Chapter 10 Bash #2
"There's one more thing," I admit, suddenly nervous again. "One more question I need to ask."
Her eyes widen slightly, curious and trusting. "What is it?"
"Come with me."
I lead her from the Harbor Arts Collective to the Harborlight, just a short walk away.
The winter garden has been transformed in our absence, fairy lights twinkling among the carefully cultivated greenery, a small table set with crystal and silver, a bottle of champagne chilling beside it.
Snow drifts gently beyond the glass ceiling, creating the illusion that we're dining in a snow globe.
"Bash," Charlie breathes, taking in the scene. "This is beautiful."
I guide her to the table, where two mugs of Lil's famous hot chocolate wait alongside the champagne, a detail I'd insisted on despite the catering staff's confusion. Some things transcend conventional luxury.
"No business dinner has ever felt like this," she observes as we sit across from each other, firelight playing across her features.
"That's because this isn't business," I remind her, reaching across the table to take her hand. "This is pleasure, pure and simple."
Her thumb traces small circles on my palm, a casual intimacy that still sends electricity up my arm. "I never thought I'd be here," she admits softly. "When I pitched that crazy idea in Bayfront Beans, I was desperate. Just trying to save my job, my team."
"And I was just trying to fill empty hotel rooms," I acknowledge. "Neither of us saw this coming."
"Do you regret it?" she asks, and though her tone is light, I catch the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. "The contract, the public scrutiny, all of it?"
I consider the question seriously, giving it the weight it deserves. "I regret the circumstances that made me think a contractual marriage was a reasonable business strategy," I say finally. "But I could never regret the outcome. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Charlie."
The smile that breaks across her face is worth every uncomfortable moment, every difficult conversation, every raised eyebrow from investors questioning my judgment.
"Besides," I add, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles, "it makes for an excellent story."
She laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Can you imagine telling our grandchildren someday? 'Well, kids, Grandpa and I got married because his hotel had low occupancy rates...'"
The casual mention of our future, children, grandchildren, a life stretching decades ahead, sends a wave of contentment through me. Once, the idea of being tied to someone for that long would have terrified me. Now, it feels like the surest foundation I've ever built.
"I have something for you," I tell her, reaching into my pocket for the small box I've been carrying since we left Harbor Arts. "A gift to commemorate our first Christmas."
Charlie takes the box, her eyes meeting mine with curious excitement. "You didn't have to...”
"I wanted to," I assure her, watching as she opens it to reveal the sea glass ornament we'd arranged earlier.
Her breath catches as she lifts it carefully, reading the inscription. "Choose Us," she murmurs. "It's beautiful, Bash."
"It's a promise," I explain, my voice dropping to match the intimacy of the moment. "That whatever comes our way, whatever challenges or opportunities arise, we choose us. Our marriage. Our partnership. Every day."
She cradles the ornament gently, as if it's as precious as the promise it represents. "I choose us," she says softly. "Today and every day."
"I have one more thing to ask you," I say, reaching for my jacket pocket again. "Something I've been thinking about for a while now."
Charlie's eyes widen slightly. "Another surprise? You're on a roll tonight, Mr. Sinclair."
I withdraw a slim folder, placing it on the table between us. "This isn't nearly as romantic as sea glass, I'm afraid. But it might be just as meaningful."
She opens the folder, scanning the documents inside with growing comprehension. "Bash, this is... these are adoption papers."
"Preliminary application forms," I confirm, suddenly nervous despite our previous conversations on the topic. "I know we've talked about wanting a family someday, and I thought... perhaps someday could start now. If you're ready."
Charlie's eyes fill with tears, but her smile is radiant. "You want to adopt? Together?"
"I want everything with you, Charlie," I tell her honestly. "A home, a family, a future. All of it. And not on some distant timeline but starting now."
She rises from her chair and comes around the table, settling naturally in my lap as my arms encircle her waist. "Yes," she whispers against my lips. "Let's start now."
The kiss that follows is tender, full of promise and possibilities. When we part, both a little breathless, I can't help but marvel at how completely this woman has transformed my life in just seven short weeks.
"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Sinclair," I murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Sinclair," she replies, her eyes shining with happiness. "The first of many."
