Chapter 44
“You did not!” my new wife exclaims, her uncontrollable giggling shaking the bed.
“I did. I tripped James when he was carrying the French toast to the table.”
Delilah’s laughter makes me feel a hundred feet tall.
“CJ wouldn’t stop texting me wedding dress pictures and when I told him we were having breakfast, he said if I ignored him, he’d choose for me.
He has good taste, but I wanted to pick the choices you’d have.
I panicked. I needed to get away from the group for a decent amount of time.
So, when James came out carrying a plate loaded with French toast drenched in syrup in one hand, and the powdered sugar duster in the other, I took my chance. ”
Delilah slaps my chest, and I hold her hand against me, admiring her wedding rings.
“It took us an hour to get that mess cleaned up, Connor! Mr. and Mrs. Andersen played it cool, but I overheard her squealing about their star property being infested with ants because of the sugar,” she explains.
It was an impulsive decision, but 100 percent worth it, because during that hour, I hid in the walk-in closet of our suite, carefully examining dress after dress CJ was sending me. I know more about the differences between tulle, organza, and chiffon than I’ll ever admit.
Did you know there’s a heated debate over whether a wedding dress should be pure white, off-white, or ivory? They all look the fucking same to me.
I turn to my beautiful wife—I can’t believe she’s finally my wife—radiating with joy.
“You’re not kidding are you?” she asks. “You handpicked every detail?”
“Down to the size of the icing rosettes on the wedding cake.” I groan internally, because licking lemon frosting off my new wife’s bare tits not even an hour after we said “I do” was fucking unbelievable.
Lemon’s always been her favorite, and because I love anything to do with Delilah, it quickly became a favorite of mine as well. I can’t see, smell, or taste lemon without thinking of her smiling face.
She snuggles closer into my side, tracing the patterns of my tattoos with her fingertip.
“I assumed CJ had more creative control of everything,” she says.
“CJ was a great wingman, but they were my ideas and decisions. He took care of the phone calls, emails, rental agreements, payments, reservations—all the things that would take time and privacy I didn’t have.”
My stomach dips when she traces over my abs, an enticing tickle drawing to my center.
“We owe him big time,” Delilah says.
“I sure do but you don’t owe him a thing, doll.” I chuckle.
“What does he want?” she asks, knowing CJ can be diabolical when he wants to be.
I groan and cover my eyes with my arm. “He gets to pick my next tattoo. Image and placement…”
“Nooooo…”
“Yes,” I say, peeking out from beneath my arm.
“Please tell me he’s over what happened in eighth grade, and that your face is off limits…” Delilah whines.
“CJ thinks face tattoos are—and I quote—so 2018. Thank god. But no, he’s not over the incident. We should start getting used to the idea of a Taylor Swift tattoo on my ass…”
He’s never forgiven me for stealing his phone when he was the next caller to win Taylor Swift tickets on the radio.
Delilah groans playfully.
Of course, my sunshine wouldn’t make a big deal of me unwillingly getting another woman’s face tattooed on my bare ass.
“Can we not talk about this anymore, it’s making me nauseous,” I joke.
A knock at the door saves me from my humiliation and I pop out of bed to answer it. I don’t give a shit if some delivery kid sees me without a shirt on. But I’m sure as hell not letting them see an inch of Delilah’s bare skin, laying in our bed in a tank top and panties.
“Thanks, man.” I tip the kid and lock the door behind me.
I snag two plates from the kitchen and a stack of paper napkins.
Delilah happy-claps as I enter the bedroom, carrying the pizza box like a butler.
“M’lady,” I say, bowing.
We prop the pillows against the headboard and open the box on the comforter. I dish up a steaming slice of meat lovers for my wife, and two for me.
I open a container of ranch for her to dip her pizza in, just the way she likes, and drizzle buffalo sauce all over mine.
“Cheers,” Delilah says, gingerly holding her slice out to me.
“Cheers, doll.” I clink my slice with hers and we dig in.
We chat between bites of pizza and enjoy our time together.
Delilah sucks the dregs from her lemonade, and I refill it out of habit. Climbing back into bed, she licks her fingers and hands me her plate. I stack it onto mine and set them and the pizza box on the floor.
We snuggle deep into the covers—perfectly content to relax like this. We’ve been fucking like rabbits, but moments like this are just as intimate and a calming time to connect.
“Marrying you is my dream come true, Connor.” She gazes up at me with those crystalline eyes. “What do your dreams look like?”
I huff a laugh, because I’m holding it in my arms.
“You, baby. You’re my dream. You, always,” I answer. A sweet blush graces the apples of her cheeks.
“I mean, what else? What happens now? Our adventure’s just beginning.”
I pull her to sit astride me, her creamy thighs bracketing my hips, tiny little panties barely covering her cunt, tank top barely restraining her glorious tits.
