Fin…

Oh my God.

He tugged on her hand to pull her closer and when he got her close, his other hand came to span her hip and he whispered, “This is where you chase your dreams, honey.”

The tears filling her eyes tumbled over.

“Baby.”

He grinned and said, “Happy wedding.”

She grinned back, the wet still coming and he let loose her hand and hip so both his hands could cup her jaws and his thumbs slid through.

“You’re not supposed to cry,” he whispered, watching his thumbs move.

“Fin, whenever you do something sweet, I cry. You can’t be surprised. It’s happened enough.”

His eyes moved from his thumbs to her and he smiled.

“Right,” he muttered.

“You got something wrong though,” she told him and his thumbs stopped moving.

“What?” he asked.

“See,” she started, “I used to sit out on my Dad’s balcony with my Dad, look at your farm and think that when I grew up and got married, I wanted to have a bedroom just like my Dad’s.”

“I’ll build you a balcony,” Fin said instantly and she closed her eyes.

God, God, she loved him.

Then she opened them and whispered, “I wasn’t done yet, baby.”

Fin said nothing.

Clarisse did.

“When I was on Dad’s balcony, I would sit there thinking that but I’d also sit there hoping to catch sight of you. And I might have wanted a bedroom like Dad’s when I got married. But more, I wanted to marry a boy who looked just like you.”

His eyes warmed (or got warmer) and he grinned again.

Then he stated, “Well, you managed that.”

She grinned back then it faded and she whispered, “What I’m saying is, I already caught my dream.”

She felt Fin’s fingers tense against her jaw and his head dipped so his face was super close.

Then he ordered, “Make up new ones.”

Then he pulled her to him and kissed her hard, wet and for a very, very long time.

She was late for her own party.

And she didn’t give a flip.

* * *

On Clarisse’s drive home…


She smiled at the road in front of her.

Fin’s wedding present was great.

But he’d have to wait for his for when they got home from their honeymoon.

She’d already picked her out but she wasn’t yet weaned. She would be in a week.

A golden retriever puppy.

* * *

The next morning…early…


“Ride it,” Mike growled his order in my ear.

“Baby, I want you,” I whispered, my neck twisted, forehead pressed into his neck.

“You know you gotta earn it, Angel.”

God, I loved it when he was bossy and dirty and hot.

Still, I wanted him.

On my knees, legs spread, Mike on his knees behind me, one arm around me, finger twitching on my clit, his other hand coming from the back, two of his long fingers buried inside me, I was mostly riding them but he was also finger fucking me.

It was building. Oh God. Oh God.

Damn, I was going to come without his cock.

“Mike,” I moaned then jammed myself down on his fingers and came.

He shoved them up further, finger still twitching on my clit and God, God, it was sublime.

Then I was on my back, my knees high, the backs of them hooked around the insides of Mike’s elbows, his hands were planted in the bed, his cock was planted in me.

I spread my legs wider, my eyes roamed over his body as my arms reached between my legs so my fingers could do the same.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered and I did what I was told instantly.

His head dropped down and he watched as he kept thrusting deep.

Oh God, it was going to be a double. A quick double. God, God.

“God,” I breathed and came again, my legs tensing around Mike’s arms and his driving cock slammed into me.

A few minutes later I felt Mike’s hips rear in and watched his head rear back, the chorded muscles of his neck straining, the veins sticking out and it was so fantastic, I nearly came again.

He stayed planted and my fingers roamed as he felt it then started coming down. And he continued to stay planted as he swung my calves in at his back and settled some of his weight on me.

Then he gave me his slow burn kiss.

When his mouth released mine and his was working my neck, I squeezed him with all four limbs, turned my head and said in his ear, “That was nice.”

“Yeah,” he murmured against my skin.

I grinned.

So Mike.

Yeah.

I squeezed him again. “I gotta get up, gorgeous, hit the shower.”

“You aren’t movin’.”

“Mike, it’s a big day. There’s a million things to do.”

He pressed his hips into me, I drew in breath and his head came up.

“You…are not…movin’,” he declared.

Mike was feeling in the mood to be alpha.

Then again, Mike was pretty much always in the mood to be alpha.

