He grips my ass cheeks in his palms, lifting and lowering me slowly. His biceps flex with each movement, and I feel like a goddess perched on her throne with the way he’s worshiping my skin, nibbling my throat.

Time to test his stamina. I set a fast pace, riding him hard, my breath coming fast from my throat every time I plunge down and thrust his cock straight into my G-spot. Neither of us gives a shit that Noah is still mostly dressed and we haven’t made it to the bedroom. This is the honeymoon we never got to have, and we’re damn well going to enjoy it.

“Olivia . . .” Noah moans, as if just saying my name gives him pleasure. “I love you. You’re my . . . whole world.”

Words fail me. The devotion shining in his eyes is too much—I can barely breathe, let alone speak. I crush our mouths together, trying to pour all my happiness into my kiss, knowing he’ll understand. This man is all mine. He chased me, caught me, tattooed my name on his skin, and now I’m never letting go.

The sounds of panting and the smack of skin on skin fill the air. I gasp when Noah’s hand pushes between our sweaty, writhing bodies to start working my clit. He bucks his hips to meet me with every thrust, his other arm locked tight around my waist to keep up the demanding rhythm. He alternately cranes his head up to kiss me or down to bury his face in my breasts, licking and sucking my nipples.

“Come for me,” Noah growls, rubbing my clit harder. “You’re so beautiful. Let me make you come, let me watch you . . .”

I’ve never wanted anything so bad. Feverishly I grind down on him, needing more, faster. I’ve been waiting all day to touch him like this. The heat between my legs coils tight—

Then finally snaps, flooding white sparks of pleasure throughout my body. My arms tighten around him, every muscle quivering in ecstasy as I fall into his dark, adoring eyes.

“So perfect,” Noah pants. “I can feel you coming, pulsing around me . . .” His words dissolve into a loud groan and his cock throbs inside me.

It feels like forever until the tremors fade. With his cock still softening in me, I rest my sweaty forehead against Noah’s. He kisses me softly, just the barest brush of lips.

When I’ve caught my breath, I lean back to brush a stray curl of damp hair out of his eyes, smiling down at him fondly. Noah has spiced up my life in ways I never could have anticipated. I’m happier, calmer, more carefree and adventurous. And not just because of the increase in orgasms, either . . . although that certainly doesn’t hurt.

I feel a dripping sensation between my thighs. My smile falters and my cheeks flush when I realize it’s Noah’s come. I’ve never had condom-less sex with a man before. Obviously, I knew it would involve him coming inside me, but actually feeling the evidence is a totally different matter. It’s both embarrassing and strangely, unexpectedly hot.

Noah reads my mind. “Want me to clean you up?”

That sounds nice . . . also really hot, actually. “You got me all messy, so it only seems fair,” I tease my sweet husband.

Noah rises, lifting me into his arms, and carries me toward the bedroom. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, a sigh of love on my lips.

Epilogue

Olivia

Three Months Later

I close my laptop with a sigh. It’s five o’clock on the dot. Normally, I might be tempted to work overtime, but not today. My Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings are reserved for visiting Dad. My younger sister, Rachel, visits him on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, since her classes end early on those days, and she often spends weekends with him too.

Dad’s health has declined steadily ever since he fell the night of Tate & Cane’s gala. Our Hail Mary pass, the night that saved our company, also spelled the beginning of his end. Three months ago, Dad was given only one more month to live. His doctors aren’t really sure how he exceeded that prognosis by such a huge margin—although Dad himself always says, “It’s because my two wonderful daughters visit so often and keep my spirits up.”

But it’s clear that his journey will come to an end soon; we just don’t know exactly when. He’s confined to his bed much of the time, but he has a helpful staff to look after him in his own home, rather than in a hospital.

Not too long ago, I thought I’d be sobbing nonstop. And sometimes I do still find myself choking up. But Dad is so positive about everything that I can’t help being soothed. His lack of fear and his acceptance of his death has helped me accept it too. I try to cherish the present moment instead of mourning the inevitable and letting it spoil what little time we have left. Whenever the tears come, I let myself feel them, but with hope that the grief doesn’t pull me under completely.

My car purrs as I leave New York City behind, away from its noisy, smoggy hustle into the slower quiet of the suburbs. Instead of pulling my car into his garage when I arrive, I park on the street outside the front gate and walk up the winding driveway, enjoying the crisp air of the last days of autumn. The garden’s flowers have faded and fallen, but their leaves are still green, the rosebushes are still pregnant with plump red blooms. The oak tree sheltering the house is a blaze of orange and yellow.

I let myself in the front door. A woman in scrubs bustles past me down the main hall. I recognize her as the registered nurse who comes once a day to monitor Dad’s condition. I walk to the master bedroom, which has been transformed into a makeshift hospital room: a mechanized bed, a wheelchair, an IV stand, an oxygen tank, a host of gently beeping monitors. Another younger woman in plainclothes—his overnight aide who sleeps in the guest bedroom—peers at me over the top of the book she’s reading. The sight of all this medical equipment is still a little intimidating, but it reassures me to know that someone is here to help him at all hours.