt anything like it before.
Penetration has never done it for me, but with each thrust, I feel like he’s touching a part of me that’s never been touched before. He’s pleasuring me in a way that I’ve never been pleasured before, and it’s addicting.
I want more.
I want it harder.
I want it faster.
So I grip his hips, and I encourage him to move more. I dig my fingers into his skin.
He grunts.
He pulses.
He thrusts.
He twists.
And before I know it, I’m panting, calling out his name, feeling my entire body seize on me as I finally tip over the edge, and my orgasm hits me harder than I ever could have imagined.
“Oh fuck, oh God,” I cry out. “Wyatt, I’m . . . oh God, I’m coming.”
He grunts some more, his hips flying frantically, the bed sounding like it’s about to break, and then . . .
“Oh fuck,” he cries out as he stills. His cock swells inside me, and he comes.
His moan is the sexiest, hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
I continue to contract around him as he slowly lowers his body toward mine, keeping his cock firmly inside me. He props himself up on his elbows and stares down at me. He gently moves a strand of my hair off my face and then leans down for a soft kiss.
I get lost in the feel of his lips and don’t realize he’s slowly removing himself from me. When he’s entirely out, he lifts and says, “Be right back.”
When he heads into the bathroom, I sigh into the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut.
Oh my God, I just had sex with Wyatt.
No, I didn’t just have sex with him. I had mind-blowing, life-altering sex. The kind of sex that will live with me forever. A feeling that will never leave me. And I want to tell him that. I want him to know that this is so much more for me than just one night. I want him to know that I want to date him, that I’m ready to try something new and sneak out of the haze I’ve been living in.
But not now, not right after what we did. In the morning, when our minds are clear.
He walks back into the bedroom with a washcloth and gently says, “Spread for me, Aubree.”
Feeling incredibly awkward, I say, “You don’t have to do that—”
“I said, spread,” he says in a sterner tone, so I spread my legs, and he takes his time cleaning me.
He then drops the towel and reaches for me. He picks me up into his arms and takes me into the bathroom, where he sets me down. Taking my chin in his hand, he leans in, lightly kissing me on the lips.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says right before he takes off. When I hear him in the bedroom, I lean against the counter and let out a deep breath.
I hope he likes me back because I can’t think of a way I’ll ever get over this man.
I STRETCH my arms above my head as I arch my back against the mattress and feel the glow of the morning mountain sun filter through the window.
Soreness creeps between my legs, but it’s the best feeling as I open my eyes and turn toward Wyatt, but come up short when I see that he’s no longer in bed.
After I returned from the bathroom, he helped me back into my shirt. He was already in his boxers and brought me back to bed. I sort of hoped we would sleep naked together, or maybe he’d wake me up in the middle of the night and try to go for round two, which I would have easily been on board with, especially after the way he made me come the first go around. But he didn’t. Instead, he held me all night, and that was that.
Now that it’s morning and he’s not in bed with me, worry starts to etch up my spine. Did I make a mistake? Did I judge him wrong? Is it going to be uncomfortable?
Worried, I tiptoe out of bed and try to stay as quiet as I can while I move to my bedroom. I don’t hear Wyatt, but that doesn’t mean he’s not downstairs doing something, so I stay extra quiet when I grab my phone and take a seat on the bunk.
I check the time, and I know Echo is awake, so I text her.
Aubree: I need advice.
I stare down at my phone, and when I see the dots indicating she’s texting back, I thank the high heavens.
Echo: Uh-oh, what happened last night?
Aubree: How do you know something happened last night?
Echo: Really? You’re texting me at eight in the morning after the first night with your husband. Something happened.
Aubree: You’re right. Something did happen. I had sex with Wyatt.
Echo: Are we happy about that?
Aubree: I was. Really happy actually. And he seemed enthusiastic about it as well, but once it was done, it was like he reverted to how we were before we had sex. He held me last night, but there was nothing past that, and I woke up alone this morning. I don’t know, I might be overthinking this, but something feels off. Do you think I freaked him out?
Echo: Who initiated sex?
Aubree: I did, but he was glad to participate. Very glad.
Echo: Okay, then maybe he’s just giving you some space, you know? Like maybe he wants you to fully understand what happened between you two.
Aubree: I know what happened, Echo. Everything changed for me.
Echo: Then maybe you need to tell him that. Maybe you need to have that conversation.
