Almost Real (Almost Ever After), page 33
He lets out a choked laugh and catches my face, bringing it to his so he can kiss me.
“A word of warning,” I say between kisses, twisting so I can undo his jacket and work off his layers. “Don’t even try to take my hair down. We’ll be stuck here for days.”
“That bad? I like it down.”
I laugh against his lips. God, I love being here like this.
“Pins.” The way his face creases with frustration makes me dissolve into more laughter.
He doesn’t seem to mind as he peppers kisses down my neck and across my breasts, rolling my nipples until I gasp.
“A month. A fucking month without my dick inside you,” he rasps bitterly.
“Too long, I agree.” I push him back, and we walk to the railing, where tiny lights dance on the distant islands. Here, naked as the day I was born, I stand and push my hips toward him.
“Here? You’re sure?”
“If you can manage.” I glance over my shoulder at him mischievously.
“Fuck, woman, I’d take you on top of the Space Needle right now. I’ve been dreaming about having you wrapped around me for weeks.” He reaches between my legs, his quick fingers rubbing and teasing.
He doesn’t need any prep when I’m already soaked.
I bite my lip and lean over the railing carefully. The cold metal nips my skin, a pleasant contrast to the fire he kindles.
There are so many beautiful sights ahead, but I don’t think anything will beat this moment, bathed in night, his hot breath on my neck.
He comes closer, leaning over me, pressing me down.
We exchange a quick, feral glance, a question without words.
Oh yes. I’m ready.
In answer, he inhales sharply, pressing his cock against my entrance.
He takes me in one push.
Glorious friction.
For a second, I can’t breathe.
Being filled by this man is on another level, the one inhabited by sex gods.
My legs tremble, and he wraps his arms around my waist with a rough laugh.
“I’ve got you. Don’t worry,” he says.
Doesn’t he, though?
His hand roams my breast, and the other moves down, skating across my belly until he finds my clit. With his thumb adding the perfect pressure, he thrusts deeply, fiercely.
The slowness is delectable—but when I rock my hips back, urging him on faster, it’s devastating.
With these rings glittering on my fingers and the rest of our lives coming closer with every thrust, every kiss, every breathless moan, I know how deeply Brady healed me.
He fixed me in ways I never knew I needed.
Everyone at Pawsome Hearts keeps teasing me about the changes the last few months.
I smile more. I make small talk with strangers, and it doesn’t feel like a chore. I’m even singing along to the radio after close, when we all pitch in to clean the kennels.
They remind me I’ve defrosted.
And the very hot, heroic beast driving into me is the only reason why.
My hand covers Brady’s over my breast, just so I can touch him.
His tempo picks up. He holds me closer, pinning us together with his grip.
Greedily possessive, yes.
But safe. Wanted.
Inseparable.
“So fucking good tonight, Lena,” he growls in my ear. The cool breeze skittering over me is the only reason I’m not melting.
I know how risky this is, but my body doesn’t care. Technically, some restless crewman could walk out for a cigarette or just some fresh air and look up at our balcony, but when you’re on a boat with a billionaire and his new wife on their wedding night, I guess you know the rules.
Don’t see it, don’t say it.
The waves rock gently under us, adding an extra thrill.
There’s nothing gentle as his hips quicken, his cock pounding fire through my nerves.
Another moan falls out of me.
The love, the happiness, the certain forever, and the pleasure that ignites me like a match.
Absolutely no complaints.
A month ago, I would’ve sworn we have the best sex life. But something about tonight feels different.
Maybe it’s the ring on my finger or the giddy afterglow of walking down the aisle and dancing until my feet hurt.
But yes, married sex feels better than I would’ve believed.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp.
“Not on your life.” He kisses my shoulder, then the other. “Hell, I think you’ll condition me to get hard every time I see your hair like this.”
I give back a gasping, breathless laugh. “I don’t think it’ll happen very often.”
“Shame. I’d better savor this, then.” He plunges in faster, losing control with every thrust, breaking me down.
Then time blurs for the hundredth time today.
I think I say his name.
Brady, Brady.
Over and over until I’m hoarse, but none of that matters.
His strong arms hold me up, and his voice echoes so roughly in my ear, urging me to come.
Vowing to love me forever.
And I love him so much I go off with a wild scream, rocking like mad on his cock as he fills me.
The world falls back into place so slowly, and he pulls out, turning me around and bringing me down on the day bed with a tumble.
“We should get inside. It’ll be cold out here soon.”
“Eventually. I want to see your face,” he says as he pulls me closer.
In no time at all, I don’t need to worry about the chill. He’s inside me again, and we both groan with relief.
I roll my hips, watching his eyes glaze.
“I want this forever. Can we do that?” I whisper.
“Forever,” he agrees.
“Promise me?”
“That’s the promise I made today, Sass. Won’t break it for anything while I’ve got a beating pulse.” He pauses his punishing strokes to bring my left hand to his mouth, kissing the rings. “Forever, Lena. You deserve nothing less, and you’re going to get it.”
Chills.
Nobody guarantees the future, I know, but tonight my man sounds like a prophet.
