He stills, eyes wide and dark, searching my face. “Quinn, I love you.”
“I love you more.” I cup his jaw, thumb brushing his swollen bottom lip.
A shudder rolls through him. He kisses me again, fierce and tender all at once, then reaches between us, pulling out, leaving me so hollow for a moment while he steels his composure. After a breath, he slides back inside, and the heat of him, the slick drag of skin on skin, makes us both gasp. He's thicker now, pulsing inside me, deep and hot. I feel every vein, every ridge, every throb as he starts moving again, his strokes slow, deep, and reverent. His hand slips between us, thumb circling my clit, and I cry out my husband's name, raking my nails down his back hard enough to leave marks.
“I love you,” he breaths against my mouth, the words ragged. “Fuck, I love you so much, baby.”
I come around him like that—clenching, pulsing, pulling him deeper—whispering his name like a prayer. And he follows, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside me. Hot, thick pulses fill me, mark me, claim me in a way nothing else ever had. His forehead drops to mine, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open on a silent groan, and the moment stretches between us, powerful, tender, and overwhelming. I feel him throb inside me, feel the warmth of him leaking out around where our bodies join, and I hold him tighter, kissing him through it, swallowing every broken sound he makes as he releases, filling me.
We stay like that, trembling, sweat-slick and breathing each other in. His cock softens slowly inside me, but he doesn’t pull out. He just kisses me, soft now, lazy, and reverent while his hand strokes down my side. I blink up athim and memorize every line of his face, every thudding beat of his heart.
“My wife,” he whispers against my lips.
I smile, small and wrecked and perfect. “Always.”
CHAPTER 37
FOR REAL THIS TIME
The living roomsmells like buttered popcorn and fresh coffee, the big couch crowded with bodies in a way that feels both chaotic and exactly right. The credits forThe Comeback Riderare still rolling across the portable screen, Quinn’s name prominent as writer and producer. The house buzzes with the kind of warm, slightly teary laughter that only comes after a really good story hits you square in the chest. My wife did that, and I grow more and more proud and awestruck by the day.
Quinn sits on the end of the couch with Sadie tucked against her side, her small hand clutching the remote. My arm is draped around Quinn, who leans into me, cheeks still flushed from the applause her family gave the film. Across from us, Diane sits with her hands clasped in her lap, eyesshining as she dabs at them with a tissue. Next to her, Lane, is grinning from ear to ear, legs curled under her on the oversized ottoman.
“I still can’t believe you wrote that,” Diane says, voice thick with pride. She reaches out, leaning to squeeze Quinn’s knee. “My baby. That ending… My word, it got me.”
Lane nods vigorously, her honey hair bouncing. “The way the entire town wanted this win—” She turns those bright eyes on my little girl, adding, “And you were so good in it, Sadie. The best part, honestly.”
Sadie beams, pressing closer to Quinn. “Daddy said I’m a natural.”
“You are,” I confirm, voice low and steady, the pride in it impossible to miss. I ruffle Sadie’s hair gently. “Couldn’t have asked for a better little cowgirl onscreen.”
Diane laughs softly, her gaze shifting to me with open warmth. She was nervous when they first arrived earlier this afternoon—both she and Lane flew in too late for the official screening but were determined to make up for it here, in our home. But the moment they met Sadie, something clicked. Sadie showed them her room, her horse drawings, her collection of toy cowboys, and both women melted on the spot. Diane had already promised to teach her how to crochet pot holders, and Lane spent half an hour on the floor playing “rodeo” with her using Sadie’s stuffed animals.
I clear my throat, reaching down beside the couch for the small gift bag I’d stashed there earlier. Leaning forward, I hand it to Diane with a sheepish grin.
“Before I forget—and before you try making any more of those pot holders that melt in the oven—here. The right yarn. Heat-resistant, the lady at the craft store swore by it. No more scorched fingers or ruined projects.”
Quinn's eyes cut to mine, shiny with emotion. I bet she issurprised I remembered she told me that fact about her mom, but I've remembered every word she's spoken to me. Cherished them, even.
Diane’s eyes widen as she pulls out the skeins of sturdy, specially-labeled yarn, a delighted laugh escaping her. “Landry, you remembered? Oh, honey, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Course I did,” I reply simply, shrugging my shoulders. “Can’t have my mother-in-law burning the house down trying to make us pot holders.”
Lane snorts, elbowing her mother. “He’s already saving us from yarn-related disasters.”
Diane swats at her daughter playfully, but her smile is soft when she looks back at me. “Thank you. Truly. It means more than you know.”
The room settles into a comfortable quiet again, the TV now showing the menu screen. Sadie yawns wide, fighting sleep like the stubborn little thing she is, and Quinn presses a kiss to the top of her head.
The weight of the moment settles into my chest—the good kind. These women flew out to meet me and Sadie, to celebrate Quinn’s success, to fold themselves into this new version of family we are all building. I've already asked Quinn once, in the heat of everything, but now feels like the right time.
I glance at Quinn, catching her eye, and she gives me the smallest nod, encouragement shining. I turn to Diane.
“Diane,” I start, voice dropping into that low, serious timbre that comes out when something matters. I rub a hand over my jaw, suddenly a little nervous despite the fact I know I shouldn't be. “I know we didn’t exactly do this the traditional way. Life got ahead of us, and I asked Quinn once already in a moment that was… well, intense. But I want to doit right. Here, with you and Lane, with Sadie listening in like she’s part of every important thing.”
I reach over and take Quinn’s hand in mine, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I love your daughter more than I’ve got words for. She’s made me a better man, given me a family I didn’t know I needed this bad. Sadie adores her and I want to build the rest of my life with her. So I’m asking you, for real this time… for your blessing. For Quinn’s hand in marriage.”
The room goes still. Sadie’s eyes go wide, a sleepy grin spreading across her face as she whispers, “Daddy’s asking for real?”
