Epilogue
SAWYER - TEN MONTHS LATER
I glanced down at the white baby monitor perched on the counter before flipping over the pancakes on the griddle.
Beckett’s body was draped over my empty spot, hand resting just shy of our son’s bassinet.
Oliver was still sleeping peacefully—thank god—so I might actually have time to finish making his dad’s birthday breakfast before either of them woke up.
We were in the process of slowly transitioning Oliver from our bedside to his crib.
Daytime naps had gone great, but the evenings were still a bit of struggle for both of us.
The first time I’d hardly slept, keeping my tired eyes trained on the bleary monitor at my bedside until the sun came up.
The moment I heard Oliver’s first sniffle, I was out of bed and down the hall, sweeping him up in my arms. Beckett joked that it was the beginning of becoming a helicopter parent, but he wasn’t any better off.
Just last week, I caught him standing in the doorway of our son’s room during nap time. When I asked him what he was doing, he gave me some line about enjoying the view, but never clarified whether it was the Canadian geese building their nest along the waterbank or our sleeping son.
I had money on the latter.
To make matters worse, Oliver had recently started teething and was raising absolute hell about how much he hated it.
Seeing him in so much pain nearly killed me, so naturally, last night I laid him in the small bassinet by our bed rather than down the hall.
He cried and cried and cried no matter what Beckett or I did.
It wasn’t until the very early hours of the morning that he finally quieted, letting us snag a few hours of peace and quiet.
I loved my son dearly, but running on only two hours of sleep at best was not the ideal start to what was going to be a chaotic day.
Taking a sip of coffee, I groaned. It was the only thing, save for my sheer determination, that was keeping my eyes open.
Between becoming parents, house renovations, and Beckett starting his own company, we hardly had time to breathe.
Not that I would change anything about the past ten months.
The stress was worth it when I looked into Oliver’s eyes or slid between the sheets next to Beckett.
That was what happiness felt like.
After our son was born, Beckett threw himself into work alongside Lukas on our renovations.
He’d spent his whole life in boardrooms, schmoozing men in suits, and now he had no idea what the hell he was doing.
I was worried he’d bitten off more than he could chew for a while, but their partnership had really taken off over the past few months.
He was determined to be everything his father wasn’t, choosing to help people bring their dreams to life instead of squashing them for profit.
With Lukas’ comprehensive construction knowledge and Beckett’s savvy business-forward mind, the two men were determined to help Pinecrest flourish.
They teamed up with Cleo and Grady to transform Margaret’s old flower shop into a blooming bakery on Main Street, complete with a fresh flower station curated weekly by the former owner herself.
Once word got around, there were people lining up to secure Beckett’s development services.
Meanwhile, I only worked part-time at the bar when Duke or Liv needed an occasional stand-in, which was few and far between. Strangely, the career I’d been so scared to lose became infinitely less intriguing after I held Oliver. I never wanted to let him go.
Strong arms banded around my middle, bringing a smile to my face as Beckett rested his chin on my shoulder.
Warmth radiated from his bare chest and seeped through my nightshirt.
Even though I’d spent the past thirty minutes bustling around the kitchen surrounded by sweet syrup and mouthwatering bacon, the faint whiff of his body wash was all I could focus on.
“Morning, sugar,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.
My head fell back as he turned to press a kiss to my neck. “You’re supposed to still be asleep. I had a whole plan to wake you up with breakfast in bed. Now my surprise is ruined,” I pouted. It was half-hearted at best, especially as his hands roamed over the thin fabric.
“Not ruined. Just re-located.” His lips curled against my skin. “And the benefit of privacy.”
“Privacy, huh?” I turned over my shoulder, drinking in the sight of Beckett’s tousled curls and sleepy, yet roguish, smile. “What would we need that for?”
There went his hands again, roaming with intention down my hips before slipping beneath the fabric of my shirt like a heat-seeking missile.
His fingertips had lost some of their softness thanks to the manual labor.
Not that I was complaining in the slightest. I loved the way the roughness of his touch felt against my skin.
