Epilogue
WILLA
Our wedding was perfect—better than I ever imagined, even after all my dreams had come true.
I was in love…I was free. I was pregnant, when I thought that would never be possible.
And now my husband was taking me home.
The word still felt new. Husband. I’d been saying it in my head all day, turning it over, testing how it felt. It didn’t feel like when I’d been forced to call Shepherd Daley my husband. It felt real. Like it actually meant something.
Like everything else I’d done after leaving the homestead, this was my choice. What I wanted.
No one could take that from me.
We’d done the whole thing in Peggy’s garden over at the house, with the goats close enough to watch.
Nickel walked me down the aisle; Haven and Millie had cried, Daniela had whispered to me later some very filthy things that I hadn’t stopped thinking about since.
Forrest had stood with both of his brothers at the altar, waiting…
Sawyer tearing up a little, Emmett stoic.
It was so strange—Emmett looked just like him, but they couldn’t have been more different.
And Forrest? He cried.
And I cried too, and it was perfect.
Now I was laughing as he picked me up at the threshold, my arms around his neck, my belly too big to be doing this and Forrest doing it anyway. It was getting cold; I was wearing his suit jacket, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck.
Nickel was staying at the main house tonight.
…we had other plans.
Forrest carried me right through the kitchen to the bedroom, then he placed me gently on the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching as he pulled off his already-loosened tie and tossed it on the floor.
He looked so happy. So, so different than he had the first time I saw him…reticent to talk to me, to hope.
And when he got on his knees and spread my legs, he looked even happier.
“Mrs. Holt…” he murmured…sliding both hands along my inner thighs…parting my legs and shuffling closer. The white fabric pooled at my hips, Forrest getting closer, closer… “I have been dying to do this all night.”
“Just tonight?”
“All day.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of my knee. “You’ve been in this dress since two o’clock.” Kissed the other knee. “Through the wedding…the reception.” He kissed my inner thigh, right where I was ticklish. “The damn cake cutting.”
“You poor thing.”
“I was awfully patient.” He was so close now, his fingers hooked in the waist of my lace underwear. “And now I deserve a reward.”
His mouth clamped down over my pussy and I arched against the bed.
The heat of him…his tongue, his lips, working me up and down. He held my legs open as he devoured me, my hand finding his hair and pulling hard on it without even thinking about it.
“Forrest—” I gasped.
He groaned against me, into me. “Fuck, I’ve been dying to make my wife come,” he growled. “Come on, Willa. We’re setting a record tonight.”
I rolled my hips, chasing the friction, grinding against his mouth as I let out a loud, unbridled moan. He liked hearing me; he’d always said that. And with everyone still at the party, no one would hear us in here.
And it was our wedding night…so I wasn’t sure if I cared.
The heat was excruciating; his tongue lashing my clit. When he slipped one finger inside me, I bucked, and when he hooked it against my g-spot—
“I’m coming!” I gasped. “Oh God…oh God…”
He worked me through every second of it, his mouth and his hands moving in rhythm until I was shaking and oversensitive and pulling at his hair to make him stop.
He didn’t stop, not really. He kissed my inner thigh instead…then the other. Then he stood up and looked down at me, spread out on the bed in my wedding dress, and his expression went dark with promise.
“That’s one,” he said, hands going to the buttons of his shirt.
“Forrest—”
“I told you we’re setting a record.” He shrugged out of his shirt, reached for me. “Come here.”
I stood up, and Forrest gently turned me so my back was to him. His hands came up my sides again, one big hand sliding along my thigh, then in front.
Playing with my clit, already so sensitive.
I leaned back against him with a moan. His lips found my neck, the curve of my shoulder, as his fingers kept moving between my legs and I grabbed his forearm to hold myself up.
“This dress,” he said against my skin.
“What about it?”
His free hand found the neckline, the soft fabric gathered at my shoulders, and tugged it down just enough to free my breast. He cupped it and flicked my nipple with one thumb, and I exhaled a harsh breath.
“Watching you walk down the aisle in this?” His thumb moved again, back and forth. “Seven months pregnant in a white dress and I forgot every word I was supposed to say.”
“You seemed to remember them fine.”
“Eventually.” He pressed his lips to my shoulder. “Barely.”
