Epilogue
BLAIRE
One Valentine’s Day Later…
“Are you almost ready?” Thatcher calls to me from the bedroom—our bedroom. The one we designed together before the crew officially broke ground on his new property late last spring.
“I’m dressing in layers this year,” I reply from the inside of a walk-in closet that could put my old apartment to shame.
Though I expected to hardly have two dimes to rub together when I moved to Caribou Creek last year, I learned the real reason Spencer’s mother was trying so persistently to contact me. She wanted to pay me off, so I wouldn’t bad mouth her precious son on social media and try to ruin his career.
I thought about tearing up the check.
But then I remembered everything my millionaire ex-fiancé allowed me to pay for throughout the entirety of our relationship—including the majority of the nonrefundable wedding costs.
To say that it was wildly unbalanced would be an understatement.
So, I happily accepted the money—I had no desire to talk about him ever again anyway, so that was an easy deal to make—and put it toward the barn that now houses four miniature highland cows.
“Good call,” Thatcher says, stepping into my closet.
“But perhaps I should inspect those layers, first.” He cages me against the wall, pressing his body into mine, making me dizzy with pleasure.
Never mind that he took me up against our bedroom wall less than an hour ago. “Make sure they’re up to code.”
“You can inspect my layers after we take home first prize this year. We’ll have three whole days where no one can reach us.”
“Three whole days not to put on clothes.” He rocks his hips against me, his hard length rubbing against my stomach.
“Not if we’re late and they start without us,” I say, unable to keep my hand from cupping his cock. My pussy quivers with want when he presses a kiss to my throat. When it comes to Thatcher, I’ll never be able to get enough of this man. I’ll forever feel like we’re making up for all that lost time.
“Raelyn won’t let them start without us,” Thatcher reassures me.
“It’s funny that she thinks they’re going to beat us. We’re practically pros at the Cupid’s Crawl now.”
“We’re going to win,” Thatcher promises, dropping to his knees. He presses a kiss between my legs through the layers, his fingers already digging into the sides of my leggings to drag them down. “But first, I’m going to make you come.” He flicks his gaze up to mine. “For good luck.”
“Well, if that’s—oh!”
“Have I told you how much I love Valentine’s Day?” Thatcher gives my pussy a quick but thorough lick. “Or how much I love you, the future Mrs. Thacher Banks?”
“Not in the last hour.”
“That’s a long time.” He licks my pussy again. “I better remind you once more.”
“Just once?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll remind you plenty tonight.” With that promise, the man I love—my future husband—fuses his mouth to my center and renders my legs useless.
Now this is what Valentine’s Day is all about.