“Well, I’m craving something particular,” he said, slowly pinning me against the counter with his hips. The outline of his rigid length dug into my ass, causing me to bite down on my lip. “Something sweet.”
I glanced at the monitor, breathing a sigh of relief at Oliver’s sleeping form.
Finding time for sex wasn’t necessarily difficult these days, but it sure as hell wasn’t as easy as it was before.
We had to make the most of every moment alone, losing ourselves to quickies in the laundry room or late-night shower dates.
“Thankfully, I’m making chocolate chip pancakes to curb your craving, complete with maple syrup and whipped cream if you want to get a little crazy.
” I’d only made two before getting interrupted.
Judging by the greedy way his hands played with the elastic band of my underwear, they might be the only ones.
Beckett’s chuckle vibrated through his chest as he spun me to face him. My hands came up around his neck on instinct, playing with the curls at the base of his neck as he scooped me up, placed me on the counter, and settled between my thighs.
“Happy birthday, baby,” I whispered, closing the space between us. Fresh mint landed on my tongue as he claimed my mouth.
“Best birthday ever,” he murmured between kisses. He trailed his lips down my neck, nipping gently before pulling back. “Or it will be after I eat.”
I pushed at his chest to no avail. The man was as immoveable as he was trouble. “You better let me get back to it then before you starve.”
With a devilish grin, he slowly dropped to his knees in front of me, face perfectly level with my pussy. I wasn’t sure if he engineered the counters to be at that height, but I wouldn’t have put it past him. “Just need you to lie back and spread those legs, sugar. I’ll take care of my breakfast.”
Who was I to argue with the birthday boy? It was his day, after all. If he wanted to spend his morning on his knees, I wasn’t going to stop him. “Our son will be up soon,” I said, leaning back on my elbows. “Better make it quick.”
Beckett leaned in, never breaking eye contact as he kissed his way up to the soaked fabric between my thighs. “We both know how fast I can make you come. I’m not worried.”
He pulled my panties to the side, and then his mouth was there, pressing a sloppy kiss to my center. My hand flew to his head, running my fingers through his curls as he ran the pad of his tongue along my clit.
“Shit,” I gasped, biting down on my lip to tamp down my cries, but it felt too good. I missed being able to be as vocal as I wanted, to moan out his name as he knelt between my thighs and show him just how good it felt to have him there.
“Mm, so sweet,” he purred, bringing up a finger to toy with my entrance. “Just what I wanted.”
“Beckett, please…” I rolled my hips, trying like hell to get his touch where I wanted—no, needed—it most. There was something inexplicably intoxicating about being splayed out on my kitchen counter with my t-shirt rucked up over my stomach and panties pulled to the side, like he was in such a rush to taste me that he couldn’t be bothered to take me to the couch or undress me completely.
Slowly, he slid two fingers inside, curling them and softly stroking the spot that had me seeing stars.
His brown eyes were nearly black, pupils dilating as he carefully watched my lips part on a gasp.
For Beckett, part of what got him off was the simple act of pleasuring me, of watching me come.
I’d lost track of how many orgasms he’d given me with zero expectation for them to be returned.
He was in this for the love of the game, rather than winning it for himself.
“That’s my pretty girl. Look at you,” he breathed, pressing his thumb against my clit and circling. “You’re already close, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing my fingers.”
It was almost embarrassing how fast he had me on the brink of orgasm, but my body knew his touch better than my own. The moment he dropped to his knees, it was done. Game over.
“Remember the first time I took you here? Belly swollen and pussy so fucking ripe.” I nodded, mewling at the memory of him fucking me right here.
At how obsessed he was with the idea of keeping me barefoot and pregnant.
We’d been painfully careful every time we had sex, making sure to use protection and birth control to eliminate any possible scares.
After all, accidents could and would happen.
The idea of having another baby used to scare me, but now that we’d almost made it through Oliver’s first year, things were different. I wrangled with the notion of tossing my pills to the side and throwing away every condom in this house, especially when Beckett looked at me like he was now.