Aubree: And if he doesn’t feel the same way?
Echo: Then at least you know. But you can’t be doing this, not for a whole year. It’s better to set the expectations now. Set the boundaries.
Aubree: You’re right. I don’t think I could live with this on-and-off type sexual tension between us.
Echo: I know you can’t. Now go talk to him.
Aubree: Okay. Thanks.
Echo: Any time.
I set my phone down, and then, on a deep breath, I stand from the bunk and head down the creaky stairs of the cabin. When I reach the bottom, I glance out the back deck and marvel at the towering trees that seem to expand into the sky. Since the cabin is on a slope, it almost feels like we’re in a tree house. I scan the deck but don’t see Wyatt, so I move around toward the living space and spot him in the kitchen with his back toward me, hovering over the coffee maker.
I nervously clasp my hands together and say, “Good morning.”
He turns to face me with a cup of coffee in his hands. His eyes immediately fall to my bare legs and then scan up my shirt to my face. “Morning,” he says with a light smirk.
Unsure of how to respond and open the conversation, I tiptoe on my feet and say, “The floor is cold.”
“Did you bring slippers with you?” I shake my head. Because who packs slippers on their honeymoon? “We can grab some when we go into town later.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling so incredibly awkward.
He sips his coffee, his eyes on me. “Something wrong?”
“Yes,” I say before I can stop myself.
That makes his brows peak with interest. He sets his coffee down and leans back against the counter. “What’s going on, Aubree?”
Here it goes.
I wet my lips, and in one fell swoop, I say, “Last night was something special for me. It meant something to me. I’m not sure if it meant something to you, but it was a huge step for me. I don’t normally do this, but I don’t think I can live a year in this purgatory of not knowing, so I just need to tell you, Wyatt, that I like you.” Relief flies through me as the words tumble out. “I like you a lot and not as a friend but more than a friend. I’ve started to develop feelings for you and want you to know because if you don’t feel the same way, then I want you to tell me now so I can set boundaries for myself. I don’t want to keep slipping into your bed if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t want to—”
“Whoa, slow down,” he says, pushing off the counter and walking up to me.
“I’m sorry, I just want you to know where I stand,” I say nervously. “And don’t feel like you have to say you feel the same way or that you don’t want to hurt me. I just want you to—”
“Aubree,” he says, closing the space between us. “I feel the same way.”
I shake my head as he steps right in front of me. I press my hand to his chest. “Seriously, Wyatt, I know you don’t want to hurt me—”
“Aubree,” he says in a very serious tone. “I’m being fucking serious. I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, and I didn’t want to scare you away because I didn’t think you felt the same. Why do you think I kept touching you when no one was around? Why I kept trying to kiss you despite not doing good night kisses anymore? Why do you think I nearly lost my goddamn mind yesterday when you chose to initially sleep in the other room last night?”
“You lost your mind?” I ask, feeling like this can’t be true, like this is all a dream.
“Yes,” he says in exasperation. “The entire time I was getting ready for bed, I cursed myself for even suggesting you choose what bedroom to sleep in.” He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. My hands fall to his chest as I stare up at him. “I want to date you, Aubree. I want to see where this can go because I think you’re incredible, and I don’t want to pretend I don’t anymore. I’m tired of it.” He cups my cheek. “I want to give us a chance.”
“I want that, too,” I say, feeling a wave of relief and excitement hit me all at once.
He smirks and then lightly presses a kiss to my nose. “Then if that’s the case, Aubree Preston, will you date your husband?”
I chuckle. “Oh my God, Wyatt, could you be any lamer?”
“I could,” he answers. “I could hold out my hand, introduce myself, and ask you where you’re from, starting at the very beginning.” When I don’t say anything, he pulls away and holds his hand out to me. “Hi, I’m Wyatt—”
“Stop that.” I swat his hand away.
He laughs, scooping me up in his arms, and he brings us over to the couch, where I straddle his lap. His hands fall to my thighs and move up toward my hips. Once again, he notices I’m not wearing underwear and lifts one of his brows at me.
“What have I told you about not wearing underwear?”
“Nothing,” I answer. “You’ve actually told me nothing.”
“Huh, I think you’re right.” His hands roam under the hem of my shirt. “Well, for future reference, if you don’t wear underwear, I have free access.”
“Free access?” I ask. “You realize this is my body, right?” My fingers play with his light splattering of chest hair.
