Page 28 of Bride on the Dotted Line (Blackstone Center #1)
Nick, Two Years Later
It’s seven o’clock on a Monday night. Ember for the last half an hour, she was propped on my office chair, legs spread while I made her come apart with my mouth. Now, I let myself pick up the pace. I thrust into her hard.
“Yes,” she whispers, and reaches behind her head to grip the edge of my desk, tendons straining in her wrists. “Yes, Nick. Please.”
Her voice dissolves into little gasps. God —that sound. Two years into our marriage, and I’ll never get tired of it.
How could I?
I love her.
I love the way Sienna fits around me, her body gripping mine like we’re made for each other.
I love the way she looks up at me, trust carved into her features, into that sweet, sighing part of her lips.
I love the life we’ve built together—slow mornings tangled in bed, the way she steals bites from my plate at dinner, the way she kisses me goodbye like she already misses me. I love …
Sienna writhes beneath me. “I’m going to come again,” she says, and a hot, incandescent shiver works through me, pleasure gathering in the head of my cock.
“You come for me,” I instruct her, and she does, her orgasm drowning my senses. Her back arches off the desk, bringing our bodies flush together. I snake an arm around her back to hold her against me.
“ Nick —oh my God?—”
I fuck her through her orgasm, and even before she fully comes down, I’m coming, too. We’re skin against skin, and I groan, my fingers curling around the perfect curve of her waist.
“Sienna.” I manage to choke out her name once, twice, before the taut squeeze of pleasure at the head of my cock lets go. She bites my shoulder, her legs holding me tight as I empty inside her, the feeling so intimate, so perfect, so fucking amazing that I can barely think.
After, while we’re still catching our breath, I help her clean up, running tissues from the box on my filing cabinet between her legs. She sits up with a mock glare.
“You are a terrible influence, Nick Harwood.”
“Who, me?”
“We’re definitely going to be late.”
I smirk at her, zipping up my fly. “You can’t tell me you’re ready to try for a baby and expect me not to fuck you right then and there.”
She laughs, smoothing the front of her lacy black dress. “If we conceive a child in the back of Ember why would I?
But when Victor speaks again, his voice is more reluctant than I’ve ever heard it. His brows draw together.
“You’ve … accomplished a lot,” he says slowly, pointedly examining the dance floor. “More than I thought possible in such a short time. Two years and you’ve managed to make something of yourself.”
A flicker of surprise. It’s not exactly an apology—Victor Harwood doesn’t make apologies, he buys them—but it’s a start. I study his face, noticing the hint of pride in his stony eyes, something I’ve never seen before.
Maybe I’m just seeing things.
“Guess I had some good motivation,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “And a good example of what it means to work hard and care about a business.”
My father nods, and his upper lip twitches as if he’s about to give me an unpracticed smile. But then he clears his throat, gulping his drink. “She’s good for you. That wife of yours.”
I cast a look over my shoulder, finding Sienna near the jazz band, her face lit by the glow of the stage lights.
She’s watching the musicians, tapping a heeled foot to the music, and I feel a wave of love for her, for everything she’s given me.
Sienna is the reason I’ve been able to build something real, to prove to myself that I’m capable, no matter what people say.
I turn back to my father, my voice steady. “It’s in my blood,” I tell him, choosing my words carefully. “I can’t help but want to be something. Especially with a father like you, and a woman like her by my side.”
Victor doesn’t respond, just stares at his empty tumbler. I smile to myself. There’s a bond between us—a complicated one. But it’s still there, beneath everything that happened. And I think that’s enough.
We stand in silence for a few moments, neither of us feeling fit to say anything more. It’s not exactly closure, but for now, it’s fine. I bid him goodbye—until the next time we see each other—and head back toward Sienna.
She’s swaying to the music, my wife, her mouth softly set in the dim light. She looks up as I approach, eyes bright with curiosity. “How did it go?”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I reach out, take her hand, and thread my fingers through hers. She doesn’t ask me for details, just smiles and presses her arm against mine. Grounding me in the moment.
The band plays on, and I glance back one last time, seeing Victor standing in the corner, nursing a new gin. I feel … satisfied. Whole, like the last puzzle piece is sliding into place.
Sienna leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close, resting my hand on her middle. I don’t need anything else. Not anymore.
As the music swells, I look down at her, and I’m nothing but grateful.
My legacy.