His hand left my breast and gathered the skirt—yards of soft white fabric—pulling it up slowly. I felt the cool air on my bare skin, then his hand between us…then his cock.
“Still good?” he asked.
I laughed softly. “You really don’t have to ask every time.”
“But I will,” he said. “You deserve that.”
I looked back at him, meeting his eyes. “Yes,” I said. “I want my husband to make love to me.”
“Good,” he grinned, catching my chin in one hand. “Because I want to make love to my wife.”
He kissed me then, hard…and with his free hand, he lined himself up.
Thrust home.
We both moaned, our lips parting as we breathed together.
He pulled out to thrust into me again, clutching me to his chest.
“My wife,” he said low into my ear. “My beautiful wife…”
He started a rhythm, slow and gentle…this agonizing drag out, then a sharp thrust back in. I grabbed the bedpost in front of me and held on, enjoying the way I could fall into it like listening to a metronome, my breasts swaying beneath me, Forrest’s hands on my hips.
“You feel so good, Willa,” he murmured. “Look so pretty with your skirt hitched up around your waist…and your pussy—fuck—clenching around me—”
“I want it harder,” I interrupted, knuckles white on the bedpost. “Please—”
“I know what you need.” Hie hand moved to my breast again and he pinched my nipple hard. “You’re going to have to be patient.”
“I’ve been patient all day too.”
He laughed low against my shoulder. “Fair point.”
He thrust deeper and a little faster…I gasped and he did it again, finding the angle he wanted.
Then he found my clit.
That was when my knees buckled.
I had to drop my elbows to the bed, let go of the bedpost…arch my back. Forrest held me up with one hand and kept playing with my clit with the other, and his pace started to increase…
I was coming. I was coming so hard it made light dance behind my eyelids.
“What’s that?” he said, his voice tight with control. “Two? Three?”
“Harder,” I pleaded. “I’ll beg. Faster. Talk to me—”
He snapped his hips forward, pulling me back against him. “Anything you want. Always.”
Then he really started fucking me.
The skirt was bunched up around my waist and my elbows were on the bed and his hands were on my hips…and he stopped being careful and started being exactly what I’d asked for. I dropped my head and took it, moaning into the bedspread, letting myself get lost in the sensations.
“That what you wanted?” he asked.
“Yes—don’t stop—”
“Say it again.”
“I want my husband to take me rough,” I begged. I lost the thread as he thrust deep and my whole body rocked forward. “Harder…harder, please.”
“My wife,” he said, voice low and delicious. “Bent over the bed in her wedding dress asking me to fuck her harder.” He thrust again, his hips slapping against mine. “Best night of my life.”
“Forrest—”
“Tell me what else you want, beautiful.”
I grabbed the bedspread. “I want you to come inside me,” I breathed. “I want—I want to feel it. I want—”
He groaned and his grip tightened and his pace went frenetic. His hand found my clit again and everything in my body spasmed, focused entirely on him.
“Come on,” he said, pleading with me now. “One more. Give it to me and I’ll give you everything.”
I gave it to him.
God…I gave it to him.
I came so hard I bit down on the bedspread—and a split second later I felt him slam home, his hands on my hips, my name on his lips. He shuddered through every second of it, deep inside me, giving me everything he’d promised.
We stayed like that for a moment…breathing hard, the room just a little off-kilter.
“Forrest,” I said into the bedspread.
“Yeah?”
“That wasn’t a record.”
He laughed, his voice rough, and gathered me up in his arms. Then he turned us both toward the bed and we collapsed onto it together, the dress everywhere, his arms around me.
“Didn’t say the night was over,” he murmured into my ear.
It was my turn to laugh now. We laughed a lot lately…miles away from how we’d been in the beginning. “How many are you going for?”
“At least ten,” he teased. “It’s on the list.”
“Not mine…”
“No,” he said. “It’s on my list. If you’ll put your stamp of approval on it.”
I turned just enough to look at him. “Of course,” I said. “Whatever you want.”
He looked into my eyes…and I wondered if he would challenge me on the reversal.
But this time he just kissed me. Let it lie.
And the night went on…and we slept and woke and made love again.
And eventually we made it to ten—and beyond.
THE END