So I guessed I wasn’t moving.

“Right,” I muttered.

He grinned at me. Then his head dropped and his mouth started working my neck again and I wondered why I wanted to move in the first place.

* * *

Mike stood, bent at the waist, hands on the counter, eyes on the blonde haired little girl in her kelly green flower girl dress with a dish towel wrapped around her front sitting on the counter in front of him. Her Mom’s long, shining hair that was on her little girl head was a mass of curls with a wide, satin, kelly green ribbon threaded through them holding the hair away from her face.

She was engaged in downing a glass of chocolate milk.

And she was determined.

She accomplished this feat, dropped the glass she held in both her hands, looked up at her Dad with her big, dark brown eyes and dramatically gasped a long, “Ahhhh.”

Mike grinned and asked, “That good?”

His youngest daughter, Amanda grinned back with a chocolate milk mustache and nodded fervently.

“Right,” he muttered, “you’re topped up and good to go.”

Then he took the glass from her, set it aside and pulled the dishtowel from her front to wipe her mouth with it.

He was lifting her off the counter when Reesee, hair done, makeup perfect, wearing a shimmery short robe, raced in, took one look at him and shrieked, “I can’t find my shoes!”

Then she turned and raced out.

Mike put Mandy on her feet but dipped his chin into his neck to look way down at her and saw her head tipped way back to look up at her Daddy.

“Reesee’s nutty,” Mandy declared.

“Got that right, baby,” Mike muttered then turned and saw Austin, his dark blond headed, dark brown eyed, six year old son wearing a little boy’s tux complete with a yellow rose boutonniere pinned to his lapel wandering in.

“Reesee’s losin’ it, Dad,” he announced the obvious.

“I think I got that,” Mike told him.

“I can’t get married without shoes!” Reesee shrieked from what sounded like upstairs.

It was then Dusty walked in. She was wearing a pale yellow dress that skimmed her figure, a sheer, flowy layer of material over the same colored satin underneath. Sleeveless, v-necked and showing a minute amount of cleavage which exposed just a hint of her gunshot scar. It was v-backed as well but the back vee went lower. The skirt hugged her ass, hips and thighs and the satin stopped above her knees but the sheer layer fell in a flippy edge to skim them. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, wrapped in a pale yellow, satin ribbon. She had her diamond studs in her ears, the diamond pendant Mike gave her for their second anniversary (the second most important one, the day she forgave him) at her neck and that was it.

She looked stunning.

“We have a shoe crisis,” she proclaimed. “All hands on deck and by that, I mean you, Dad.” She looked down at Austin, “You, big man, I need to look after your sister. Her dress has to stay perfect for t-minus one hour and fifteen minutes and only then can she set about destroying it. Until the shoes are located, this is your mission. My suggestion, go into the family room and recruit Uncle Jordy to help you accomplish it.”

Austin looked up at his Mom and nodded solemnly. Then he moved to his sister, took her hand and led her toward the family room.

Dusty’s eyes slid through him and then she disappeared.

Mike winked at his daughter who was gazing back at him then he moved to join the search.

He was surprised Reesee wasn’t together but then again that day of any would be the time to lose it. Usually, she was quite a bit like Dusty, except in a quieter, softer way. Confident. Laidback. No-nonsense.

He figured in one hour, fifteen minutes, she’d come back to that.

He moved through the house mostly going through the motions considering he had no fucking clue what he was looking for.

This was not a hardship.

When Dusty was pregnant with Amanda, she’d sold her ranch to the couple who’d been renting it since a month after she got shot.

Then they’d moved from the development into The ‘Burg. A big, established house on Green Street. Huge yard. A line of peony bushes that ran the long, side drive that every May burst into huge, downy blooms of colors ranging from the richest cream to the deepest pink. In the summer Dusty hung four big pots of ferns from the roof of the front porch that ran the length of the house and she put his Adirondack chairs out there. The house had big rooms, a kitchen built to make Thanksgiving dinner and lots of sash windows where, in the living room at the front of the house, they put their Christmas tree every year. Out in the vast, sweeping backyard there was a detached two car garage and an enormous, heated shed where Dusty made her pottery.