Page 23 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar (Uncle Uzzi’s Date to Mate #3)

Tamare

" D id I tell you how beautiful you look tonight, Mrs. Alistair?"

I grin as Dane saunters toward me, firelight flickering in his golden eyes, that sexy little half-smirk pulling at his mouth like he knows exactly how much I melt every time he says that name.

Mrs. Alistair.

God, that still feels like a dream.

We just finished dessert under the stars—gooey s’mores roasted over an open fire, chocolate dripping down our fingers, marshmallows toasted to that perfect golden brown.

It was delicious, obviously. But not nearly as sweet as hearing my husband say that name.

My married name.

“I could stand to hear it again,” I tease, tilting my chin up as he steps close and wraps those powerful arms around me, pulling me tight against his big, warm chest.

I’m still getting used to the way I fit here— how safe, how cherished, how wanted I feel when he holds me.

And the way he looks at me? Like I put the stars in the sky?

Forget it. I’m ruined for life.

I nuzzle into his neck, breathing in the scent of him— clean pine, smoke, and something warm and spicy that always gets me going.

“You are,” he murmurs against my temple. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t care if you’re in a sundress or covered in s’more goo. You’re it for me, Pretty Girl.”

“Technically, it was graham cracker dust and artisan marshmallow fluff, thank you very much,” I sniff, pretending to be offended.

He chuckles, low and deep in his chest, and the vibration runs through me like a purr.

“You’re a menace,” he says.

“You married this menace.”

“I did. Best decision I ever made.”

I lean back just enough to look into his eyes, and suddenly, I remember why I called him out here in the first place.

My heart starts to pound—not with nerves exactly, but with something a whole lot bigger.

Hope. Joy. Maybe even a little disbelief.

“Hey, um, speaking of decisions and big stuff,” I begin.

He tenses slightly, ever the protective Shifter.

“Something wrong?”

I shake my head fast.

“No. No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just, well, I know you said after we mated that I’d be able to tap into your supernatural healing and all, I guess I just wasn’t expecting this.”

I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and pull out the little white stick I’ve been hiding all day.

Dane stares at it, confused for about two seconds.

Then his eyes widen. His jaw drops.

“Is that?—?”

I nod, my throat too full to speak.

“It’s positive, Dane.”

He stares. I mean stares, like I just told him he won the supernatural lottery.

“You’re—we’re? Fuck, Tamare, are you saying you’re?—?”

I laugh through the tears building fast behind my eyes.

“Pregnant. Somehow, someway, our miracle baby decided to show up fashionably early.”

He pulls me into his arms so fast I yelp, spinning me in a circle as I squeal and cling to him, laughing and crying all at once.

“Holy shit,” he whispers against my mouth. “I didn’t think I could be this happy again. I didn’t think I deserved it.”

“You do,” I whisper back. “We do.”

He cups my face, serious now, golden eyes glowing like twin suns.

“Pretty Girl, I’m going to love this baby with everything I am. Just like I love you. Just like I love Alex. We’ve got our own pack now.”

“A pride,” I correct with a wink.

He growls, low and possessive, and kisses me slow, sweet, and deep.

Behind us, the fire crackles. Above, the stars burn bright. And in his arms, I know exactly where I belong.

This is the life I never knew I could have. The family I never thought I’d be part of.

And it’s just getting started.

“Fuck, I love you more every day,” Dane says, his voice low and full of heat, the words rumbling against my skin like thunder rolling across a summer sky.

I step out of his arms, watching as his smile slips into confusion— just for a second —before I start unbuttoning the long-sleeved flannel shirt I borrowed from him earlier.

I’m not wearing anything underneath. And his hungry gaze drops like a weight to my naked, heavy breasts.

“Show me,” I whisper.

That’s all it takes.

His eyes go molten, gold swirling like sun fire. And just like that, the switch flips— my sweet, doting husband replaced with the growling, possessive predator I know and love.

Dane stalks toward me, each step deliberate, hungry, and hot enough to make my knees tremble.

The dying campfire crackles nearby, throwing sparks into the night air like stars being born as he corners me, gently but insistently, back toward the blanket spread over the grassy knoll where we’d eaten s’mores and whispered promises under the stars.

“Come here, Mate,” he growls, voice hoarse with need.

My breath catches.

“Shouldn’t we move inside the trailer?” I ask, already breathless even though he hasn’t touched me yet— not really.

But then he’s there, so close, his nose brushing over the mark he left on my neck weeks ago, that sacred bond that tethers us together through magic, trust, and an obscene amount of orgasms.

He kisses the spot reverently, his voice rough velvet against my skin.

“Can’t wait that long. Need you now.”

And that’s it. That’s all the warning I get before he’s yanking my pants down and hoisting me up like I weigh nothing.

We tumble together, landing on the soft blankets with me on top of him, his body already hard and ready beneath me.

Somehow— because he’s magic like that —he ends up on the bottom, his back cradled by the earth and his hands absolutely everywhere, pushing aside fabric, baring skin, lining us up with single-minded focus like his body knows mine better than I do.

“I was, Baby. I was born to love you,” he groans, one hand bracing at my hip, the other cupping the back of my neck as he draws me down into a kiss that sets fire to the inside of my lungs.

“Now let me in.”

And I do.

I open for him— physically, emotionally, utterly —because I am his, and he’s mine, and nothing has ever felt more right.

His thick, engorged cock pushes into me, slow and deep, stretching me until every nerve in my body sings.

The fullness is overwhelming in the best possible way— delicious pressure and burning sweetness that makes my toes curl.

My head falls back with a gasp.

“Dane,” I moan, riding the edge of madness as my body takes him, accepts him, welcomes him.

He groans, fingers tightening, holding me steady as he drives up into me with a thrust that hits just right.

Like his body was made for mine.

Like maybe we were carved from the same soul.

The air is warm with magic and firelight. And I don’t care if the whole damn Pride hears me screaming his name tonight.

Because this?

This is what fated love feels like.

And I am so here for it.