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The bond I’ll never let go.

The love I’ll always fight for.

The magic that’s my life’s eternal miracle.

Even with a crowd of caterwauling kids in the next room.

“Auntie ’Dia fall down! You out!”

I loosen the T-shirt in time to let Emma share in my reactionary snicker. “And she’s supposed to be the flexible one,” she adds, adding an adorable eye roll.

I release a contemplative hum into the valley between her breasts. The move gives my mouth an excuse to get into the same proximity as her delectable nipples. They’re still the color of ripe raspberries, begging for my bites with equally juicy appeal. “I don’t know about that.” I make my move, licking my way up the side of one creamy swell. “I like her sister’s flexibility just fine.”

She giggles as I blend a sensual snarl into the last two words, drawing them out—and buying myself some time to reach her proud peak. The stiff bud tastes better than I imagined, with the honey of her skin spiced with the salt of her perspiration. I take my time enjoying the treat, half-kissing the top like a kid getting sloppy with an ice cream cone.

Ideal analogy.

Because I’m the mess now.

And in this perfect, better-than-words moment, I let myself be. After the events of the last three days, my heart, soul, mind, and spirit are a giant, gooey mud bath of emotions. I grin as they slog through my psyche, trailing the mud of exhaustion in their wake. Nevertheless, I greet each of them with the recognition they deserve after the surreal events of the last three days. Joy, sorrow, triumph, tears, elation, confusion, regret, restoration, strength, weakness, thankfulness, emptiness—each of them tromps in and pitches camp in my psychological swamp, knowing they’ll likely be here for a while.

Not forever. Even now, some diligent note-taker in a back room of my mind is scribbling that reminder, but I order him to take a break for the night. This second, I’m just happy in the swamp. Without looking or asking, I know Emma is cool with trudging through it with me. Hmmm. There’s a fantasy. The woman, naked except for muddy fishing waders. Smudges of dirt all over her bare, golden body…

Her silky giggle tugs me out of the reverie. “Must be a damn good thought, Mr. Richards.” Her saucy tone implies the double entendre for “thought,” especially as my fantasy-jolted cock gets some more encouragement from her hitching hips.

“Mmmm.” I growl good-naturedly into her ear. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Says the guy who just freed every prisoner in the Consortium’s hell hole, has given them all temporary housing and medical attention, and is lying here with his hot-as-hell wife while his three super-mutant kids are likely decimating the Twister mat in the next room?”

“All right.” Hearty snort. “So you probably would believe it.”

I finish it with a lopsided smirk—which fades from the second she raises her hand to the side of my face. Her touch, tender but earnest, matches the steady set of her new expression.

Equally as sober, with gaze glued to mine, she states, “I believe in you, Reece Richards.”

The swamp expands as more emotions dive in. Humility and astonishment. How did I get lucky enough to lock down this amazing creature? It’s a daily question for me—for which I always have the same answer.

Stop asking, damn it.

Just make it your mission to fucking keep her.

Especially when fate gives me the perfect words with which to do so. It doesn’t always happen like this, but with inspiration like the loving lights in her eyes, the inspiring lift of her chin, and the golden glow flowing from the middle of her chest, I don’t need to ask the universe twice about what wisdom to speak. It’s just there—like my love for her always has been.

“I believe in us, Mrs. Richards.”

A divine goddess smile stretches across the breathing curves of her lips. “Ohhhh, mister, you really knew that right answer.”

I break out my most roguish wink, along with the smirk that brings out my deepest dimples. “I usually do, sweet bunny.”

Chapter Six

Emma

As I watch the sun peek over the eastern foothills, its golden streams washing over the awakening metropolis below, a corresponding warmth stretches through me. A goofy grin and a happy tune aren’t far behind, though I’ve really got to stop humming the same four lines from “A Million Dreams” sometime soon. Three hours is more than enough for a Pasek and Paul homage.

But it’s the perfect fit for this amazing new day.

Between lines about bright colors in my head and visions of the world to be, I sip on my third cup of coffee, despite that it’s not nearly six a.m. yet. I’ve already been up for two hours, rising with Reece as he excitedly prepared to go out and do what I’ve been humming about. Making the world a place that a child can dream about again.