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EPILOGUE
AINSLEY, THREE YEARS LATER
Ican’t believe it’s our anniversary again. Two years married to my best friend, my soulmate, my everything.
We’ve chosen to spend our anniversary back at Mountain Lake Lodge, where I first realized that not only was Jordan my best friend, he was literally the sexiest guy I’d ever met.
He still is, by the way.
Those hazel eyes of his can set my body on fire for him in a matter of seconds. His hands feel like a miracle. And for a sweet, mild-mannered, self-disciplined school guidance counselor, he sure can talk dirty.
I love it.
Our life together is good. We live in Aunt Nell’s house, and we spend weekends sprucing it up: new paint, redo the bathroom, new flooring, new cabinets. We got rid of a good chunk of Aunt Nell’s fussy old-lady furniture and frilly lamps, and we’ve bought comfortable couches and streamlined modern dining furniture. The house feels like ours now.
And I admit that it’s pretty great watching my husband putting some elbow grease into the house we have made our home…getting dirty and sweaty…getting clean in the shower and then sweaty in the bedroom. Oh yeah.
When we got married, in a small ceremony at Town Hall, Mom and Mike threw us a party. We had coconut cake, Aunt Nell’s favorite.
For this weekend, we’ve reserved the same cabin, all on its lonesome on the mountain’s flank above the main lodge. It’s remote, but visible from a distance, so there will be no nudity on the front porch.
That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.
We’re going to dinner at the Pembroke Pass formal dining room later, but right now, Jordan’s in the shower after our afternoon stint of stand-up paddleboarding on the lake.
Did you know that it’s a little difficult to kiss and keep your balance on a SUP? Well, it is for me at least. There must have been sixty different moments I wanted to kiss him out on the lake, but I had to skip it.
Now I need to make up for it.
I’m sitting on the front porch in my yellow sundress, barefoot, my hair drying loose on my shoulders after my own shower, waiting for my husband. The sounds of a summer afternoon at Mountain Ridge are all around us—people hiking up the mountain, a horseback-riding group heading past on the path, the sounds of birds in the woods, swimmers at the pool splashing, people on the patio behind the main lodge clinking cocktails. We’re alone, in the midst of life and activity, and I feel so free and happy.
Love will do that to a girl.
When he comes out, he’s wearing cargo shorts and no shirt, and he’s barefoot too. “Hey, Ains, whatcha doin’ out here? I thought you wanted to relax after the paddleboard.”
I pat the loveseat next to me. “I’m enjoying the sun. When we get too hot, we’ll go back inside.”
He sits, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me. “Mmm. You taste good.”
I kiss back. Snuggle into his embrace. Pull the lightweight quilt over our laps. Jordan pulls back, startled. “Baby, it’s hot out here.”
“It’s about to get hotter,” I tell him, then settle the quilt loosely over us and slip a hand into his shorts to gently squeeze his shaft.
He jumps, then relaxes. Laughs quietly. “Damn sure it is. I shouldn’t have worn underwear.”
“Take ‘em off, then,” I suggest.
“You take yours off,” he counters, but he’s already slipping out of his shorts and boxers.
I smirk. “Don’t have to.” I take his hand and put it between my thighs as he sits back down, beautifully naked behind the quilt. He slides his hand up, and hums in delight when he encounters nothing but my pussy, already leaking my arousal.
“You are so incredibly sexy,” he says, kissing me.
With our tongues caressing each other the way our hands are, under the quilt, I’m increasingly excited. So is he, his cock lengthening and swelling, dripping at the tip. “Your hand feels good,” he says into my mouth. “I love the way you stroke my cock, baby.”
His fingers are circling my little nub the way I like, and I’m already close to fever pitch.
“You’re so wet,” he says, kissing my cheek and then my ear. “You gonna come for me, baby? Right here?”
