Epilogue 1
SAM
It’s snowing in October.
Big, soft flakes drift down over Stonewater Ranch, blanketing the world in white. I shake my head and smile out the window, hands tucked into my vest pockets. Figures. She showed up in a flood, stayed through a snowstorm, and now on our wedding day the heavens are dusting the land like a fairytale.
It's perfect.
“Look at him,” Liam stage-whispers behind me. “He’s staring off into space again, grinning like a fool.”
Will laughs. “Leave the man alone. He’s clearly happy.”
I turn toward them, my grin still stubbornly plastered on my face. “Just wait. One day, you’ll meet someone who stops your world just by walking into the room. Then you’ll get it.”
Liam groans. “Not me, cousin. I’m destined for the bachelor life. Fast horses, faster women.”
Will mutters, “Sounds exhausting.”
Liam ignores him. “Speaking of women, did Charlie really say I’m not allowed to flirt with Tish? ”
“She did,” I say, leveling a look at him. “And I’m backing her up.”
He throws his hands up dramatically. “Unbelievable. You two are both cockblockers.”
But there’s something off in his tone. Something I’ll have to ask him about later.
Will snorts into his coffee. “That’s rich coming from the guy who once got caught making out in the hayloft at his parents’ anniversary party.”
Which wasn’t that long ago…
I laugh, shaking my head. “Let’s just focus on getting me married without incident, yeah?”
Outside, the wind picks up just enough to rattle the windowpanes, and the flakes swirl like confetti. I glance back out and feel that familiar punch in the chest. The one that only comes when I think about her. Charlie. My soon-to-be wife. God, I still can’t believe I get to call her that.
A knock at the door makes all three of us turn.
Phern cracks it open, peeking in. “The bride would like a word with you.”
My stomach tightens. “Everything okay?”
She hesitates, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Phern?” I ask again, sharper this time.
She just shakes her head and disappears down the hallway.
I follow in long strides, catching up fast. Tish is outside the bedroom, arms crossed and looking exasperated.
“Thank God,” she breathes when she sees me.
“What’s going on? Is it the baby?”
Her silence is all the answer I need before she steps aside and gestures to the door. “Your stubborn-as-hell bride is in there. Good luck. ”
I push into the room and stop dead.
They’ve turned our bedroom into a bridal suite. Candles flicker. Flowers drape across the windowsill. And in front of it, lit by soft natural light and snow filtering in through the glass, stands Charlotte.
She’s in a white robe, the word brIDE glittering across the back in silver sequins. She’s barefoot, and still.
“Darlin’?” I say softly, stepping in and shutting the door behind me. “You okay? Is the baby okay?”
She doesn’t turn. Her voice is low, controlled. “I’ve been thinking.”
My heart sinks.
“I just don’t know if I can do this.”
“Charlie?” I step forward, my whole chest tightening.
She turns her head slightly, giving me a sidelong look. Her expression is unreadable. “How can I marry a man who refused to sleep with me last night?”
I blink. And then bark out a surprised laugh. “Darlin’, it’s tradition. We weren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding.”
“And yet,” she says, turning fully toward me, “here you are.”
My breath catches.
The robe slides down her shoulders and pools at her feet in one fluid motion, revealing white lace that clings to her curves in all the ways that drive me crazy.
Her breasts—fuller now with the pregnancy—are barely contained by the delicate cups, and her belly is a soft, perfect roundness that makes something primal twist in my chest.
“Charlie,” I rasp. “You look… Jesus, you look so good.”
“I know I do,” she says, stepping toward me. Her voice is thick with confidence and desire .
She moves right into my space, her perfume teasing my senses, her eyes daring me. “But I’m not walking down that aisle until you fuck me, Sam Stone.”
My jaw clenches.
This woman. My woman.
She’s been insatiable this past month. The doctor said it was normal. Hormones. Heightened drive. But I know the truth. It’s just who she is. Fierce. Wanting. Mine.
I swallow hard, every part of me lighting up like dry brush catching flame.
“Then lock the damn door, darlin’,” I murmur, pulling her in. “Because I’m about to make you my wife the best way I know how.”
Her smile is wicked, eyes dark with need as she reaches behind me and twists the lock with a sharp click. The sound echoes like a starting gun.
I barely have time to draw breath before she’s on me, her hands gripping the collar of my shirt, mouth brushing mine in a kiss that’s more a challenge than a greeting.
I accept it. Hell, I meet it with everything I’ve got.
My hands find her waist, fingers sinking into the lace and heat of her skin beneath. I walk her back until her thighs hit the edge of the bed, then I lift her, lay her down like something precious and climb over her with a growl that’s been caged too long.
