Page 83 of Restored Dreams

Her eyes flick down to the tattoo. On the day I bought her engagement ring, I inked my skin similar to hers. A small cupcake on my pelvis with a mini-cupcake next to it. It isn’t pink and purple like Lily’s, but it matches her design in black and gray. It represents Lily and Lima Bean, whose tattoo happens to have a lima bean on top instead of a maraschino cherry.

Holding the back of the chair, Lily rocks her hips over me, holding me within as she rolls forward. We move in a rhythmic manner. I grip her hips but let Lily lead this dance. She’s getting into it—her head falling back and then forward. She’s going to come again, and I marvel at the miracle of her joined with me. My thumb slips down to tease her where she needs, pleasuring her until she makes another of my favorite noises.

A gasp. A hitch. “I’m coming. Again. Again.” I love her sounds.

She stills, milking me within her, and I’m close but not ready to finish yet.

“One more chair,” I announce, lifting her while she’s still attached to me and shifting us to the final seat.

“Brut, I can’t take anymore,” she whimpers, but I know she can.

“Flip,” I grunt, and her rapid removal almost undoes me. Our skin slides, releasing a suction noise as she slips off me. Lily does as I ask, spinning so her back faces me, and I guide her to my lap, legs resting over mine to dangle on either side.

“I’m going to fall,” she says, reaching for the table before us.

“Never. I’ll never let you go again,” I say, sliding into her depths. Lily’s practically a ragdoll bending at my will, and I can’t hold out much longer. My lower back tightens, and the orgasm builds. Increasing the pace, I lift and lower her to hammer into her, and the room fills with grunts and groans. “So close, Lily pad.”

“Brut?” she questions, and the wonder in her voice catches me.

“What, sugar?”

“Brut, I’m…I’m gonna go again.”

Holy fuck. Yes. I continue to move her, our skin slapping, the noise echoing in the kitchen. An idea strikes, and I lift us both, bending her toward the table. Her stomach doesn’t allow her to lay flat as she’s definitely showing. Three full months. Six to go.

“Hold on, baby,” I groan as I pummel deep, the shift in position hitting her in a new way. Her arms lie near the edge of the table, searching for purchase on the surface. “Come for me.”

The command is harsh, desperate, needy. I want to feel her pulse around me again, squeezing me with her heat.

“Yes,” I cry out, stilling as I release inside her the second she clenches around me. I fall forward, lowering my forehead to her spine. Stars float before my eyes, and the rush leaves me and enters her. I love this feeling. I love my future wife. “That was incredible, sugar.”

Lily’s breath comes heavy under me, and I look at her in concern. A grin graces her face as she struggles to find the words to answer me.

“I love you,” I tell her.

“I like the sounds you make.” She’s teasing me because she loves these words, and then she answers me. “I love you, too.”

Her grin morphs into a deep smile. She likes it when I tell her how I feel, when I say those three important words, and I’ve learned a big reason is because she hasn’t heard them often enough in her life. I practice every day, sometimes telling her more than once because Lily wants to hear me say them. And I like to say them, especially when she looks at me like she does. Like I’m her everything…and beyond.

41

Restored dreams

[Lily]

Brut and I get married. Twenty-two years, five months, and nine days from the date we separated. I’m four and a half months pregnant when it happens, and Brut says he feels like the baby inside me marks a new beginning for us. But we aren’t marrying because of our little Lima Bean. We marry because he loves me, and I love him.

Standing on the edge of a breezy beach, my toes dig in the cold sand. It’s only fifty degrees today, January 1st, at Ocean Beach San Diego. I’m chilly, but this is where we wanted to wed. Instead of flowers, I hold a glass jar shaped like a bucket, filled with the seashells I collected when Brut and I were first here. My dress is empire waist, allowing for the slight bump covered in layers of light material that flows down to my feet. Midge says I look like a modern hippie as a wreath of lilies crowns my head. Brut says I look beautiful, which is something he says often.

“You’re practically glowing,” he tells me, and I say it’s because of the baby. But really, it’s our love. The warmth of Brut’s affection. The depth of his attention. He’s everything to me.

Today, he stands before me wearing casual linen pants and a white T-shirt. I can’t imagine him in anything stuffier, though. He does own one suit, but considering he wore it for Lauren’s funeral, I didn’t want him to wear it when we join together permanently. He agreed.

The wind picks up, and I shiver. Brut reaches out for me, rubbing his hands up and down my bare arms.

“You’re freezing,” he whispers, interrupting the minister.

“I’m perfect,” I tell him as his hands slip down to hold mine. The ceremony won’t last long. We selected a short reading and then the exchange of vows. It’s a morning wedding, and afterward, the beach house will be full to bursting with our family.