Epilogue
DAVIS
“That’s it, Baby,” I whisper in Kyra’s ear, nipping at the shell. She lets out a ragged breath and I know she’s close. But close isn’t good enough. “Be a good girl…”
I swirl my thumb along her clit, tapping the two fingers I have inside her against the secret spot I’ve recently discovered. The one that now that I know about it, and the noises it makes her emit, I’m going to be playing with every chance I get.
“Uhhhhh,” she moans, digging her fingers into my biceps and swiveling her hips.
Her pussy squeezes my fingers and fuck me, I wish more than anything it was my cock. But we don’t have time for that now. Later though. When I have time to make her scream over and over and over again.
Shifting my weight, I lean against the old oak casks even more, shielding Kyra from view, but more importantly, allowing myself to go deeper inside her.
“Faaaa…”
“You like that?”
She nods, whimpering. I toy with her clit again, fire flashing in her eyes. It’s time to push her over the edge.
“Be a good wife and come…”
That was the magic word, her orgasm slamming into her like a freight train.
Writhing underneath me, she throws her head back to scream.
I catch her before she can be heard, swallowing the sound with my kiss, never letting up on my efforts, keeping her right there until her climax has taken everything out of her and she collapses into me.
“Fuck me…” she exclaims, trying to catch her breath.
Sliding my hand out from underneath her wedding dress, I slowly bring it up to my mouth, making a show of licking my fingers, savoring the taste of her.
“I plan to do that later, Mrs. Barnes.”
“Do you now? Well, I’ve got some things I plan to do to you later as well.”
Well, fuck me indeed…
I pull her into me again, this time softer, holding her close for no other purpose than because I can.
Because she’s my wife.
“Sorry to interrupt your moment,” the DJ says, sticking his head around the corner. “Y’all ready for your entrance?”
We nod, breaking apart just enough to follow him down the row of casks toward the private entertaining space connected to the original Tennessee Trouble rickhouse.
“I still don’t understand why we had to leave, only to go back,” I whisper to Kyra. “Why couldn’t we just roll right into everything from the ceremony?”
“Because then you couldn’t have just done that to me,” she retorts.
Fair.
“Introducing for the very first time, Davis and Kyra Barnes!”
We step back into the room through heavy oak doors opening in tandem, warm air whooshing out, catching both of us off guard.
Kyra giggles, holding onto my hand a little tighter.
The sound is music to my ears, drowning out the cheers of our family and friends, until it is once again just her and me. The way it should be.
“How about a dance, Mr. Barnes?” Kyra titters.
I spin her around, showing her off, her pearly white dress making her look like an angel. How she found another new dress in a week, I have no idea. But I don’t care. She looks perfect.
No, she is perfect.
I would have waited however long she wanted to get married.
Let her take forever to plan out a big, elaborate wedding inviting everyone we’ve ever met, plus all sorts of business contacts we may or may not actually care about, and maybe even a few strangers along the way. But nope, that’s not what she wanted.
A quiet, simple event at the distillery on New Year’s Eve, with those closest to us. That is what she insisted on. Not even next New Year’s Eve, but this one. Because why wait? We already knew, and forever needed to start now.
Like I said, she’s perfect.
“Normally I’d have some comment about how Mr. Barnes is my father, but tonight, it’s acceptable.”
Drawing her in close, I place my hand on the small of her back and remind myself that I have to behave. That our families are watching. Our parents and grandparents. Misbehaving can come later.
“How much longer until I can take you home and do unspeakable things to you?” I ask.
Kyra makes a face, pretending to think.
“Well, let’s see, right after this, we cut the cake. Then dinner will be served, then—”
“We’re cutting cake and then eating dinner?
” I ask, cutting her off. There is no way I heard her properly.
As much as I’m willing to subscribe to her eat dessert first motto, this might be taking it too far.
Not to mention, that doesn’t make sense for this big of a group.
“Who did you bribe to get that approved?”
“No one.” She beams proudly. “Apparently, it’s normal. We cut first, then eat dinner, so that the catering team has time to slice it all up and then serve it to everyone after dinner.”
I tug her in closer, kissing her softly. I don’t have the heart to tell my beautiful wife that I’m almost positive that’s not how it’s done. But who am I to squash her dreams? No one.
Not to mention, I saw exactly how she reacted when Paul Hollywood tried to make fancy s’mores the other night, and I somehow think telling her she can’t have her wedding cake before dinner would go over about as well.
“If you say so.”
“I do, and I’m the bride.”
Chuckling, I spin her around again, wanting to show her off. She’s absolutely radiant, with her red hair shimmering under the dim lights of the Edison bulbs, those Murray-hazel eyes full of love and forever.
The song ends, the DJ’s voice sounding like Charlie Brown’s teacher in the background announcing what comes next. But all my focus is on my wife, who is looking at me like she just won the lottery.
“What?”
“Are you ready for cake?” she asks, bouncing up and down like a toddler who has already had too much.
“I think you’re ready for cake.” I laugh.
“I’m ready for you to have cake.”
There’s an impish look on her face that sets off my spidey-senses. Kyra is up to something.
Taking my hand, she leads me off the small parquet dance floor, and to the side of the room where a small table has been set up in front of the catering entrance.
All eyes are on us as “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast starts to play, and I start to wonder if I’m being pranked.
Is a singing and dancing candlestick going to suddenly appear?
“Kyra, what is…”
My attention is quickly diverted as the catering door opens, and a long cart is wheeled out with a cheesecake on it. But not just any cheesecake. This one is topped with cherries. And instantly, I know exactly what I’m looking at.
“Kyra, you didn’t…” I mutter, turning to her.
A lump forms in my throat, my chest tightening the closer the cart gets to us. I can already smell the whiskey—the telltale sharpness of that Tennessee Trouble—mixed with the sweetness of the cherries, and it’s making my heart race.
“It’s your favorite,” she whispers, coming up behind me and resting her head on my shoulder as she wraps her arms around my waist. “Plus, it’s the first dessert we shared at the Final Cask.”
I twist, gathering her in my arms and trying to collect my thoughts.
She’s right on all accounts. Whiskey cherry cheesecake is my favorite.
A thick slice of heavenly cheesecake that is then smothered with cherries soaked in Kyra’s family’s renowned whiskey and then set on fire—à la cherries jubilee—was a staple at the upscale restaurant in town, the Final Cask, for years.
Until an incident where a tourist knocked over a cocktail while the dessert was being served in a moment that the gods of physics themselves couldn’t recreate and the fire marshal banned them from keeping it on the menu. Both our hearts were broken over it.
I’d saved up for months to be able to take her out to dinner, just the two of us, for her fourteenth birthday. We had to split a dessert, but that was okay, because we both wanted the same thing. Splitting that slice with her might have been the first moment I fell.
“How?”
It’s all I can manage, still too stunned by her gesture.
Kyra shrugs. “I made a few calls. Plus, we already had the cherries since they’re used in Ol’ Fashioned Preacher. I hope you like it.”
“I more than like it.”
Capturing her lips in mine, I kiss her like a man clamors for his last breath. I don’t know what I did to deserve this woman, but I’m going to spend the rest of time trying to be worthy of her. I know that much.
“There’s only one problem, Baby,” I tell her between kisses.
“What?”
I can hear the concern in her voice, and can’t help but laugh to myself.
“I’m not sure what I want to eat more right now, that cheesecake or you.”
Kyra smiles, her eyes going dark. “Cheesecake first. Then me. Then cheesecake off me.”
I groan, unable to hold it in. That sounds like the perfect plan.
“Sounds like my kind of trouble.”
* * *