She arches up into me, wrapping her legs around my waist and tugging me closer.
“Don’t you dare take your time,” she breathes against my jaw. “We’ve got twenty minutes until the hairdresser comes back.”
I smirk, kissing my way down her throat, across the curve of her breast. “Then I’ll give you a memory to carry down the aisle. ”
Her head falls back with a gasp as I slide one hand between her thighs, finding her already wet and aching. “Sam?—”
“I’ve got you, baby,” I whisper, voice thick and reverent.
And I do. Always have. Always will.
Because this was never just a wedding. It’s a wildfire, a homecoming, a promise sealed in sweat and gasps and breathless laughter. And before she walks down that aisle, I’ll remind her of exactly who she belongs to and how good forever is going to feel.
Her gasp turns into a moan when I hook a finger under the lace and rip her panties, the sound splitting the silence like a promise broken on purpose. The fabric gives way like it was made to, revealing skin I already worship but crave like I’ve never tasted it before.
Charlotte’s eyes go wide, her mouth parting but before she can say a word, I cover it with mine.
The kiss is messy, desperate, all tongue and teeth and hunger. She tastes like fire and strawberries and something wild that I’ll never be able to tame and never want to.
Her hands scrabble at my belt, tugging at my pants with the kind of urgency that says waiting was never an option.
“Off,” she demands, voice breathless and wrecked already. “Now.”
I oblige. Clothes hit the floor with a thud, her eyes dropping to where I’m already hard for her. Her throat works around a swallow.
“You gonna say something smart now, bride?” I murmur, stroking a thumb over her swollen lower lip.
“No,” she says, voice shaking slightly, “just—” she pulls me down, lips to my ear, “—please.”
That please unravels me.
I press her down into the bed, one hand beneath her thigh, hitching her higher as I push into her in one slow, thick stroke. Her breath catches, but so does mine.
“Goddamn,” I grit, the heat of her wrapping around me, perfect and pulsing and so wet it makes my vision swim.
She clutches at my back, nails digging in. “Sam?—”
“I know, darlin’,” I whisper, forehead pressed to hers. “I’ve got you.”
Then I start to move.
Deep, unhurried strokes that have her head tipping back, her body arching for more. I grab her hands, pinning them above her head with one of mine, the other gripping her hip tight to anchor myself. Her wrists tremble in my grasp.
“Let go for me,” I growl. “You want it filthy before the veil? I’ll give it to you.”
Her response is a ragged cry.
The rhythm builds harder, deeper, sweat-slick and reckless. The headboard taps the wall. Candles flicker. Her thighs quake around me, and I feel her coming apart under my hands, my mouth, my name falling from her lips like a prayer and a curse.
And when she shatters, pulling me down with her, it’s with a rawness that strips everything else away.
Bride. Groom. Vows.
All that matters is this. Her, beneath me, our vow before the world ever gets to witness it.
After, we’re tangled in the sheets, the scent of sex and candle wax lingering in the warm air. Her skin is flushed, hair a mess around her face, and her breath slowly steadies beneath the soft rhythm of my fingers brushing along her side.
She’s glowing .
Not in the cliché way people say about pregnant women, either. No, Charlotte glows because she’s fire and softness at the same time, because she just pulled me apart and put me back together again with one whispered please .
I kiss the center of her chest, where her heart still pounds under damp skin, and whisper, “Still thinking about calling off the wedding, Mrs. Stone?”
A lazy smile curves her lips. “Depends. You planning to keep pulling that shit with the lace, or was that a one-time pre-wedding violation?”
“Darlin’, I’ll buy you ten more sets if I get to rip ‘em off.”
She laughs, a little breathless, and I swear it’s the best damn sound in the world.
I shift, resting my head against the soft swell of her belly, letting my palm spread wide over the curve of her. The quiet between us settles, full of golden light and promise.
Then—
thump.
I freeze. So does she.
I look up, wide-eyed. “Was that?”
Charlotte’s eyes are glassy, smile trembling. “Yeah,” she whispers. “You felt it?”
Thump. Again. Right against my palm this time, unmistakable.
My throat tightens. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Another kick. Strong. Sure. Like they know I’m here, like they’ve got something to say.
I press a kiss to her belly, voice gone hoarse. “Hey there, little one. You trying to upstage your mama?”
Charlotte threads her fingers into my hair, her touch soft. “They know you’re here. That’s what it is.”
We decided to wait to find out what we’re having. Charlie says it’s one of life’s only true surprises. Me? I’ll be happy either way.