They turned to see George and Gloria running toward them, their fancy clothes already showing signs of their adventures.
“You f’got someting ’portant.” Gloria skidded to a stop, holding out a slightly squashed cupcake wrapped in a napkin.
“Very ’portant.” George nodded seriously. “Mommy says you can’t dance on empty tummy.”
“It’s de one wiff sprinkles,” Gloria added proudly. “’Cause it’s your wedday.”
Crone knelt down to their level and hugged them. “Better get back to the party, you two. I hear there might be more cupcakes waiting.”
“Wiff sprinkles?” Their eyes lit up.
“Lots of sprinkles.”
After one final squeeze, the twins ran back toward the party, their giggles floating on the evening breeze.
Sienna smiled as they watched them go but sobered as she glanced up at Crone. “Are we doing the right thing to leave Hope here while we go on our honeymoon? What if something happened and?—”
Crone’s fingers on her lips silenced her. “Remember our new motto, love. Positive manifestation and living life with passion. No more doom and gloom for the Lange family.” He kissed her gently. “Our little Hope is a fighter and she knows she’s loved. She’ll be fine, I promise you.”
“I know, it’s just…” She hugged him fiercely. “I just found her, we just found her and…” Sighing, she pushed thereservations to the back of her mind. She knew they were unfounded and exactly what any new mother would feel leaving her little baby for the first time. More than that, she and Crone needed this special time alone. Her eyes glimmered as she looked at him.
“Well, husband, I believe I’ve waited long enough. You’re becoming even more fuckilicious by the second.”
“In that case…” He hoisted her over his shoulder and set off at a jog. Sienna’s shrieks of delight filled the air.
Crone
The glamping camp site, Rawhide Ranch
The moonlight painted silver patterns across their outdoor sanctuary, the soft glow of mason jar lights that Jagger and Moira had set up cast an ethereal shimmer around the bed that had been placed beneath the stars. Crone’s breath hitched when he saw her—his wife—reclined against the pillows. Her skin was luminous in the starlight with her lips curved in that knowing smile that had always been just for him.
“Come to me, husband,” she beckoned in a voice warm with amusement. “It’s rude to make your newly acquired wife wait.”
He joined her on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath them and rolling her gently toward him. His breath caught at the soft weight of her settling against his side. Warmth bloomed through the thin silk where her hip settled against his thigh, seeping into him in a slow spreading heat. As he poured champagne into crystal flutes, her scent wrapped around him with every breath he drew. The brush of her fingers against his as he passedhers across sent a current racing up his arm, settling sweet and aching behind his ribs. My wife. The words stole the air from his lungs.
A burst of laughter rang out from her in a tingling spill of sound as a bubble caught her on the nose. His breath caught, completely undone by the sound. He caught her mouth mid-laugh, drinking her joy straight from her lips. She melted into him with a softness that turned his mind blank. Her tongue slid against his in a slow velvet glide. The taste and heat of her drew a rumble from deep in his chest. He buried his fingers in the silk of her hair and angled her mouth deeper into his, hungry for more of her. Beneath the pad of his thumb at the hollow behind her ear, her pulse quickened into a frantic little throb. Each beat tapped warm against his skin, her desire pouring into him and twining with his in a single rising ache.
When he eased back at last, her eyes were dark and hazy, her breath coming in soft pants that warmed his jaw. He reached past her with deliberate slowness, setting her glass safely on the deck, every movement heightening the anticipation he sensed in the rise and fall of her chest. Holding her gaze, he tipped his glass and spilled the champagne in a slow golden thread into the valley between her breasts.
She wheezed as the cold liquid spilled over her skin, her back arching off the bed. “Crone!”
“Shhh,” he murmured, lowering his head to lap at the champagne trail. His tongue was hot against her chilled flesh. “Don’t worry, kitten. I’ll warm you up.”
He mapped her body with reverence, memorizing every dip and swell as if she were a sacred text. His mouth followed with kisses pressed to her collarbone, the underside of her breast, and the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
“Crone…” Sienna tugged on his hair, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp as she whimpered his name.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her throat, his voice rough with emotion. “My wife. My heart.”
“I love you,” she breathed. “So much it overwhelms me sometimes.”
He kissed her then, slowly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as if he could drink in her very soul.
Their first joining was tender—a dance of whispered endearments and soft sighs. He entered her with aching slowness, his forehead pressed to hers as he murmured praise against her skin. “Mine. Always mine.”
Sienna cradled his face between her palms. “And you’re my miracle. My safe harbor. My home. My forever love.”
Their bodies moved in perfect sync, the rhythm unhurried and sacred. The night air carried their voices—her breathy moans and his low growls of approval—as they lost themselves in each other.