And in that moment, surrounded by twinkling lights and gentle snowfall, the future stretches before us, bright and beautiful and entirely ours to create together.
Christmas morning dawns clear and bright, sunlight streaming through the windows of our suite at the Harborlight.
Charlie is still asleep beside me, her hair spread across the pillow, features relaxed in absolute trust. I take a moment to simply watch her, this woman who has become the center of my world in such a short time.
My wife. For real this time.
As if sensing my gaze, she stirs, eyes fluttering open to find mine. The smile that spreads across her face sends warmth cascading through me, a sensation I'm still getting used to, this bone-deep contentment, this certainty that I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.
"Merry Christmas," I whisper, drawing her closer.
"Mmm, Merry Christmas," she murmurs, nestling against my chest. "What time is it?"
I glance at the clock. "Nearly nine. We should get up soon if we're going to make it to Bayfront Beans before meeting everyone."
Charlie groans softly, burying her face against my neck. "Five more minutes."
"Take all the time you need," I tell her, running my fingers through her sleep-tousled hair. "The town can wait."
She props herself up on one elbow, studying me with a lazy smile. "Sebastian Sinclair, putting personal pleasure before professional obligations? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"
I laugh, pulling her down for a kiss that quickly deepens, morning breath be damned. "I'm evolving," I murmur against her lips. "Besides, I believe unwrapping presents is a sacred Christmas tradition."
Her eyes darken with understanding as my hands slide beneath her sleep shirt. "Is that so, Mr. Sinclair?"
"Absolutely," I confirm, already working at the buttons. "And you happen to be my favorite gift."
Charlie laughs, the sound turning to a gasp as my fingers find skin. "So smooth," she teases. "Does that line actually work?"
I roll us so that she's beneath me, her hair fanned across the pillow. "You tell me," I challenge, sliding the shirt from her shoulders to reveal her breasts to the morning light. "Is it working?"
Her answering arch into my touch is all the confirmation I need. I lower my head to capture a nipple between my lips, drawing a breathy moan from her that sends heat straight to my groin. I take my time, worshipping her body with single-minded focus, memorizing every response, every sigh and gasp.
"You're beautiful," I whisper against her skin, moving to lavish attention on her other breast. "Every inch of you."
Charlie tugs impatiently at my t-shirt. "Too many clothes," she complains, her voice thick with desire.
I oblige, sitting back to pull the shirt over my head. Her hands immediately reach for me, tracing the planes of my chest, my abdomen, her touch both familiar and electrifying. When her fingers dip below the waistband of my pajama bottoms, I have to grit my teeth against the surge of pleasure.
"Better?" I manage to ask, my voice strained.
"Getting there," she teases, pushing the fabric down my hips. I kick the pants aside, fully naked and obviously aroused. Her smile turns satisfied. "Much better."
I make quick work of her remaining clothes, drawing them slowly down her legs, unable to tear my gaze from her as she's revealed to me. No matter how many times we do this, the sight of Charlie, my wife, naked and wanting never fails to take my breath away.
"Perfect," I murmur, settling between her thighs.
The first slide of my cock against her core pulls a moan from both of us. She's wet and ready, the friction delicious but not enough. When she lifts her hips in silent invitation, I capture her mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing her gasp as I enter her in one smooth thrust.
The familiar stretch and heat of her body welcoming mine is exquisite. I have to pause, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion in equal measure.
"Charlie," I groan, my forehead resting against hers as I begin to move. "So perfect. So tight."
She wraps her legs around my waist, changing the angle to take me deeper with each thrust. The room fills with the sounds of our pleasure, gasps and moans and whispered endearments as we move together in the morning light.
I set a rhythm that's deliberate, almost reverent, each stroke building the tension coiling between us. When I slip my hand between our bodies to circle her clit with practiced fingers, Charlie cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders in a way that drives me wild.
"That's it," I encourage, feeling her tighten around me. "Let go for me, love."
"Bash," she gasps, her back arching off the bed as her release builds. "I'm close."
"Together," I urge, increasing my pace, driving deeper with each thrust. "Come with me, Charlie."