“Not anymore, babe,” he replies as he sinks further into the couch, bringing my hips right over his hardening erection. “You married me. That means you belong to me.”
“Wasn’t aware that’s what I was signing up for.”
“Always read the fine print, babe.” His hands travel farther up my body, dragging my shirt with him until he removes it and leaves me naked on his lap. His hungry eyes roam my chest as he wets his lips, a look of satisfaction crossing over his expression. “That’s better.”
Fascinated that I don’t feel self-conscious, I watch how he appreciates every inch of me, not even hiding that he’s checking me out. “Getting your fill?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he replies as his hands lazily run up my sides. “You have no idea how much I’ve been hiding this need to have you in my arms without you second-guessing it or questioning me.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I say as I start to rock over his hips, causing his teeth to pull on his bottom lip.
“Because I didn’t want to scare you,” he says, his hand connecting with my breast where he massages it. “Thought I’d marry you first so you couldn’t get away.” He leans forward and pulls my nipple between his teeth.
A hiss escapes my lips as I lean into his touch. This touch that I seem to be craving now that I’ve finally had him. He brings his hand up to my other breast and starts circling my nipple, over and over again, then lightly flicking it, giving me just enough to drive me crazy but never enough to be fully satisfied.
“God,” I breathe out when he releases my nipple and starts licking it. “You’re making me so wet, Wyatt.”
He releases my breast from his mouth and says, “Stand up.” When I look at him with a confused expression, he says, “Stripping down.” He removes his underwear, and my mouth waters as his cock hardens against his stomach, stretching upward, ready for me. The idea of me turning on this man will probably never get old.
It feels powerful.
It makes me feel beyond sexy.
It makes me feel like I matter.
He holds out his hand to me, and I take it, starting to straddle his lap when he stops me and then turns me around.
“Sit down, Aubree,” he says, taking my hips and guiding me down on top of him, my back to his chest. He leans me all the way back so my head rests on his shoulder and his hand wraps around my stomach. His erection presses between my ass, hard as a rock. Softly, Wyatt drags the tips of his fingers over my stomach and up to my chest. “Your skin is so fucking soft. It’s addicting.”
His fingers wander over my breasts, barely caressing my nipples before they move up to my neck where he lightly encircles at the base. Holding me still, he brings his mouth to my ear, where his lips brush against my lobe as he says, “Need inside you.”
I need that too, desperately, so I sit up on my knees and bring his cock to my entrance, only to slowly lower down on top of him.
I have to take a few deep breaths as I lower because I’m still adjusting to him in a new and different position, which seems to add more pressure, a pressure I wasn’t expecting.
“God, Wyatt,” I moan as I lean against his chest, his hand still gripping my neck.
“Your pussy is so fucking addicting,” he says on a groan as he starts thrusting up into me. “Fuck . . . me, Aubree. Warm . . . wet . . . fucking tight. Yes, so fucking good,” he moans, sending a bout of chills down my arms. “Can’t get enough.” He runs his other hand up my stomach to my breasts, where he starts circling my nipple again. “Move for me, baby, fuck my cock.”
So turned on, I anchor myself against him as he teases my breasts, and I start moving my hips around in circles, grinding on his lap and taking in the feel of him so deep inside me.
“That’s it, Aubree,” he encourages. “Keep going.”
As I rotate on him, his lips move along my cheek, my jaw, my neck.
His fingers play with my nipple, stroking, flicking, circling.
His hand applies pressure to my neck, his thumb gliding up and down the sensitive column.
It’s like he knows exactly how to handle me, how to bring me to the edge quickly.
“Wyatt,” I whisper. “I’m close.”
“I need more, Aubree. Squeeze me, baby.”
Wanting him to come with me, I start moving my hips up and down, and every time I crash down on his lap, I squeeze my inner walls.
And with every squeeze, he moans deeper and sexier.
“Ohhhhh, fuck,” he says as I drop down on him again. “Fuck yes, baby.” He releases my neck and brings his hands to my hips, where he grips me tightly and then starts aiding my thrusts with his own. His body turns into a frenzy as he seeks out an orgasm. “Jesus fuck, it’s so good.” He slams me down again and again. “Fuck, Aubree . . . fuck . . .” He bites down on my shoulder, his hips flying now as he pumps up into me.
