Page 29 of Only You

“Shhh...” I say, covering Remy’s mouth as I kiss his neck softly, sliding into him with slow, precise strokes. We started with him on his hands and knees, holding onto the headboard before I flipped him onto his back and slid into him again.

If he doesn’t quiet down though, I might just have to flip him back over and shove his face in the pillow. The man is loud and expressive in bed, and I fucking love it.

But nowadays, we have to keep it down, since Jason and Christopher now live here with us. I knew two years ago when I first met the little boys—brothers only six and eight years old—that they were special somehow. Not that all kids aren’t special—but these two were special to me. To Remy too.

I couldn’t stop thinking about them. How leaving them behind at the group home on Christmas just felt so wrong. Turns out, Remy felt the same. And after we both admitted that, that’s when the serious talks started. The talks about how maybe we could foster them.

Get them out of that damn group home. But I think we both realized pretty quickly that neither of us were cut out for fostering. At least not short-term fostering. So we started looking at adoption.

Just like that. It all kind of clicked. But since adoption is a long, grueling process, we did end up fostering Jason and Chris at first, and then we finally adopted them.

We also got married during that time. Not only because it just made the whole process a little easier, but because I wanted him as my husband.

We got married in the same place Kellan and Phillip did—with the same sort of ceremony, except it was a summer wedding, so none of us had to freeze our balls off.

“Hurry up and make me come then,” Remy sasses, and goddamn, do I love my husband.

“Gladly,” I growl into his ear and then push up, bracing my weight on my hands and slamming into him over and over before pushing one of his legs back and up, giving me better access.

“Yes. There. Fuck,” he pants in whispers, but I still hope our boys are fast asleep because they’re loud whispers.

I watch as he grabs his cock, stroking fast, the purple head of his dick leaking like crazy until he turns his head, trying to muffle his cries into the pillow, and his cock explodes.

It’s enough to send me over, coming deep inside my husband, milking every last bit of cum into him. I pull out of him slowly because after that pounding I know he has to be at least a little sore, even if he won’t admit it, and then fall flat on my back next to him. “Merry Christmas.”

He snorts and rolls to his side to kiss my cheek. “Merry Christmas. I can’t believe the boys aren’t awake yet.”

Thankfully, I remembered to lock the door because just like he summoned them from their dreams, there’s a rattle on the door handle and giggling coming from right outside our bedroom. “That was close,” I say with a chuckle.

“Just a minute, boys! Don’t start without us,” Remy calls as he hops out of bed, his bare ass on display and making my still semi-hard dick try to rally for another round. “No,” he says to me knowingly, a sweet, beautiful smile on his lips. “It’s time for dad-mode to activate.”

I chuckle as he goes into the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it, then cleaning himself off before rinsing it and tossing it to me. I catch it, even though I’m still enjoying the view, but he’s lost all patience now.

“Get up. It’s Christmas! I can’t wait for them to see all the presents.” He tugs on his sweats. “We kind of went overboard, didn’t we?”

I clean up and then toss the washcloth into the hamper, climbing lazily out of bed and walking over to him, my hands moving to his hips. “No such thing. Those boys deserve to be spoiled.”

Remy’s grin is wide now as he sighs softly. “They really do. God, I can’t believe they’re really ours.”

He struggled with the fact that he wanted to become a parent so badly and more than I did.

But that makes sense. I’m not an overthinker.

It felt right, so we made it happen. Remy—he overthinks.

He worried he might not be what was best for them—which I found insane, Remy is what’s best for everyone—and he worried maybe it wouldn’t happen. I knew somehow it would.

That they were ours, and any judge would see that. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like I knew Remy was mine. And Jason and Chris—they were our family.

“They are,” I say softly, kissing his lips but keeping it brief because I’m pretty excited to see them open presents too. “Forever. We even have the paperwork to prove it.”

He laughs and then shoves my chest playfully. “Get dressed.”

I do as I’m told, and when we open our door, there are two little boys looking up at us excitedly, just waiting.

We all head into the living room, and we watch their eyes light up.

Seeing all the presents under the tree is worth every single side job I took on to make it happen.

Being a mechanic, it’s fairly easy to find little jobs to do on the side, here and there.

We encourage them to tear into the packages, and the boys go feral. Their laughter and light giggles fuel my soul as I drink my coffee and sit next to Remy on the couch, my arm around him as we watch our sons and their absolute joy.

We have plans to go over to Kellan and Phillip’s for an early dinner and to let the kids play together.

You’d think Phillip had mellowed out a bit from his holiday-monster status, but I swear the guy has gotten worse, so we plan to be on time or early.

But we still have plenty of time to soak it all in right now.

And to make blueberry pancakes together as soon as we finish with presents. We started that tradition last year during their first Christmas with us, and I fully intend to keep it going.

All those years I spent wondering if I’d ever be truly happy. If I even deserved it. And now here I am... blissfully happy and knowing without a doubt this is what I deserve.

This is my life, and I couldn’t be happier.

All because I didn’t hold back. I didn’t fight it. And I went for it.