Page 85 of A Wedding in a Week

His lips keep moving, more kisses dropping, and I know what he’s doing—Stef marks freckle after freckle before making a final promise. “We’ll both check on him, so you can stop, yeah?”

His morning voice gets to me, rumbling low enough that I both hear and feel it, and I don’t want either of us to get out of bed. Not yet. Not when I know he’s right. Noah’s recovery is amazing, but there’s so much to do today—too much—and not only to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding. Stef kisses me again, which should melt me. My brain doesn’t get the relaxing memo, and Stef huffs as if he can see the same checklist I picture.

“And you can stop worrying about the wedding. There are only the grass pathways left to cut.”

The mowing is one of my unchecked boxes. I still have two others. “What if—”

“An issue comes up at the rehearsal this evening?” His stubble prickles my shoulder. “That’s the whole point, right? To make sure there are no nasty surprises on the big day? If something comes up later, I’ll fix it. I’ve got a multi-tool, a pocketful of twine, and you.” I feel his smile widen. “Pretty sure that’s all I need.”

He makes another guess about what else on my to-do list woke me.

“We’ll have plenty of time to get Noah’s test results. His appointment is at two, right? That leaves all morning for work and mowing, and plenty of time to get back before the rehearsal. Stop worrying,” he repeats, his whisper raspy like his kisses, and…

I do.

I stop worrying about the rehearsal, or about test results that have preyed on my mind. I only feel that Stef skims me with a hand that can’t be numb now, exploring like it’s the first time he’s felt me. Like I’m new land he wants to learn the lay of—land that he’d plough in strong, straight furrows right now if a creak along the hallway didn’t make him go still behind me.

He’s also rock hard, his cock pressed close enough he could slide back in where he seared my soul last night, but we both listen, breath held at footsteps that pass our room. Or one set passes, at least.

Lukas must stop outside our door. His voice is as low as his brother’s. “Noah’s taking me on a farm tour.”

That’s how we used to start each summer, Lukas showing me everything that had changed between my visits. I don’t know why Noah doing the same now gets to me, but Stef has to feel it. It shouldn’t be possible for him to hold me any tighter, or for me to know he’s smiling again, but I feel it as soon as Lukas says, “He’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Stef only speaks once they leave. “See? No worrying allowed. Doctor’s orders.”

I can’t answer while his lips find my throat. I can’t think either, and that’s exactly what I need, not worrying about Noah or my last few unchecked boxes. Nothing matters but Stef. The world could stop and I wouldn’t care or notice while he takes me apart and only needs one hand to do it.

We don’t even switch positions beyond him reaching for the lube, nor get athletic when maybe we should make the most of the farmhouse being empty. For once, we don’t even have to be quiet and yet this one-sided hand job is as quiet as last night’s sex, apart from me saying, “Let me?”

I try to face him, and I’ve mentioned the tors beside this farm, right? Nothing moves them, not years nor wind nor weather. Nothing moves Stef either. His hand job is slow and steady, and nothing beats this feeling of him letting me know I’m exactly where I’m wanted.

He gets me close to the edge, his grip slick and so good until my heart pounds and my breathing stutters. Then he relents. Stef lifts his arm so I can turn and get him as close to the edge as he’s got me. I see it in his eyes fluttering closed, and there’s sleep dust on his lashes, so I count specks to keep from coming, but nothing stops that wave from crashing once his eyes open.

They’re the same shade as the sea right now at the end of August, and I fall headfirst into a climax that does exactly what he wanted for me—I stop thinking at dawn o’clock in a farmhouse that I think of as home, held by a man who I love more than all of its bricks and mortar.

And as for those last unchecked boxes?

Stef’s warm against me now. It’s still early, and I’m sleepy.

I’ll get to them later.

* * *

Later comes, but Lukas closes my laptop before I can get back to what’s left on my to-do list. He’s serious in a way I haven’t seen since those first few days in London. That’s all wrong in a Cornish kitchen where he’s only ever been a joker.

I lurch upright, my chair scraping flagstones. “Fuck. What’s wrong? Is it Noah?”

“No, Marc. No. Noah’s looking great. Really great.” That seriousness melts, the joker back. “I can’t say the same about you. I mean, I know your face is an acquired taste”—Joker? He’s a wanker, and I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t help it—“but you’ll never snag a hottie hubby with those frown lines.” He barrels on before I can remind him that I’m not looking. “Listen, I saw a big change while I was out with Noah this morning, that’s all. A serious one. I wondered if you’d noticed it too?”

“A change to the farm? You mean on the headland?” It is the first time Lukas will have seen the wedding tents there.

He shakes his head.

“Where then?”

“I’ll show you. Come on.”

There’s no point telling him I don’t have time. Besides, I don’t want to. Lukas sweeps me along with laughter like he did that first summer, and we tramp across fields that climb steeper and steeper. He pokes fun at me the whole way.

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