My tits bounce with his jostling, his legs smack against my ass, and his fingers dig into my skin. It’s the best, most erotic feeling of my life.
“Touch your clit, baby. I want you screaming.”
Nearly there, I bring my hand between my legs and massage two fingers over my clit, circling it over and over again. Combined with what he’s doing, my release presses quickly at the base of my spine, my body ready to fall over the edge as tingles of pleasure jolt through my veins.
“Oh fuck, Wyatt,” I yell as he pounds me down on top of him, over and over and over. “I’m . . . I’m coming,” I shout as my pussy contracts, and my orgasm takes over, sending me right over the edge and into a wave of bliss.
Wyatt groans behind me as his hips still and his cock pulses inside me. “Oh fuck,” he groans as I feel him come, his fingers nearly piercing my skin with how tightly they’re holding me. His head falls forward, and he bites into my shoulder as he continues to come, both of us taking in every last second of it until we settle.
After a few seconds of heavy breathing and relaxing our bodies, Wyatt says, “Fucking hell, Aubree.”
I chuckle and lean against him, completely spent. How did I not know that sex could be like this? So . . . incredible? Wyatt is such a selfless lover. “It’s so good.”
“It’s phenomenal,” he says, placing a kiss on my neck and then my shoulder where he bit me. “Fuck, I left a mark. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say, turning my head toward him. “I like it.”
Growling, he holds my jaw in place and presses his lips to mine. “You very well might be the death of me if you keep that up.”
“What a way to go.”
“IT’S COLDER than I thought it would be,” I say while slipping my shoes on.
“Take my sweatshirt,” Wyatt says while he starts to tug it off.
“No, I don’t want you to be cold.” I stand from the couch.
“Babe, do you really think I’m going to walk around town with you and let you be cold?”
“No,” I answer.
“So take the sweatshirt,” he says, bringing it over to me.
I press my hands to his chest and smile up at him, still in awe over the fact that this is real, that we are a real thing. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’ll be fine once we start walking in the sun.”
“You’re cute,” he says. “But take the fucking sweatshirt.”
I chuckle and take the sweatshirt, slipping it on over my long-sleeved T-shirt. And because he’s so much bigger than me, it envelops me in his scent, the hem hitting me mid-thigh and the sleeves extending far past my hands. But oh my God, I love it.
I hug the sweatshirt close and say, “You’re not getting this back.”
He chuckles and lifts my chin only to place a soft kiss on my lips. “It’s yours.”
I take in his long-sleeved shirt and the way it clings to every part of his torso, including his thick pecs and rounded shoulders. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I ask him.
“Yeah, and if not, when we get your slippers, I’ll grab a sweatshirt for myself. Sound good?”
“Sounds good. Thank you,” I say, kissing his jawline.
He smirks at me and takes my hand, leading me to the front door. “You know, when you let your guard down, you’re quite pleasant to be around.” I pause, only for him to look over his shoulder and laugh. “You’re also sexy as shit when you’re irritated. Thought that from day one.”
“Is that why you enjoyed making me mad?”
“Yup, something about the fantasy of having angry sex with you really motivated me.”
“Keep it up with those comments, and that fantasy very well might come true.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Aubree. I know exactly how to press your buttons at this point.” Funnily enough, he’s not wrong. And it’s amazing to be with someone who won’t use that knowledge to malign me. He leads me out of the cabin and into the crisp mountain air where silence surrounds us, just the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees and the occasional bird chirping filtering through.
I sigh, taking it all in. The lengthy ponderosa pines that seem to be never-ending, the earthy smell of the leaves changing colors and falling to the ground, and the feel of total seclusion and privacy.
Turning toward Wyatt, I say, “I can tell exactly why you wanted to make this cabin yours. It’s breathtaking here. I could get lost in here, forget all of my responsibilities and just soak in the nature surrounding us.” I look around, catching a blue-winged bird floating through the air only to land on a tree branch. “One can truly find peace here.”
“I have found peace,” he says quietly. “This cabin was where I wrote the first sentence of my very first book.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
“Yup, I was talking to my grandpa about a story idea I had. I was fifteen at the time, and he told me to write it down. He never thought of my aspirations to write as something silly. He supported them and even helped me flush out some ideas when I was stuck.”
“You were pretty close, weren’t you?” I ask as we walk up the road, hand in hand.
“We were. Very close.”
“Can I ask you a private question?”
