Page 173 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
“You evil woman,” I rasped against her lips when I dropped her into the sheets. “You psychotic, infuriating, perfect fucking woman.”
B laughed a little against my bruising kisses as I laid her down, crawling over her until I pinned her into the mattress.
“I can’t tell if you love me or want to murder me,” she mused.
“Both,” I answered honestly, and I kissed her before she could laugh again, rolling my hips to silence her tease.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, making me stop as she framed my face in her hands. Her eyes welled with tears as they flicked between mine. “I’m so sorry, Jamie.”
“I thought I lost you,” I confessed, the words strangling me.
B just smiled. “Silly boy. Don’t you know by now that you never could?”
I dropped my forehead to hers. “Even now, even with you under me, with you in my arms… it doesn’t feel real. It’s like a dream.”
“Or a nightmare, since it’s us,” she teased.
I looked at her then. “I mean it. Jokes aside, B… I let you go. I thought it was really over. I thought… and then I saw your book, and now I’m here, and I just… fuck,” I cursed, shaking my head. “I can’t lose you again. I can’t—”
“You won’t,” she promised, holding my face in her hands as she searched my eyes. “This is real, Jamie. It’s me and you now.”
“Forever.”
“Forever,” she echoed, and then my lips claimed hers, slow and on the wings of a shaky exhale.
Every kiss came slower than the first, our lips warm and smooth against each other as we carefully undressed. I pushed up on my knees long enough to strip my shirt overhead, to help her out of her plaid pajama shorts and tank top. I marveled at her body with every layer shed, remembering what it looked like nine years ago, and counting every lucky star in the galaxy that I got to appreciate it all these years later.
“Marry me,” I whispered against her lips when we were both undressed, slipping between her thighs as I made the request.
She gasped at the feel of me, of my shaft sliding into her wetness, stopping just at the brink of entry. “Yes.”
“Tomorrow. No, today.”
She laughed, tucking her hips so that the crown of me slipped just a centimeter more inside her. It took all my restraint to focus on her answer instead of on how badly I wanted to be buried inside her.
“Today. Tomorrow. And every day after,” she whispered, kissing me long and hard. Then, her nails dragged down my back, over my ass, digging into the flesh. “Now, fuck me, Jamie Shaw. Remind me what it’s like to be yours.”
I groaned, my hands slipping under her shoulders and holding on tight as I flexed and filled her. She arched and moaned with the connection, opening for me even more as I withdrew and pumped in again.
“More,” she begged, and I hissed, pushing back onto my knees and hiking her ankles up on my shoulders. I wrapped my hands around her thighs, flexing into her and finding more depth just like she’d asked.
Her hands fisted in the sheets, back arching, tits bouncing as I picked up my pace.
She came within seconds, and I wasn’t even a little ashamed when I did, too.
“Fuck,” I cursed, falling down onto her. Her legs went limp, and she chuckled, kissing my slick shoulder as her fingertips drew lines on my back.
“Again?” she asked.
“Again,” I echoed, and then I was kissing her, flipping us until she was on top as we slipped into round two.
IF YOU DIDN’T PICK up on it from reading her book, B is a little bit of a masochist.
I blame that fact for why she couldn’t write a real epilogue to save her life. That tiny, barely a page, torturous thing she gave you and called an epilogue was just cruel, which is exactly why I wanted to write to tell you what happened in-between.
I wasn’t kidding about wanting to get married that day. However, I found it impossible to leave B’s bed once I had her naked, and we spent — quite literally — all day and night making up for lost time.
We were both sore and exhausted and blissfully sated by the time we finally fell asleep late that night. The next morning, in the early purple light of dawn, I woke B with gentle kisses over her left ring finger knuckle.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Marry me,” I whispered.
She nodded, and then after one more round — because how could we not — we started planning.
I was content to just go to the courthouse that day and demand they waive the three-day waiting period so we could be married by the time the sun set that evening. But B talked me out of it, using her bewitching kisses to convince me we should do a proper celebration and ceremony.
