Page 27 of Take Me Big Boy
Mine.Forever mine.
I slide my hand down over her narrow waist and smooth skin to the spot where our bodies join. I close my teeth around her nipple as I stroke my fingers over her clit, as she comes in a violent shudder.
She screams, back arching off the counter and eyes rolling back as her pussy clenches tightly around me. Thank fuck I don’thave neighbors, or they would call the cops on us. Hell, I’m not so sure those who live miles from my house don’t hear her still, but I find that I don’t fucking care. Only bringing her pleasure matters.
Only she matters.
I rock into her, faster and harder, unwilling to find my own release until I can bring her back to the edge. When I do, it’s the hottest thing ever. She sobs, writhing helplessly under me as I drive into her, groaning when I feel her tighten around me. Only then do I find my own release. I lean down and kiss her lips as I pour everything into her, cum spilling hot inside her with every slow thrust, marking her, claiming her, as deep and final as anything I’ve ever given to a person.
I collapse against her after pouring my heart and soul into her. Her hands lift and stroke my shoulder as we both fight to steady our breaths. For several moments, neither of us says a word.
“I love you, Matt,” she whispers, running her fingers through my hair. “My only wish is that someday you can see yourself the way I see you. That’s the love I want for you—not just from me, but from yourself, when you’re ready.”
She turns her head and brushes her lips over my jaw. “I love you no matter what.”
Her words send emotions clogging my throat. “I love you too. Be patient with me.”
“For as long as you need.” Her arms tighten around my shoulders. “I’ll wait forever if it takes that long.”
Epilogue
6 months later
Ashley
Whoever first introduced alcohol to weddings must’ve been some kind of prankster who wanted to submit the rest of the world to the horrors of a drunk wedding party. Bare chests, lost shoes, smudged lipsticks, and wild bets.
The open bar was my idea—a way to bring strangers together. On one side, my family and friends, folks I’d spent my whole life around. On the other, Matt’s family and military buddies. Most of them were flying in and meeting me for the first time at the wedding, and I was sure there was bound to be a little tension. Hence, I wanted an open bar.
The first part of the wedding went off without a hitch. There were polite smiles and nods from people who were practically strangers. When Matt and I were pronounced husband and wife, the applause was polite, and the looks on their faces hid what everyone felt about our union.
But I knew there were questions. Curiosity and, perhaps, a little judgment. Here I was, marrying a man I’d only known for six months. A man who was supposed to be my patient.
Of course, there would be questions.
And then alcohol was introduced.
The tension disappeared, and everyone loosened up. It started when Gramps made a comment about how soft and spoiled the younger generation is, prompting Miller, Matt’smilitary buddy, and his brother, Michael, to join arms in defending their generation.
A drink was had.
And then another.
And another and another, until no one could recall what generation they were from. Soldiers were laughing with my cousins, flirting and mingling with other guests until it was hard to tell which side of the family everyone was representing. A shoe was lost and a shirt stolen.
My cousin, Harper, disappeared for a while and reappeared with smudged lipstick and a dreamy look in her eyes shortly before Miller sauntered back into the reception with a smirk on his lips. William, another military buddy, bet Gramps that he could down five vodka shots without losing his balance. He lost his balance and nearly face planted on the grass after three.
The drinks made his people and my people finally our people.
A laugh draws my attention.
“That lucky bastard. How the hell did he find someone so pretty to love his sad, ugly mug?” Miller slurs to Michael.
“Me, it was me. I brought them together, and I deserve a fucking medal,” Michael responds.
“I’m sure you do, honey” adds a pretty brunette that I’ve grown fond of. Jenny offers me a small apologetic smile, but I shake my head, happy with the mood shift.
I watch it play out for a while, leaning by my husband’s side. As the evening wears on, I notice the exhaustion lines on his face. He never was one for company, even familiar company, and I can tell he’s bearing all this chaos for me. The past severalmonths have seen him change for the better. The nightmares plague him less often now, and he doesn’t blame himself anymore for what happened. Still, I can tell we have a long way to go until he finally forgives himself.
