Page 27 of After this Summer (Seasons in Montana: Summer #11)

BEAU

A YEAR AND A HALF LATER

“ H appy anniversary, Mrs. Sterling.”

“Happy anniversary, Heartthrob.” She grins, clinking her glass against mine as we sit on the porch of our tiny getaway cabin about an hour west of Wintervale.

Indie hadn’t felt right about the settlement, so we bought this tiny lakefront property and put the rest toward the kids’ college funds that will be divided up once we’re done having them.

Seeing my wife pregnant with Cormack rewired something in my brain, and I’d be lying if I said I don’t try and put a baby in her every time I’m inside her.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” she asks, narrowing her eyes even though a smile still plays on her lips.

“How sexy you looked carrying our baby.”

“No,” she says, playfully pointing a finger in my direction. “Cormack just weaned himself and I’d like to enjoy someone not bein’ attached to my boob all hours of the day if it’s all the same to you.”

“I mean…”

She laughs, smacking the back of her hand against my chest, but I know it was tough for her to transition even though Cormack was ready. Grabbing her wrist, I bring her palm to my mouth and press a kiss to the center of it.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re amazing,” I tell her, tugging her hand until she gets up from her rocker and lands in my lap. “And I’m gonna enjoy the hell out of you for the next three uninterrupted days.”

“As if you don’t enjoy me on the kitchen counter. And over the back of the couch. Or the shower at home,” she says, setting her drink down on the little table and turning to straddle my lap. “You seem to do just fine, Mr. Sterling.”

“But that’s at home, and almost always interrupted,” I tell her, gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling it up over her head.

Her body is gorgeous, soft and curvy from the pregnancy, and I’ve done my best to encourage her whether it’s her new obsession with yoga or resting after being up all night with our son.

She’s perfect.

And I never want her to doubt that.

“Well in that case,” she whispers, leaning forward as she unclips her bra, her round, full tits falling from the cups and into my hands.

Groaning, I lap at her nipples, squeezing and kneading her breasts—loving on my wife right here on the porch—just the way she likes.

The way she deserves.

Because one night of bliss has bloomed into a lifetime of happiness and I won’t waste a single second.

THE END