Page 32 of The Forever Experiment

“Macie will be here in about fifteen minutes to watch the desk, and then we can go get lunch. You guys are more than welcome to take a look around in the meantime, or if you want to rest for a second, you can head to our apartment upstairs.”

Macie is Penelope’s best friend and the gallery’s event coordinator. She’ll sometimes manage operations when Carter is busy, and she’s currently about five months pregnant with her first child. It’ll be interesting to see what kind of kid she pops out, because if my sister is a tabby, Macie is a fucking bob cat, and her husband, Dominic, is just as wild as she is.

Maya crosses her arms, glancing around. “Are all the pieces here for sale? We actually just expanded some of the space in my office, and I’m still trying to decorate. I’ve been meaning to snag some pieces, and I love supporting local artists.”

“I can show you a couple of things.” Penelope smiles, taking my wife’s arm. “What do you do?”

“I own a law firm, Atler and Associates, in San Diego. We specialize in publishing and literary law. Working with authors, mostly.”

“That’s incredible.”

Their voices trail off as Penelope leads Maya through the rest of the gallery. I follow Carter over to the front desk, leaning my elbow against it as I watch them.

“She seems great, Easton. Congratulations,” Carter says, clapping a hand on my back.

“I know. She is.” I smile. “We got damn lucky.”

My eyes flick to him, watching his smolder like embers as he looks after my sister. “Yeah, we did.”

14

Maya

Valentine's Day - One Year Later

“E, baby? I’m home!”I call, setting my keys on the entry table and closing the front door to the apartment behind me.

I’m immediately hit with the aroma of chicken and Italian spices. The sun is just beginning to set in front of the expansive windows lining our unit at the far side of our living area, the view overlooking the Pacific.

“In here.” My husband’s soft, deep voice responds, and my heels click against our tile floor as I turn the corner into our kitchen, finding Easton behind the stove.

He left the office about an hour and a half before I did. I do my best to take off with him at a reasonable time each day, but I had an author who wasn’t available to meet with me until after hoursfrom her own day job, and if my clients are up into the late night working toward their dreams, I want to do the same.

In the past, after working late, I’d typically come home to white wine and Goldfish for dinner. Now, Easton always makes sure I’m well fed, well fucked, and well cared for before my head hits the pillow at night. He never gets angry at me for opting to work late or on weekends, and if I have to travel, he accompanies me.

We continue making excellent use of every hotel room we stay in, especially the ones on my business trips to New York, San Francisco, and London. Not only is my husband great in bed, against window, and on table, but he’s also phenomenal in the back seat of my car, the kitchen counter, the balcony railing, and the desk in my office—both at home and the firm. And I can’t even begin to think about that stage in Amsterdam without needing to change my panties.

I sigh, tongue in cheek as I reminisce on the enticing experience, being pulled from the reverie when Easton kisses the top of my head. “How was your meeting?”

“Good.” I duck into our bedroom, kicking off my shoes and tossing my dress before sliding into a pair of joggers and a hoodie. “Is that your mom’s creamy chicken pasta I smell?”

“Yep! Figured I’d do something special tonight.”

I return to the kitchen, pulling out a barstool across from where he’s standing. He lifts a fork to my mouth, and I take a bite of the chicken smothered in cheese and herbs, moaning as I chew and swallow. “What’s so special about tonight?”

He tosses me a glare, though he knows I’ve not forgotten. In fact, I gave him my anniversary present already when he woke up this morning with my lips around his cock.

February fourteenth is special for a whole slew of reasons, but I know tonight is going to cement that fact much more deeply.

“I haven’t given you my gift yet either. Figured I’d do it over dinner,” he says.

“The two orgasms this morning weren’t my gift?”

He pauses, wooden spoon in hand, tossing me a dead-pan expression. “Baby, that’s just part of my daily routine.”

My lips ache at the force with which I’m holding back my smile, knowing I’m losing the battle with the flush creeping up my cheeks right now. Easton smirks triumphantly to himself as he plates our food and walks over to the dining room table that looks out to our balcony and the horizon beyond it.

There’s a bouquet of pink and red flowers, plus a box of candy hearts that he surprised me with this morning, still sitting at the center of the table, along with my favorite wine and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries Easton must’ve picked up on his way home from work. He sets our plates next to each other, and I slide into my seat.

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