Page 46 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

ROSE

S ierra groans into my mouth, and I swallow down the sound.

Our tongues dance together, fast and unrelenting, and she tastes like chocolate and the room service espresso martini she ordered in lieu of coffee this morning.

I ordered a salted caramel latte with Irish cream liqueur, because, although we’re not planning to be blackout drunk this time, it only makes sense to have a little buzz to pay homage to the last time we were here.

I drag my lips down Sierra’s body, pushing the top of her robe off so she’s naked except for her collar and her ring. I’ll never get used to the sight of her. I’m as obsessed with her body as I was the first time I saw a sliver of her waist when we first moved in together.

She cries out as I circle her nipple with my tongue, sinking her fingers into my hair.

“We don’t have time for this, honey,” she whimpers, but she makes no effort to move.

“I can be quick.”

“Since when? ”

Valid. “They’re not going to start without us,” I say between licks, and Sierra thrusts her head back into the pillows. “We have time.”

“You forget that I know you. You’re going to say we have time, get me off, then rush me to get ready so we’re not late—oh, fuck.”

I nudge her legs apart and press my thigh between them until she’s squirming. As if by instinct, she bucks her hips, grinding against my thigh.

She’s not wrong. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“Rosie,” she groans. “No fair. I want to play, too.”

I make a show of sighing as I rise up over her, tossing my hair over my shoulder. I’m going to regret fucking it up when I need to make it presentable.

“How do you want me, wife?”

Sierra’s pupils flood her eyes as I hover above her. She licks her lips, and I chuckle. Message received.

I turn around so I can straddle her face with my back to the headboard. Sierra doesn’t even wait for me to settle before she pulls my hips down and runs the flat of her tongue over my clit.

The instant zip of pleasure propels me forward. I lean over and press my middle finger inside her while I take her clit between my lips. Sierra moans against me, and I almost fall apart, but I close my eyes, forcing myself to hold out a little longer.

Making Sierra come is my favorite thing in the world, followed closely by coming at the same time as her. And it feels right today to soar together.

I massage her G-spot with my finger, alternating between sucking her clit and blowing, until she’s twisting in the sheets. She grips my ass so hard that it hurts a little, and the pain just drives me closer and closer to the edge.

My hips move of their own accord, so I’m practically fucking her face, and she meets every grind of my pussy with a stroke of her tongue.

I press a second finger inside her, and she gasps, tightening around me. Over the past few months, I’ve learned her body by heart, and I know she’s close when her legs start to shake. I increase the pressure of my fingers, she pulls me harder against her mouth, and we tumble into bliss together.

She closes her thighs around my head as she comes, but neither of us slows down as we coax each other through it. I would happily stay here, my head trapped between her legs, getting her off again and again, and I’m seriously considering it when an alarm blares.

I sigh and pull my fingers out of Sierra. It’s never enough.

Dismounting her face, I lick every drop of her from my fingers as I jump up off the bed and cross the room to turn my alarm off. As soon as I’ve turned it off, a pillow hits my back.

I turn around, raising an eyebrow at my wife. “What was that for?”

“You liar. You said we had time, but you set an alarm.”

“We had time, didn’t we?” I crawl up the bed between her thighs and lean in to kiss her. “You requested an hour to get ready, and you have an hour and fifteen minutes. You’re welcome. ”

She tries to glare, but she can’t stop smiling enough to do it. “You better let me up to get ready, then. I think showing up to the chapel soaking wet after your wife rode your face is probably frowned upon.”

“At the very least, Jazz would kill you,” I say, smacking her ass as she gets up.

She shivers. “It’s so easy to get on her bad side right now, and I have no interest in making it easier.”

Jazz is due in a couple of months, and the closer she’s gotten to giving birth to our niece, the more… tense she’s become. She just about tolerates people, and she made one of Cal’s oldest clients cry a couple of weeks ago. Thankfully, it was a client he didn’t like.

