Samson’s tongue is deep in my pussy, licking me up and down, up and down, my clit is on fire, my juice all over him. He presses a finger inside me, moving in out, faster and faster, making me come. Making me pour. Making me gush.
“Oh, my God, Samson, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh, my God,” I moan.
He keeps finger fucking me, and I keep sucking him, cupping his balls with my hand, moving my thumb up and down the hard ridges of his length.
“I’m so close sweetheart, I’m gonna come in your mouth.”
“No,” I say. “I want your cock in me when you come. I want your come inside me, please.”
He squeezes my ass, groaning as I turn around, gliding down on his thickness. Rocking over his chest, my tits bouncing. His arms wrap around my waist as I move with him inside of me. Rocking my hips as we fuck, as his come pulses within me, as my body lights up, the stars in the sky bursting.
“Oh, my God, Ava Grace, never stop,” he groans, his string of words perfection in my ears.
“That was magic,” I tell him, laughing. Giggling.
“You know how it could be more magical?” he asks, his hands on my hips, his eyes on mine.
“What,” I ask, still catching my breath, still amazed that the ring on my finger is the one I made.
“We should get married on Valentine’s Day,” he tells me.
“What?” I laugh. “Did you talk to my sister?”
He shakes his head. “No, why?”
“She said the same thing.”
“Good. Because I want to, Ava Grace. I want to marry you tomorrow. Don’t make this mountain man wait.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You, this hard-ass man, want to get married on the most romantic day of the year?”
“Yes. For you? For us? Always.”
EPILOGUE
“I can’t believe I’m getting married today,” Sophia says. Our mother adjusts her veil; her bridesmaids are in their red dresses.
“The fact that our hotel rooms weren’t lost to the fire is such luck,” my mother says.
We all nod in agreement; it couldn’t have turned out better. Of course, the beautiful hotel is ruined, and we can’t have a wedding there, but all our clothing and personal items that were left in suitcases were salvaged.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married, too,” Sophia says, looking at me in the mirror.
My cousin Trudy is fixing my train, and the fact that I’m even in a white wedding gown is a miracle.
“It’s so romantic that Samson had his mother’s wedding dress,” Esme, Samson’s housekeeper tells me. “He saved it all these years, a man who does that cannot possibly have a cold heart.”
“I just feel so grateful that it was able to be flown here on such short notice.”
The dress just arrived from Samson’s house in Faro. We’re having an evening wedding so that all the last-minute preparations could come together.
“I just don’t quite understand why Samson had so many pink roses already.” Janet looks down at the pink rose bouquet in her hand.
“He had them already,” Esme answers for me. “Because he wasn’t exactly sure how his proposal to our Ava Grace would go. There were a lot of scenarios and we were preparing for all of them. One option was to bring her back here alone. That’s what we were thinking was happening. No one planned on a fire.”
I don’t know exactly how Samson would’ve proposed had it been just him and me here. I’m not saying I’m glad the fire happened, but somehow this all feels like it was supposed to happen. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
“Everyone ready?” my father asks, stepping into the dressing room.
Sophia and I nod, reaching for one another’s hands. Her dress is elegant, lined in fur just like she wanted. My dress is much more romantic. A long skirt made of soft chiffon, sleeves off the shoulder, lacy and delicate.
“You look beautiful,” my father tells me. “Your grandpa would’ve loved to see you like this.” My father kisses my cheek and I blink back the tears thinking of Grandpa Bill and how he always believed in me.
“I love you, daddy,” I tell him. He offers me one arm and Sophia his other arm, and then we walk down to the great room, where our double wedding is about to begin.
The ceremony is small and intimate, the way Sophia wanted it, and I know that Samson prefers it this way too.
Me? I don’t care. All I care about is the fact that I am standing before my husband, slipping a ring on his finger, promising our forevers to one another. Sophia and Taylor have just finished their vows. Now it’s our turn.
The officiate guides us, and I hold on to every word, every syllable. Binding the promises to my heart.
“I do,” he says.
“I do,” I say.
Samson kisses me, on my lips, tenderly. He kisses me and all I want to do is sink into him. But before I can, music plays. The first notes of the song send shockwaves through my body.