Page 118 of Between Now and Always

Below that last sentence, she’s listed our children’s names.- Ella, Jameson, Kennedy, Spencer.

On the innercurve of her left breast, my name is scrawled between two four-leaf clovers.

I kiss them all. I lick her navel and run my teeth over the swell of her hips. I stroke the swirl of stretch marksthat cover her lower stomach where she cradled our daughter so lovingly.

Her pussy is bare save for the small patch she keeps shaped into whatever catches her whimsy. Right now, it’s a thunderbolt. I press her thighs apart.

“Watch me,” I command and she props herself up on her elbows and gazes down at me. And then, I put my mouth on my wife’s exquisite cunt and eat it like the life-giving fruit it is. I could do this all day. On any part of her body. It’s all mine and there’s not an inchof her I haven’t put my mouth on.

When she’s soft and wet andbegging me to fuck her, I stand and push inside her in one hard thrust. Her back arches and she spasms around me. I lean over her, her hands come up to cup my face and we kiss while I make love to her like we have all the time in the world. Because we do. Even when my body fails, our love will go on.

* * *

“You’ve got barbecue sauce on your cheek.” I reach over and wipe the sauce off her face and lick it off my finger.

“This is so good. I don’t miss much when we’re away, but Susan’s barbecue is something I wish we could take with us,” she says around a mouth full of food.

We’re sitting on the floor of our kitchen underneath thehuge painting of our family that she finished when Spencer’s adoption was finalized last year.

Ella was born after a year of trying and two rounds of IVF. After her, we adopted the rest of our family. Jameson joined us when he was three years old. Kennedy when she was eleven and Spencer, the birthday boy when he was six. It’s a full and busy life.

The band tours every other year now. But even when I’m not touring we bothtravel a lot. It’s why we settled in Houston. Penn and Joe are here. So are Phil and Ramzi, and Dina and Tyson. Porsha’s extended family is here so she and Jack are frequent visitors from their home in London.

It’s become home and this house we built from the ground up is perfect for us. Beth’s studio is out back. She paints for Instagram account and her website. But her real love is a boarding school she helped found. It provides tuition free, high caliber arts focused education for exceptionally talented children. Her students come from all over the world. And she teaches there during the school year.

But for two months every summer, we up sticks and go to our house inZilia. It’s a quaint village about half an hour from the international airport we use in Corsica. We have a vineyardand the village boasts a mineral spring. It’s beautiful and our kids love it there as much as we do.

“Me, too. We need to look at getting a grill set up there so we can.” I shove the last bite of sandwich into my mouth and glance at my watch.

“Jack and Porsha will be here in about twenty minutes,” I remind her. She claps her hands.

“Oh my gosh, this is going to be the best summer. The kids are so excited. I can’t believe everyone’s coming this year.”

“I can. I paid for it,” I say dryly and she slaps my arm in reproach.

“It was your idea, Carter. And it’s worth every penny to have everyone together in our place. It hasn’t happened since the wedding.”

“I know. I’m excited,” I say sincerely as I push to my feet.

“Where are you going?” she calls when I walk around the counter and out of her line of sight.

“Getting dessert,” I say and open the fridge.

The last of our party guests left hours ago. The kids are all asleep and we came down to raid the fridge in anticipation of our trip tomorrow.

I pull out the pastry box and eye the mango cheesecake inside. We usually have it on her birthday, but this year, we’re going to our house in Corsica early and I don’t want to miss our annual tradition.

I grab two forks from the drawer on my way back to her.

“Happy Birthday, early,” I say as I drop next to her on the floor again.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you remembered to do this,” she gushes. Her grins as I open the box and hand her a fork. She swoops in, her fork aimed to take a huge chunk and I grab her wrist.

“Wait, make a wish,” I say when she looks puzzled.

“Where are the candles?” she eyes the cake hungrily.

“Use your imagination, and make a wish,” I insist.

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