“Aubree.” He chuckles. “We’re married, and you’ve sat on my face. Pretty sure you can ask me anything at this point.”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .” I peer up at him, and he smirks and then winks. And we’re probably both thinking of what we did this morning. Hard not to, especially after I screamed his name loud enough to scare every bird away from the cabin within a five-mile radius. Clearing my thoughts, I ask, “If you were so close with your grandpa, then why did he not just leave the cabin to you? Why was it to one of the grandkids and not one of his kids?”
“Great question,” Wyatt says. “He and his brother owned the cabin. His brother didn’t have kids and didn’t care for Grandpa’s kids.”
“Ha!” I laugh. “Seriously?”
“Oh yeah, hated them. He wasn’t the greatest uncle in the world. My dad had a few choice words to say about him that I won’t share, but Grandpa didn’t want the cabin to be sold. He wanted it kept in the family, so they made a deal that the first grandkid to get married would inherit the cabin.”
“Did your grandpa’s brother ever visit the cabin?”
“Yup,” Wyatt answers as we make a right and head into town. He told me it was a short walk, and he was right. I can see some shops up ahead. “He would come up to the cabin and have smoking and drinking benders. Grandpa’s only requirements were no smoking his pipe in the house and no women. It was a family cabin, and he didn’t want his brother bringing over a parade of women. He was known for partying and having a voracious appetite for women.”
“Yet the things we’ve done in that cabin since we’ve arrived.”
Wyatt laughs. “We’re married, Aubree. That’s different. We’re allowed to do those things.”
“I hope so. I don’t want to taint your grandpa’s requests.”
We cross the street again, right into town. From what I can tell, the town centers around a large lake with the main street flowing around it, and businesses dotted all along the road. The town is a combination of western and mountain with log-like cabin buildings and saloon façades. It’s cute and whimsical. Everything I’d want in a mountain town.
“My grandpa would have loved you.”
“You think so?” I ask as we head toward the diner. Wyatt warned me that it’s chock-full of trolls.
Yes, you read that correctly, trolls. The owner apparently collects them and has used her diner to display them on every surface she can. As a bipartisan of troll collecting, I’m fascinated to see what this troll haven might look like.
“I know so,” Wyatt says. “He always wanted me to be with someone who was—as he put it—a bit spicy. Or in your case, a lot spicy. He wanted someone to challenge me, not fall in line with my day-to-day. He wanted someone who would push my buttons, make me think, and make me work to find peace. He never ever wanted anything handed to me, and baby, you were one hell of a hard catch to land.”
“Hence the bribery at the beginning. Your grandpa would have been proud,” I joke.
“He would have.”
When we arrive at the diner, Wyatt reaches for the door just as it pops open. He steps back, and I catch a smile cross his face right before he says, “Fallon, how are you?”
“Wyatt?” a stunning woman says, pulling him into a hug. “Oh my gosh, it’s been so long. How are you doing?”
“Great,” he says and then holds up our connected hands. “Got married this weekend.”
Her eyes fall to mine, and she says, “Oh, is this Cadance?”
Cadance . . . who the hell is Cadance?
Wyatt shifts but remains cheery as he says, “No, this is Aubree Rowley. Her sister was married to my brother before he passed. Aubree runs the farm up in Almond Bay.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Wow, what a dense thing of me to say.”
“It’s fine,” Wyatt says. “We haven’t seen each other in a while.”
“And whose fault is that?” she asks, hand on her hip, looking so freaking cute. “But congratulations, that’s so exciting. I actually got married myself.”
“To Peter?” Wyatt asks.
Fallon laughs and shakes her head. “Wow, we really need to update each other. No, his name is Sawyer. He came into town after running out of his best friend’s wedding, left only a shoe behind, and came rolling into Canoodle. He needed a place to stay, so he stayed at the cabins. Long story short, he became best friends with my grandpa, helped me renovate the cabins, and I fell in love. He’s a screenwriter. You two would probably get along.”
“Well, if that’s the case, we should get together at some point.”
“That would be so great. I’d say my grandpa would love to see you, but his Alzheimer’s is taking over his memory.”
“I didn’t want to ask, but are you still caring for him?”
Fallon nods. “Sawyer has been a huge help. My dads are up here a lot, helping out as well. And then everyone in town. It’s really been a community effort. Especially from Tank. You should go visit him. I know he misses your grandpa a lot. He’d love to see you.”