Later, as he drags me inside to the large bed to hold me with my head against his chest, listening to the soft drumming of his heart, I’m stoked to wake up to the rest of our eternity.
Epilogue
Double Dog Dare
(Lena)
Eight Years Later
Freya perches on the edge of the chair as I work. Ideally, I wouldn’t have my seven-year-old daughter with me, but sometimes life doesn’t ask.
Her small face is sharp and attentive.
The small, shriveled cat in front of us is clearly a stray. He’s missing one ear from suspected frostbite, and he’s severely underweight.
Poor little honey.
Even with the lick mat I’m holding in front of his face for a distraction, smeared with tuna-flavored food, the beast hisses as Dr. Vetol administers the first of many shots.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Freya whispers, blinking up at me with Brady’s sharp blue eyes.
When she was first born, those eyes were a shocker, but now they’re my pride and joy.
Is there anything better than walking around with my husband’s legacy, even when he’s not here?
“He’ll be fine. Just stay back, Freya,” I warn, checking the cat for a chip once the doctor finishes.
“What’s his name, Mom?”
“For now, it’s John Doe.” Dr. Vetol chuckles warmly.
Ever since I took over Pawsome Hearts, he’s been the perfect partner in business and medicine, bringing an infectious humor and the kindest bedside manner to the wildest beasts who walk through our doors.
“John Doe? That’s boring! He needs a better name. Let’s give him one, Mom!”
“Let’s not just now,” I say sharply, biting back a smile.
“But everyone deserves a cool name, even the strays.”
I sigh. “Freya, we both know what will happen if I let you name him.”
Dr. Vetol laughs again, inspecting the cat’s ears for mites one more time.
Freya pulls an innocent look that rivals a cartoon chipmunk.
“What? What will happen?” She whispers breathlessly.
“You’ll want to keep him, and we can’t.”
“Keep him?” She claps her hands delightedly. “Wow, great idea! But you should name him, Mommy.”
I look down at the tabby, who eyes me with all the disgust a cat can muster—and for this boy, it’s a metric ton.
“I don’t think he likes me, honey. He’s a little rough around the edges. Who knows how long he’s been out there.”
“Well, yeah! But John Doe, that’s being mean,” she says, rolling her eyes.
I mock glare at her. “I knew it was a mistake, bringing you to work.”
“But I had to come for school,” she says sheepishly.
True, unfortunately.
She’s taking after me, growing up camera shy. Every time her teachers give her a project that involves her parents’ jobs, it’s never any contest who she picks to shadow.
The puppies and kittens only sweeten the deal.
“You,” I say, “are your father’s girl. You inherited his charm.”
She beams wickedly. “I know!”
Coming from me, that’s never an insult.
We’re almost a decade in, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over how much I adore Brady. Having a daughter changed things, yes, especially when I look at her and realize I’d die for this little cherub in an instant.
Best of all, I don’t have to. Not when I’m married to the hottest, happiest billionaire beast in Seattle.
With Brady, it’s been a total joy, showing Freya what a healthy, loving relationship looks like.
“Hey, Mom?” Freya pushes off her chair and comes toward me, head cocked to one side. “You’re smiling again.”
The cat yowls miserably as the doc finishes looking over a few last scrapes on his legs, and I go back to work, checking the sedative shot we’ve already prepped. He’s going to need to go under while we rinse him off in the big metal sink if we want to avoid getting ripped to pieces.
Occupational hazard of marital bliss. Sometimes you forget what you’re doing and start spontaneously daydreaming about getting home to your hubby.
It’s almost disgusting how smiley I am with Brady on my mind.
Almost.
And I wouldn’t change a single damn thing.
“What about Buttercup? He’s got a kinda yellow-tan belly,” Freya decides, peering into the cat’s eyes. It glares back, annoyed and gold. “Oh, and his eyes . . . Mom, it’s gotta be Buttercup!”
I know that look from my little girl. I step in front of her before she can reach for his scraggly fur.
“Careful, honey. He needs a bath, and he’s pretty irritable. You don’t want to get scratched. We’re going to have to sedate him for a bit.”
“Okay, fine. But can we bring him home?” she asks hopefully.
At this point, I think she knows I can’t resist.
“Tell you what. If his parasite test comes back clean and he looks like he can behave for a few hours—and you promise to keep him in the pet room without visiting unless your dad or I are with you—I’ll think about it. Now go ask Trish for a sucker. I’ll be with you in a second.”
Besides the lollipop, Trish rocks at entertaining my little nugget.
Freya prefers me, of course, but Trish has turned into this cool office aunt who listens patiently while Freya talks her ear off about every animal known to man.
Buttercup’s tail swishes as he watches us getting ready to deliver the last shot.
“You spoil her, Lena. Careful, or we’ll be handing her the keys to this place someday,” Dr. Vetol says cheerfully, gently grabbing the cat.
“Yeah, yeah. But we have several dogs and a cat recuperating in observation back there, so I figured taking him home would lighten the load.” I grumble, but I already know what I’m about to do.
Luckily, there’s a bonus.
I get to see how Brady will react to another stray after he’s put his foot down with expanding our zoo.
