Page 59 of One Night Puck (Las Vegas Angels 3)

I went as slowly as I could.

But I swear to God, I hung on by a fuckin’ thread.

“You okay?” I asked her, hoping the answer would be ‘yes.’

“So good,” she practically purred, “go faster, Wes.”

That was all I needed.

I steadily increased my speed, nearly losing my mind a few dozen times.

“Still good?” I checked in with her. From the look on her face, she appeared to be enjoying this as much as I did.

“Great,” she said as she moved her hips in perfect time with mine.

“Marianne?”

She opened her eyes and looked into mine. “What?”

“I love you, Marianne. I’ve loved you for thirty-four fucking years. Every goddamn day.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly. “Wes.”

“Every morning, when I roll over—before I’m fully awake—I think it’ll be you right there beside me.”

“Wes.”

Her eyes got wet.

So did mine.

“And every fucking morning—you’re not there. I was so fucking stupid back then. And I’m so sorry. I don’t know what the hell I did to deserve another shot with you. But I’m so happy I’ve got one.”

I kissed her mouth.

“Wes.”

I moved back and saw tears flow out, and down the sides of her face.

Some of my tears fell onto her before I could wipe them away. “I love you, Marianne. I never stopped.”

“I love you, too, Weston Hunter. You were my first love—and you’ll be my last.”

We kissed as we cried.

Happy tears.

Sad tears.

Tears of regret.

Tears of sorrow.

Until eventually, when we allowed our passion to take over.

She was fully into it—just like the Marianne from years ago.

Exactly like that.

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