Page 31

Jennifer

Months later

I n the backseat of an SUV humming down a highway in New Hampshire, I basked in the feeling of rightness in my life.

Dylan’s hand was on my thigh. His touch was possessive, electric, and I couldn’t stop grinning as we laughed about my father’s attempt to “grill” during our visit—he’d charred the hamburger to ash.

But somehow that was okay. He and my mother were still together and seemed happy.

I didn’t ask if he was keeping his vows, and I no longer needed to know.

My mother was content with her choice and that would have to be enough for me.

Dylan’s chuckle, deep and easy, filled the car, his presence making the backseat feel like our own world. Soft jazz drifted from the speakers, but it was his scent, his warmth, that had me dizzy.

Dylan was fully back—healthy, whole, and mine.

Last week, we saw Zachary and Charlotte’s newborn, Emma, a tiny bundle who had brought everyone together recently for a celebration of her arrival.

That joy, the sense of family, had inspired me to contact my parents, needing to share this feeling with them. It was time to move forward.

I glanced at Steven, his eyes on the road but a hint of a smile tugging his lips. “Rushing for a hot date with Bethany?” I teased, leaning forward.

Dylan’s grin was wicked. “He’ll never admit it.”

Steven shot us a mock-scowl in the rearview mirror, but his smile broke through, shy and boyish. “You two are trouble,” he muttered, and we laughed, because we knew he was seeing her. Bethany was good for him. Someday he might make it official.

The SUV pulled up to Dylan’s favorite resort. It was where he’d met Mark for the first time. We stepped out, quickly greeted by the resort manager while our luggage was collected. Steven waved goodbye with a grin, leaving us to our night.

Dylan led me into the suite, closing the door behind us.

I didn’t care where my suitcase landed. My hands were already on his shirt, fingers fumbling with buttons as we kissed, bumping into the dresser, the wall, nearly knocking over a lamp.

He laughed, catching me before I tripped, and spun us toward the bed.

“We don’t need games tonight,” I whispered, breathless against his mouth. “Just you and me, getting in as deep as we can.”

“Deeper,” he promised, his hands roaming, hot and steady, reverent.

We shed our clothes in bursts of laughter and kisses—his shirt stubborn, my bra even more so. “You definitely bought this just to challenge me,” he accused, pretending to glare as I wiggled my eyebrows, finally unhooking it. “Guilty as charged.”

He caught my chin, his eyes molten with heat and love. “I’m going to take my time tonight. Savor every fucking inch of you.”

My pulse stuttered. “That sounds heavenly.”

“Lie back, beautiful.” He nudged me gently onto the bed, climbing after me, his hands tracing my body feather-light, until I shivered with anticipation.

He cupped my breasts, thumbs swirling, mouth teasing until my nipples pebbled.

He took his time, worshipping with lips, tongue, and teeth until my back arched and I was gasping, desperate for more.

“You love torturing me,” I whispered, trembling.

He trailed kisses down my belly, slow and unhurried, pausing to swirl his tongue into my navel, nipping the inside of my hipbone, making me squirm. “No, sweetheart. I love worshipping you.”

He knelt between my thighs, pressing a kiss to the softest part of me, his breath hot, his stubble sending delicious shivers across my skin. He eased my knees wider, hands strong but gentle, spreading me open until I felt both powerful and vulnerable beneath his gaze.

He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, so close I thought I might combust. He paused, hovering, his lips so near I could feel every exhale. “I could spend hours right here,” he murmured, voice reverent and playful, “just listening to how your breath changes when I get close.”

I laughed, but it was shaky with need. “If you’re expecting me to complain, you’ll die waiting.”

“I’d rather live and keep doing this.” He grinned, then finally, finally—his tongue parted me, slow and savoring, licking a long, broad stroke that made my hips lift right off the mattress.

He groaned into me, like he was tasting the world’s sweetest treat.

He didn’t rush, not for a second. He kissed and licked and traced every inch, sometimes feather-soft, sometimes with more purpose, making me writhe.

He paused to look up at me, lips glistening, eyes wild. “Tell me what you want, Jen.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” I gasped, boneless. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t fucking stop.”

