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“Hurry,” I whisper.
He thrusts into me, his grunts of pleasure echoing all the way to my bones. As much as I love watching him when we’re fucking, I also revel in the sheer animalistic force of him taking me from behind. His pelvis rubs against my ass, and he reaches around to fondle my breasts and twist my nipples as he pumps long and deep.
“There you go,” he hisses, biting down on my shoulder as my arousal mounts higher. “I feel you getting close, baby. Come on, now. Work for it.”
I moan and shove my hips back, meeting his increasingly hard thrusts. The band of tension winds tighter and tighter before snapping. I cry out, gripping the counter as an orgasm spirals through me.
As I’m still convulsing, Dean pulls out of me. A second later, he growls in satisfaction, and his come shoots all over my ass and lower back.
Dragging a breath into my hot lungs, I turn and sink to my knees. He pushes his hand into my hair as I take his cock in my mouth, licking and sucking the final sensations from him.
“Goddamn.” He slides his hands under my arms and pulls me back to my feet. “How did I get lucky enough to find you? Tokeepyou? Never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. It’s better not to question miracles.”
“Agreed.” I smile and kiss his cheek.
As we clean up and get dressed, I relay the terms of the venture capitalist’s investment offer, and Dane gives me a progress report on High Tide’s final preparations before opening, which includes the installation of a grill the size of an aircraft carrier.
“Speaking of the grand opening, my mom needs you to approve all the details for opening night,” I say, fastening my skirt.
“I don’t need to approve anything.” He pulls his shirt over his head. “Whatever she has planned is fine with me.”
“But she wants your input.” I pat his chest. “The buzz about High Tide has made it all the way down to Monterey County, and the waiting list is about a mile long. She wants everything to be perfect. And it’s your restaurant.”
“Seafood shack.”
“Sorry, seafood shack.” I eye him pointedly. In addition to having obtained her hairdresser’s license, my mother has proven to be very adept at event planning. Dane put her in charge of High Tide’s grand opening and several other private events already on the books—including Selina’s engagement party to Sheriff Kevin Peterson.
“She’ll just keep bugging you until you give her your approval,” I remind him.
“Okay, okay. I’ll call her tonight.” He puts his tools away and picks up his sweatshirt. “Come on, wife, let’s go home. I’ll finish up here tomorrow.”
He locks up the building, and we return to the house we purchased in Pacific Cove, halfway between San Francisco and Crescent Bay. We spent a year and a half living in his house in Oakland while he started plans and renovations for High Tide. We turned the second bedroom into an office, where I continued working on Milk & Honey.
When I was able to open a brick-and-mortar Milk & Honey store in the city, we sold the house and purchased a little cottage where we both have a shorter commute in both directions. The cottage is about the same size as the Oakland house, but it sits on a much bigger lot that allows plenty of room for expansion.
Though Dane and I both spend a great deal of time working, we’ve always put each other first. We call and text often; I stop by High Tide to help with painting or decorating; he comes into the city to take me to lunch or coffee, and we make a point of having dinner together every night.
We both take Sundays off—no exceptions—and spend the whole day without phones or computers. We hike, go to art fairs and museums, explore parts of the Bay Area we haven’t seen before, and make love in whatever way we choose—whether it’s raw and dirty or sweet and slow. Both ways, and the endless varieties in-between, are thrilling, exciting, fun, and soul-deep satisfying.
Dane heats leftovers while I change into comfy clothes when we get home. We eat dinner on the back deck that overlooks our flower and herb gardens and a grove of shady trees.
“I’ve been thinking,” Dane says, swirling spaghetti onto his fork.
“Uh-oh,” I murmur. “That can’t be good.”
He shoots me a mild glare. “Careful, little girl. I’m a lot bigger than you. I could turn you over my knee in less than a second.”
“Promises, promises.”
He chuckles, even as heat flares in his eyes. “Hold that thought.”
“Okay.” I reach for a sourdough roll and break it open. “So if that’s what I’m thinking about, what are you thinking about?”
“Having a baby.”
I drop the roll. My breath catches in my throat, and I lift my head to stare at him.
“A baby?” I repeat.
