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“Fletcher,” I groan his name. We’re at the range. It’s been his mission to watch me practice shoot my gun. He’s been back at work for three weeks now, and my worry has not ebbed whatsoever. My phone stays next to me the entire day, the ringer on, always, and I’m still having a hard time not jumping when an alert comes through. Fletch wasn’t majorly hurt. I know this. I tell myself this daily. I’ve talked to him, my mom, and my dad. Yet I still worry, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to take time to calm my ever-present nerves. Dad even sat down with me after we got the stern talking to of ‘You don’t have to hide your relationship behind my back. If I could have picked a man for you, it would have been Fletcher Wild.’ Anyways, Dad came over last week, told me to finish up my work, and we were going for coffee and a stroll downtown. We talked. I told him my fears, and he told me Mom had similar fears. Dad explained the only person who could overcome the thoughts plaguing me was myself. He suggested instead of going right to work when Fletch does, to go for a walk, have coffee with Madelyn or Mom, hit up a store, or finally take out the puzzle I hadn’t gotten to. Basically, he told me to keep my mind occupied besides work, and so far, it’s helped.
“Woman, take your shot,” Fletch croons in my ear. God, his voice. It reminds me of how he woke me up this morning, his head buried between my thighs, fingers sliding in and out of my wet center while his mouth was wrapped around my clit. My hands went to the back of his head, holding him to my pussy as I rode out my orgasm. Once I came down from getting my own, I tried to reciprocate, but Fletch wasn’t having it. He crawled out of bed, naked as the day he was born, walked into the shower, and told me to get ready for a day out.
“You act like it’s easy when your body is this close.” When he said to get ready, he left out the important part about where we were going. I opted for another one of my sundresses and left my panties and bra at home. Usually, I’d at least wear a pair of panties, but since Fletcher would be with me all day, I knew it wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“You can do it.” His hands glide up the inside of my legs. How he managed to secure the outdoor facility without others, I’m not sure. “Show me what you got, Delilah, then I’ll bend you over and fuck you like I wanted to this morning.” I spread my legs wider, giving him more room, and when he feels my wet pussy, he keeps up talking, making it that much harder to concentrate. “No fucking panties. I should have known. You want my fingers or my cock?” I’m not sure if he actually wants an answer. The hiss of a zipper tells me I’m probably right as he plunges two fingers inside my pussy. The gun in my hand is locked and loaded, ready for me to fire at the paper target.
“Fletcher, you keep fucking me with your fingers, I’m liable to shoot you instead of the target.” My arms are out, gun in my right hand, finger on the barrel until I’m ready to fire, and my left hand is cupping the stock of the gun.
“You’re close already. Take a deep breath and shoot, Delilah.” The heel of his palm sets my clit on edge along with the pumping of his fingers. My body quivers from the inside out, and there’s no way breathing can even be accomplished with all the ministrations he’s doing to my body.
“Fine.” I pry my eyes open, put my finger on the trigger, and fire the gun. Fletch doesn’t let up. He flicks his fingers inside me while pulling in and out, keeping his palm pressed on my clit. I don’t quit shooting through it all. Even with sweat trickling down my spine and my eyes threatening to close, I keep going.
“Goddamn, that’s sexy as hell,” he says. The gun clatters to the table, my hands reach out for leverage, and I roll my hips. “Stop.” I was so close, so damn close.
“I’m going to murder you,” I groan when he pulls his fingers out of me. Taking my orgasm away is fucking cruel.
“No, you’re not.” I’d fight with him over that statement, except I feel him pushing up the skirt of my dress. He kicks my feet out wider, and that’s when I know I’m about to get more than his fingers. I’m going to get his thick cock, and I hope to God he doesn’t go gentle. Not with the mood I’m in. The teasing was too much. Him eating me earlier without being able to return the favor annoyed me even more.
“Fuck me,” I demand.
“I am. You’re awfully impatient today, Delilah.” His hands grip the sides of my hips, his cock is notched at my entrance, and I push back.