We offered to hold off on our vow renewal until after the baby was here, but Jazz has been so excited about this trip that we’re forging ahead.

I didn’t know how serious Sierra was when she mentioned another wedding, but within an hour of us putting our rings back on, she already had Pinterest open.

We weighed the pros and cons of a bigger wedding in Seattle and traveling farther afield for something smaller.

We even talked about flying somewhere warm, but decided to stay within driving distance to make things easier for Jazz.

Once we got the idea of returning to Vegas, we couldn’t shake it. It just felt like the right place for a do-over—one that we’ll remember this time.

We’re keeping it small, but it didn’t feel right to do it alone this time, considering we wouldn’t be here without the people who care about us nudging us in the right direction.

Jazz, Liam, Maggie, Cal, Liam’s moms, Xan, Kami, and her daughter, Lexi—but not her husband, because they’re finally over—Sierra’s parents, Kyo, Lina, and Rylan.

For the first time in my life, I have a family that lifts me up and supports me unconditionally.

My parents aren’t here. I wanted to want them here, but I’m not ready to let them back in yet.

Maybe one day I will be, but, as my therapist says, I’m not healing for them.

I’m healing for myself, and that means taking things at my own pace.

Xan and Jazz have been nothing but respectful of my decision, and we get closer every day.

Like me, Jazz has distanced herself from our parents, not willing to let them stress her with the baby coming so soon. Xan still works with our dad, but he’s no longer trying to cling to whatever relationship they had.

The three of us are talking—about the good memories and the bad, the things we never said growing up, and the things we wished we’d done differently. Slowly but surely, we’re unpacking the collective trauma of being Alexander and Lilia Cannon’s children. Together.

The past few months have involved a lot of work and a lot of healing.

Sierra and I both started therapy, and I started medication.

It didn’t work overnight, but we’re both doing better than we were.

We’ve started making more friends, hanging out with Imogen, Minah, and a few others from the lab, and we have a joint therapy session once a month just to give us a chance to talk anything out that we need a little extra help with.

We still fight, and we argue constantly, but it always ends with us falling asleep in each other’s arms—never mad, because I refuse to end up like my parents.

“Are you going to get ready, or just watch me?” Sierra asks, peeking over her shoulder from her seat in front of the mirror as she blends her foundation.

“Shh, I’m trying to watch my favorite show.”

Sierra’s face lights up like sunshine as she laughs, and it sounds a whole lot like forever.

SIERRA

I thought we might remember at least some of the chapel when we came back, but nope. The night Rose and I got married is as much of a blur as it was the morning after.

“You know, we chose pretty well, considering how drunk we were,” Rose says, clinging to my hand and looking over the room as the doors open and the music swells.

We opted to walk down the aisle together, because neither of us really buys into the being given away thing.

We already belong to each other, heart and soul.

The room is gorgeous, with high arched ceilings, and floaty purple curtains lining the walls.

At the end of the aisle, there’s a giant violet heart with twinkling bulbs that some might consider tacky, but I love it.

It’s the same heart from the background of our original wedding picture, and I can’t wait to hang our new one beside it at home.

There are flowers everywhere, but that was our addition.

Rose’s, actually. She planned to surprise me, but stressed herself out so much about picking the right kinds of flowers that she broke down and asked me what I wanted—roses, of course, but she got every other flower from my list of favorites to line the aisle, and there’s a spread of petals under our feet as we stand by the officiant.

I may not remember anything about our original wedding, but I know for a fact I didn’t feel like I do now.

I’ve never been happier, never felt so fulfilled as I am with Rose.

There’ll always be a part of me waiting for her to wake up one day and realize she could be with anyone she wanted, but I know her.

Even if she did wake up and think that, she wouldn’t go anywhere, because she has who she wants. And somehow, that’s me.

Standing facing each other, holding hands, the room might as well be empty for all I care. It’s just me and Rose, and nothing else matters.

We take a joint deep breath as the officiant clears her throat.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

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