“I’ll stop by the hardware store and say hi. Plan on taking Aubree around and showing her everything.”
“Good, and hey, now that you’re married and taking ownership of the cabin, does that mean you’ll be up here more often?”
“I hope so,” he says.
“Well, I’ll warn Jazz. You know she gets excited when you’re around, loves talking all things stabby.”
Wyatt turns to me and says, “Jazz is Fallon’s best friend, and she likes to think that she’s not eccentric like the rest of the town, but she might be the most eccentric besides the cat that’s the mayor.”
“Uh, that would be Beefinator, the grandchild of Beefy Boofcheck, the Saint Bernard.”
“Wait,” Wyatt says, looking truly concerned, more concerned than over the mention of that Cadance chick I’m still reeling over. “What happened to Miss Daphne Lynn Pearlbottom and her glittery fascinators?”
“Kicked to the curb,” Fallon says. “Pearlbottom had no chance at reelection when Beefy’s kin stepped in.”
“Such a shame,” Wyatt says. “Makes me think if I’m spending more time here, I need to pay closer attention.”
“You do, especially in the mayoral politics. There is a small cult of Pearlbottom lovers who are ready to try to take over and win her back her spot.”
“The drama,” Wyatt says, “I love it.”
Fallon smirks. “Well, I’ll let you two go eat something. Stop by the cabins. I’d love to show you the renovations, and you can meet Joannie, my baby girl.”
Wyatt’s face softens. “You had a baby girl?” he asks.
Fallon smiles widely. “Yes, and she’s perfect.”
“Congratulations, Fallon. I’m really happy for you. I’ll stop by for sure.” Wyatt leans in and gives her another hug. “Good seeing you, Fallon.”
“You too.” She waves at me. “Nice meeting you, Aubree.”
“Nice meeting you,” I reply as Wyatt opens the door to the diner and guides me in by placing his hand on the small of my back.
We enter what I can only describe as a troll haven, but my mind is still yelling who the hell is Cadance?
From floor to ceiling, narrow shelves line the walls, displaying thousands of trolls, ranging from naked with bejeweled bellies to fully dressed. Tall. Short. A variation of hair colors combined with vibrant—yet dulled—clothing themed to the nineties trends. There are signs and license plates, and every paraphernalia an ardent collector would have in their arsenal, and this diner didn’t cheap out on any of them.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” Wyatt says, mirth in his voice.
“It really is,” I say as he brings us over to a booth up against one of the walls. He sits across from me and nods toward the napkin dispenser covered in troll stickers. Really, nothing has gone untouched in the decorating of this diner.
And maybe if I wasn’t at war in my head over this Cadance mention, I’d find it quite comical, but I can’t seem to muster up the strength to push that aside and enjoy the moment with Wyatt.
And he must notice because he asks, “Hey, are you okay?”
I wet my lips and twist my hands in my lap as I look up at him. “Yeah, sort of. Just a little confused.”
“About the trolls?” he asks. “I know, I think we all are.”
“No,” I say. “Not about the trolls, about what Fallon said.”
His brow turns down. “What did she say that confused you?”
“She thought I was some woman named Cadance.” I look him in the eyes. “You’ve never mentioned her.”
“Oh,” he says while he pulls menus from behind the napkin dispenser and hands one to me. “She’s just an ex. Didn’t think she was worth mentioning.”
“Were you guys serious?” I ask.
He pulls his gaze from the menu and makes eye contact. “Does it matter?” he asks in an easy tone. Not mad, just curious.
“I guess not,” I say. I glance down at my menu, the words and letters all swirling together because I have this weird feeling he’s hiding something from me. It could just be my paranoia, though. “I guess we’ve never talked about those kind of things before.”
“Do you want to talk about those kind of things?” he asks me.
I shrug. “We don’t have to. I guess there isn’t much substance that would add to our situation by talking about exes, especially mine.”
“Because yours was a complete tool,” Wyatt says and then reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. He leans forward and kisses my knuckles before resting our connection on the table. “I think what’s in the past is in the past, and we should just leave it there.”
He lets go of my hand and returns to his menu, where I watch his eyes scan over it, his lips twisted to the side as he tries to decide.
What’s in the past is in the past . . .
Why does that feel like anything but someone who is over the past?
That sounds like something someone still living in the past would say.