“You go first. Tell me what your dreams look like,” I prompt, because I want to craft my answer based on what she says.
She gives the cutest wiggle, and I have to will my dick to mind its fucking business.
“Well, in my perfect world, in the perfect life, I’d have you by my side.” I pinch her ass to say, obviously.
“My mom would be healthy, and we’d have a good relationship—Izzy too—and my dad would come back and apologize for ever leaving us and make it up to us by being a better man.”
My heart aches for my fallen angel. Of all the things I’d kill myself to give her, fixing her parents isn’t in the realm of possibilities.
The wistfulness on her face guts me, because I desperately wish her parents loved her and Iz the way they deserve.
The stars fade from her eyes as she comes back to reality.
“We’d live in the white house with the blue door—you know, the one by the library?” she asks. Of course I know, and it’s killing me keeping so many secrets from her.
“It’d always have a crisp coat of paint on it and the blue door would never peel. We’d fix the picket fence and sit on the front porch drinking your mom’s lemonade, watching the patrons enjoy the library.”
She’s so pure of heart. I must’ve done something right in a past life to deserve her.
I can’t remember the last time mom made lemonade—not since Dad’s condition worsened. Did Quincy ever make it for Sam?
“What else?” I ask, hoping she’ll continue.
“I’d love my job as an equine therapist and build a renowned program at Lucky Spurs Ranch that would make Reid and his family proud. You’d be a sought-after farrier, and we’d spend our days working at the ranch, nuzzling the horses and eating lunch together under the big shady trees.
“I’d see Izzy and Livy most days, since the ranch is the place that brings us all together. We’d have Sunday dinner with the Andersens and watch Harper grow up. Hope—the paint horse Reid rescued—would be mine.”
That’s news to me. I knew she loved the damn thing, not that she wanted it for her own. I’ll be having a chat with Reid as soon as we get home to make that happen for my wife.
I rub my hands up and down her thighs, covered in goosebumps from the slight chill.
“Harper’s a sweetheart,” I say. “How do you feel about kids? In all these years, I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it.”
“It’s not something I ever allowed myself to want. Growing up like me and Izzy did doesn’t exactly make me want to bring kids into this world—even if I’d never treat a child the way we were treated. I would’ve only wanted to have kids with you, and I never thought I’d get to have you,” she admits.
“You’ve got me, doll. Forever and ever.”
“What about you?” she deflects.
“I’ve never specifically wanted kids for the sake of having kids. But I guess I’ve always imagined my life with the house and the dog and the kids. Like you, I only ever wanted to do this life with you—so I only want to have kids if you want to have kids.”
Uncomfortable, she twiddles with the ties on my athletic shorts.
“What if I never want to have kids?” she asks, not meeting my eyes. I lift her chin to force her to look at me.
“Then we don’t have kids. It’s that simple. You are my dream, baby. So long as I have you, I don’t need anything else. We’re a family, you and me. We don’t need anyone or anything else to be complete.” Tears shine in her diamond eyes, and she gives me a soft smile.
“What does your dream life look like?” Delilah asks.
Little does she know my dream life is exactly this. Pizza in bed with my soulmate.
“My dream life is yours, baby. I’m only happy if you’re happy,” I answer honestly.
“Come on, that’s a cop out.” Delilah smacks my chest playfully.
I chuckle. “Alright, fine. My dream life looks like yours. We live together in the house of our dreams. We both have jobs we’re passionate about.
We work and enjoy life with the family we’ve found—us, Quincy, Iz and Reid, Liv, James, Grey and Harper, Mr. and Mrs. Andersen…
my folks.” I gulp, hit with grief from losing my dad while he’s still alive.
“My dad would be better, and my mom could relax. Quincy would be happy again, maybe find love again.” Delilah wipes a stray tear from my eye.
“I wish that for her too,” she says quietly.
I gently pat her ass, motioning for her to hop off my lap. Sex is suddenly the last thing on my mind. She cuddles in to me like every night and I turn off the lamp. We lay in silence, soaking in comfort from each other.
“I love you, Connor,” Delilah says, tipping her head up for a goodnight kiss.
“I love you, doll.” I kiss her back tenderly.
It’s not long before she falls asleep. I lay awake for a long while, replaying her wishes for her dream life and know I can accomplish most of them.
We’ve got the marriage and the found family.
Our jobs are in the works—it’s a matter of time before we’ve both got fulfilling careers at the ranch.
I’m building her the house of her dreams, to replace the one I couldn’t buy her.
The money I worked to the bone for is going to good use to make her dreams come true.
Some of that cash now earmarked for buying her the horse she’s fallen in love with.
I find sleep in the blackest hours of the night, at peace knowing I’m making my wife’s dreams come true.