He chuckled and obliged, swirling his tongue in ways that made me clutch at his hair, my hips rising, pleasure winding tighter and tighter.

His hands massaged my hips, stroking my thighs, grounding me every time the pleasure made me float.

He teased with the tip of his tongue, then plunged deeper, and I nearly came undone.

He paused, planting a hot, open-mouthed kiss at the center of me, then whispered, “One thing I love about you? The way you taste when you’re this close.”

He flicked his tongue over my most sensitive spot, again and again, until I arched and cried out, pleasure crashing over me. I came with his name on my lips, my body shuddering, his mouth coaxing every last wave of bliss until I was limp, giggling, and utterly undone.

He slid up my body, his mouth finding mine, letting me taste myself on his lips. “Your turn,” he murmured, voice still ragged.

I let him roll onto his back, straddled his hips, kissed my way down his chest, my fingers skimming his abs, his sides, the firm ridge of his hipbones.

“One thing I love?” I said, teasing my tongue along the trail of hair that led to his cock.

“You’re strong enough to break me, but you never would.

You treat me like I’m precious and wild at the same time. ”

He groaned, shuddering as I wrapped my hand around him, my mouth hot and slow as I took him in, sucking and swirling, stroking with lips and tongue until his hands fisted in the sheets. “Jesus, Jennifer—”

I paused, looking up, my lips glistening. “Tell me something you love.”

He reached down, brushing hair from my face. “I love how you look at me like I’m a miracle, when the truth is, you’re the magic.”

I grinned, licked the tip, then took him deeper, loving how he bucked his hips, how his head fell back, how he whispered my name like a prayer.

When I slid up his body, he caught me, pulled me into a searing kiss. “Fuck. Yeah.”

I guided him in, slow and deep, both of us gasping. We found a rhythm—slow at first, letting the heat build, then wilder, more desperate. Between kisses, between moans, we kept the confessions going.

“I love your strength,” I panted, riding him, nails digging into his chest. “And your determination.”

“I love your kindness,” he countered, gripping my hips, moving me just how he wanted. “And your spice.”

I laughed, arched my back, riding him harder, letting him watch every inch slide in and out. He cupped my breast, thumb circling my nipple, sending shockwaves through me. “I love the sound you make right before you come.”

“I love that you know exactly how to make me lose my mind.”

I climaxed again, shuddering, barely catching my breath before he flipped me, pressing my knees back, thrusting deeper, kissing my throat, my shoulder, my jaw.

“Dylan—” I whispered, everything raw, open, “I wish I’d built a house as a shrine for you.”

He pressed his forehead to mine, voice wrecked. “We could stop talking now, Jen.”

He came, holding me tight, both of us trembling, our bodies tangled, our hearts wide open.

We stayed that way, catching our breath, kissing softly, gently—like the world had narrowed to just us, the only two people who had ever mattered.

After a while, he shifted, propping us up with pillows, drawing the blanket over us, and cradling me to his chest. “Wine by the fire?” he murmured, kissing my forehead, and I nodded, heart soaring, sensing something deeper coming.

He poured us each a glass then, eyes intense, knelt, holding out our wishing frog, like one might a ring box. My breath caught. “You’re already wearing my ring,” he said, voice husky and deep, “but open this.”

My fingers paused on the hinge. Not from fear of what was inside—but from the fragile, aching hope that it might really be what I thought.

That life this good could actually be mine.

That wishes—when you made them with your whole heart—really could come true.

My hands trembled, the hinge squeaking as I lifted the lid, and I found our Post-it wishes from months before.

I took them out and read them. Mine first. Because I was no longer held back by my fear.

“Mine says: Forever.” I kissed him and put my note aside before reaching for his.

“Yours says: Forever. You wrote it too?” I gasped, tears spilling, my heart cracking open.

He nodded, eyes soft but fierce. “Marry me, Jennifer.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and our kiss was fierce, tender, sealing everything. I pulled back, laughing through tears. “This frog’s magic!”

Dylan growled, “ We’re the magic,” his lips brushing mine, a playful edge like he was ready to drag me back to bed. “But let’s keep the frog just in case.”