I find out the instant we get home almost two hours later with “Buttercup” clean, dry, and groggy in his carrier.
A decadent-smelling seafood alfredo punches me in the nose. Brady just finished making dinner in the kitchen, and he stands against the island with little Noah tucked in his arms.
After greeting our three dogs, who all bound up to lick my face, I’m only in the kitchen for three seconds before Noah sees me and throws up his chubby little arms.
“Mama!”
I laugh, putting down the cat carrier at the entrance to the mudroom and accepting the welcome burden of my second child.
We agreed on two kids. Hard limit.
Don’t get me wrong, I love them to death. But having these two precious creatures takes up more time than you can imagine, especially when we don’t do the typical rich-people thing where we hand them off to nannies for fourteen hours a day.
While Freya has her dad’s looks, Noah takes after me. Snubby round nose, light-brown eyes, and dark hair with chestnut stripes that’s just starting to curl. A lot like mine did until I hit puberty and my hair straightened out more.
It breaks my happy heart a little every time I look at him.
“How many fires did you put out today, Sass?” Brady leans over to kiss my cheek, bathing me in his glorious scent, which mingles weirdly well with the seafood pasta.
“Not enough. Little Frey fell in love.” I glance back at the carrier holding Buttercup, who’s still tipsy and half asleep with the sedation wearing off.
“Oh shit. Again?” Brady blinks, then slaps his forehead dramatically.
Freya giggles, already trying to fumble the carrier door open.
Buttercup yowls a loud warning.
“Freya, wait!” I call. “Remember what we talked about with new animals?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She pouts. “Pet room first. No being alone with them. I heard, Mommy.”
“It’s for your good and his. You scare him. He might run away. Or give old Queenie a heart attack,” I say.
Right on cue, the ancient girl swaggers up to lick my hand.
I cannot believe she’s still with us, but I’m grateful for every day.
She’s going on 130 in dog years, a unicorn blessing I’m not sure what we did to deserve.
But that’s life in the Pruitt household—and it’s as good as it is surprising. It just means we’re running more of a zoo than a house, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Three dogs, two cats—if Buttercup works out—a little pond full of fat, colorful koi, and yes, we even have a rescue goat roaming around in the backyard. There’s also an elderly rabbit in a hutch by the side of the house, which is Freya’s responsibility to clean out and care for.
She’s good about it. Mostly.
“Woman, what happened to our rules? We’re maxed out on pets,” Brady mutters, trying not to laugh as his arms wind around my waist. “I told you if you bring one more fur ball home, we’ll need a bigger house.”
I bite back a laugh of my own because he’s only half joking.
Not long after we tied the knot and found out I was expecting, we moved away from Seattle proper, sprawling into the suburbs like a good dual-income family with ample money to burn.
But this mansion has over two acres and six bedrooms.
We’ve found a place for all of them, plus two true guest rooms that serve us nicely whenever friends or family visit.
I lay my hand on his chest, pushing playfully. “Aw, come on. Three more cats will max out our space. We’d be using it efficiently.”
“No more,” Brady calls gruffly, loud enough for Freya to hear. “The girl needs time to focus on her homework.”
“School’s easy! I’ll have time with ten cats, Dad!” she yells back, sitting cross-legged, thankfully a comfortable distance from Buttercup. “Just gotta get him to love me first.”
“Of course he’ll love you. Give it a week or two for him to settle in,” I say, kissing little Noah on the cheek and setting him down. He immediately toddles off toward the new carrier, only to be stopped by his big sister as she scoops him up.
“Noah,” Freya whines. “Don’t get close, he has to get used to us. And Mom said I get to hang out with him first!”
“Be nice to your brother,” Brady growls.
“Kitty!” Noah yells, clapping his hands.
Chaos, I think.
But that’s the life we chose.
The sweetest chaos with two rambunctious kids and our own private menagerie. Thankfully, two of our dogs are seniors: Queenie and Rufus. Aside from our little dynamo corgi named Liz, the dogs don’t pay too much attention to the new arrival.
To them, it’s old hat.
No doubt when Buttercup makes his presence known, they’ll have more to say.
“He’s going to need time to recover and rest. So even when he’s nicer, you have to be careful,” I tell Freya as I help set the table.
At this point, I don’t know if the toy on the floor I’m stepping over belongs to the dogs or Noah.
Probably both.
“With you in charge of his recovery, he’ll probably grow his ear back in no time.” Brady grins, bringing our food to the table.
I stop and take a second to appreciate his perfect face.
It isn’t fair. This man wears age like a designer fashion statement.
Just the slightest hint of early grey silvering his hair.
If I’m lucky, he’ll have that distinguished silver fox look his father has, minus the thorny attitude.
The lines around his eyes when he smiles will absolutely slay me no matter how long we’re together. He always smiles like he means it too.
Sappy or not, I think I fall a little more in love with him every day.
Before we met, I couldn’t imagine crushing on an older guy, but here we are.
“I’ll take him downstairs,” Freya announces. She has to use both hands to hoist up the cat carrier. No matter how underfed and scrawny he is, she’s still just a seven-year-old.
