Page 117 of Whiskey Proposal

A tremor runs through me. I want to take over, but she needs this. She felt too powerless earlier, and I promised I’d give her everything she needs. I might expire from the buildup of pleasure clogging my veins, but if this is the way I go, I’ve lived a good life.

Staying in the excruciating and teasing position she’s in, she reaches down for the bottle of whiskey. She holds my gaze while she opens it and takes a drink, but she doesn’t swallow.

My dick twitches, but she’s not moving. I take the bottle, tip it, and welcome the burn. Then I put it down next to the chair, holding the liquid in my mouth.

She tips forward and places her mouth against mine. We open at the same time, warm whiskey flowing between us. She still doesn’t move those infuriating hips.

A dribble sneaks out the side of my mouth. She catches it with her tongue and licks back into my mouth. “Mm. Strong and full of character. Just like you.”

“Emerson, if you don’t fuck me right now, my heart’s going to stop from the effort of holding myself still.”

Her saucy smile only makes the pleasure-pain worse. A vein throbs in my forehead. I kick my hips upward, but her smile turns wicked.

She places a solid kiss on my lips. “You’re a good man, Mr. Foster.”

Finally—fucking finally—she lowers herself slowly down the length of my cock, and her ragged moan matches mine.

“You feel so good,” she whispers.

“I’m going to make you feel better.”

“You already have,” she says, and I take that as my sign that she’s done trying out the new limits she has in this relationship.

My fingers dig into her hips, and she turns herself over to me.

It’s not going to take much. She needs to come again. Her sweet pussy needs to convulse around me, and then this’ll be perfect.

I circle her clit and we’re a flurry of movement. My hips rocking, her riding me, and me urging the pace with my free hand. Then she’s exploding and lightning bursts behind my eyes.

“Fuck, Em.” The pressure of her walls rippling over me flings me off the edge into oblivion. We’re a writhing mess until we’re a quiet pile of spent limbs.

I wrap my arms around her, more content than I’ve ever been in my life. Her face is buried in my neck, and her fingers are still curled into the material of my shirt.

This moment was everything I thought it’d be, yet there’s a ripple of concern that she still doesn’t understand the depth of my commitment.

I run my hand down her hair. “No matter how much I claim that you’re mine, or how many times I come inside you, the simple truth is, I just want to make you happy, Em.”

She brushes a hand up to my neck. “I know you will. And I’m going to be the one who makes sure you’re happy too.”

“If this is what that means, I already am.”

She snuggles into me. “Me too.”

EPILOGUE

Emerson

There was a time I used to dream of my wedding. Like a lot of young girls, I’d picture the dress. I’d think about where I wanted it. Who I’d invite. As I grew up, the dream faded. I didn’t have anyone to sit on my side and few choices for who’d stand next to me. I didn’t have a venue that meant anything to me. And I didn’t have a groom.

Now, I have a whole-ass husband.

Fall has set in. Many of the conifers covering the hills are still green, but several of the trees around our place burst with color. A few have lost leaves already, and I asked Lane to leave them. Nature’s decorations.

Nerves flutter through my belly as I pace the bedroom. Today is our wedding ceremony. We’ll say our vows in front of all our friends and family on our property. I could’ve had a wedding at the great Hawthorne Guest Ranch, but I chose right here, on the same dirt I used to run through.

But will anyone show?

Of course they will.