“Stop teasing me, Fletcher Wild, or I’ll use my own damn fingers.” I’m pushing him, which could backfire. He could very well make me wait longer or pull away completely and make me wait until we get back home.
“I’m done teasing you. I’m doing this while I’m buried inside you, Delilah. I’m not asking; I’m telling. We’re getting married. I’ve got the ring. All you have to do is put my ring on.”
“Yes!” He thrusts to the hilt, burying himself completely inside of me. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” My head drops down, and tears are streaming down my cheeks in happiness, content, and sheer freaking joy. Fletch couldn’t have made this day any better if he tried.
“Fuckin love you, love fuckin’ you, and gonna love you the rest of our fuckin’ lives.” He pulls my body up, dips his knees, and keeps moving in and out of my body while bringing us closer together.
“And I love you.” It’s a statement and a promise all rolled into one. One I’m going to keep forever with Fletcher by my side.
Epilogue
Fletch
Two Months Later
“I’m sorry the test was negative,” Delilah says quietly. We’re back in Wyoming. She’s getting the tattoo she’s always wanted but couldn’t settle on it until recently. Lawson is in the back room adding on to his sleeve. This time, it’s going from his upper arm into his chest. Abe, a cousin to the Johnson Brothers, is the only guy I’d trust with Delilah’s ink as well as my own.
“Woman, I’m not with you for your baby making capabilities. Sure, I’d love nothing more than to see you pregnant with our child, and when it happens, it happens.” Her shoulders lower from her ears, and she takes a deep breath. I should have fucking seen the signs. This shit has been weighing on her for far too long. Delilah isn’t nervous about the tattoo she’s getting down the length of her spine. She is worried something is wrong with her when it very well could be a me thing, too. Hell, it could be it’s not the right time. We aren’t married yet, which I’m changing this fucking weekend. We’ll get our tattoos, tell Lawson bye, and head toward a small cabin an hour outside of Arrowleaf, Wyoming. Tomorrow, I’ll give her the surprise of a century, one I’ve been working on with Marigold night and day. My woman is indecisive as fuck—the date, the dress, the venue, the guest list, it’s endless. I’m tired of not having Delilah tied to me in a way she’ll carry my last name.
“Fletcher.” She closes her eyes, slowly taking another breath before showing me her gorgeous baby blues. “Will you make me a deal?”
“Name it.”
“We give this a couple of more months, but if it doesn’t happen naturally, we go to the doctors and figure things out. I still want children. Adopting wouldn’t be outside of my scope. Would it be yours?” It’s a heavy subject. I’d have no problem either way, kids or no kids.
“They’d still be our children, so no. I’ve got no problem with adopting. I’m going to say one thing, and you may not like it, but I’ll say it anyways. We’ll go with whatever avenue we have to. We won’t borrow trouble, and definitely not at the expense of your mental health.” She nods in understanding and agreement. The shit I’ve heard at the station, how marriages go through the wringer, relationships turn to shit, I don’t want us to become bitter, or to play the blame game. “Alright?”
“Yes, thank you.” My hand cups the back of her neck. I bring our foreheads together, letting her see exactly how I feel about her.
“You don’t gotta thank me. Love you, Delilah. I’ll do anything for you even if that means protecting you in a way you won’t like.” She opens her mouth, and I dip my head, mouth dipping to hers. I pull on her bottom lip with my teeth, she softly whimpers, and then I’m taking from her, uncaring we’re in public. She needs to know right in this moment she’s worth every fucking thing to me. My tongue works its way inside her mouth until hers is chasing mine while my eyes remain locked on hers, watching as her lids shutter closed.
A throat clears, and she pulls back fast. Damn, my woman makes me feel alive. Like we were making out in a car on a deserted highway and got caught by her dad.
“Your turn, bud,” Lawson says. He’s walking without a shirt on, and I’m about to knock him the fuck out.
