by Whitley Cox
Mason shut his eyes and shook his head. “Lowenna, I can’t be—”
“Doneen and I talked.”
He opened his eyes again.
Her head bobbed, and she smiled. “Yeah, like really talked. She locked us in the bathroom, and we kind of had it out. Then we had a heart-to-heart, and we hugged.”
“You hugged?” Did she put a kick me sign on Doneen’s back?
“Yeah, we hugged. She apologized for sleeping with Brody while I was still married to him and for all the grief and shit she’s put me through.”
“Wow!”
“And I feel so much better.” Tears welled up in her eyes, but her smile was big and beautiful. Not an ounce of tension remained in her jaw. “It was closure for me. For us. I’m not angry anymore. I don’t want to get even or get revenge. I don’t hate my sister. She and I will never be friends. But at least we’re no longer enemies.” Her throat jogged on a swallow as she stepped toward him. “I want love, not hate. I want the future ruling my choices, not the past. I want joy, not anger.” She pressed her hand against his chest, over his heart.
His heart pounded hard as she pushed up onto her tiptoes, her lips hovering just inches from his.
“I want you, Mason.”
He brushed a strand of hair off her face, cupping her head in both his hands. “You’ve really given up this whole revenge thing?”
She slid her tongue along his bottom lip. “I’d give up everything for you. For Willow. For us. For our future. You want to look to the future with me? Plan for forever. Build a life and a family?”
He squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, imagining a life with Lowenna and Willow and possibly other children. Her, walking down the aisle wearing white. The two of them welcoming another child. Playing at the beach with their kids. Witnessing their children graduate high school and then college. Sitting on a porch, gray and wrinkly, holding hands as they watched their grandchildren arrive for Thanksgiving.
He saw it all. And in it all, he saw Lowenna by his side.
He opened his eyes, and there she was, blinking up at him, patiently waiting.
“So, stud? What you do say? Wanna plan a forever with me?” Her grin made everything in his body grow warm.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Absolutely.” Then he took her mouth, and quickly a simple kiss became so much more as he sealed their lips together, as his tongue, sweeping through her mouth, teased hers.
She whimpered and melted against him, moaning and humming as he slipped his hands down from her face to around her waist.
“Take me to bed,” she murmured, breaking their kiss just long enough to slide her hand between them and cup him. “Let’s celebrate Valentine’s properly.”
Groaning, Mason scooped her up into his arms, making her squeal, and in less than ten long strides, he was down the hall and into his bedroom.
They collapsed onto the bed in a fit of laughter, their lips roaming, hands exploring. Slowly, gently he peeled her dress over her shoulders and down her body. As he were unwrapping a fragile, precious gift.
Because she was a gift.
Even though they’d been together earlier that day, it was still a sight to behold, seeing her in nothing more than that weird bra and that sexy G-string. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her again, at the thought of getting to taste and take her any day and every day for the rest of their lives.
Lowenna was a flavor he would never tire of.
Mason’s long, strong fingers worked the pearly buttons of his shirt through the holes, revealing sexy tattooed skin inch by luscious inch. And with each button released, Lowenna’s nipples hardened, her pussy throbbed and her taste buds tingled.
The man was pure perfection.
An inked, pierced and muscled god … and he loved her.
He. Loved. Her.
“What’s that look for?” he asked, unfastening his trousers and letting them drop to the floor, the tent in his black boxer briefs enough to house an entire circus.
“What look?”
His mouth slid into a wily grin. “You’re smiling, but your eyes are saying I’m a porterhouse steak you can’t wait to sink your teeth into.” He crawled onto the bed, hovering over her and nipping at her chin.
She arched her back beneath him, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Because you are. And I’d love nothing more than to sink my teeth into you.” She opened her mouth wide and bit his shoulder, giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath.
Growling, he reared back up. “Panties off, woman. I shouldn’t have to ask. It should just be a given. When you’re in my bed … our bed, you need to be naked.” Gruffly, with a need and ferocity that aroused her to no end, he hooked his fingers beneath the strings of her G-string and pulled it over her mound and down her legs. But he didn’t toss it to the floor; no, he put it to his nose.
She gasped. “You did not just … ”
He took a big inhale, grinning, before he finally tossed the underwear to the ground. “Damn straight, I did, woman. No better scent, no better flavor than yours.”
That was dirty but oh so hot.
He continued to smile. “Admit it, you’re turned on by that.”
Raking her top teeth over her bottom lip, she looked away, unable to keep the eye contact he was giving her. It was too revealing, too intense. He saw right through her, saw all of her.
“Do I have to smell your underwear? Is this a reciprocal thing? Is this something that really gets you going?” she asked, finally sliding her eyes back to his, one eyebrow lifting on her forehead in query.
Mason tossed his head back and laughed a big, hearty, manly laugh. Still laughing, his chest and shoulders shaking above her, he shoved his hands beneath her back, rocked them and then rolled until she was on top. With his hands he encouraged her to sit up until she was straddling his torso, her hands on his chiseled chest, fingers tracing his tattoos.
With his hands now free, he reached up and relieved her of her bra, tossing it to the side, off the bed. “No, you do not have to smell my underwear … unless you want to. But even then, I would think that to be a bit weird. Some things do not work both ways.”
He cupped her breasts and swiped his thumbs over her nipples until they peaked hard and tight. A shiver raced down to her clit, and she trembled over him.
“I mean it,” she said once the ripple of pleasure had dissipated, “no more anger. No more hate. No more revenge. I’m moving on.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Promise? No more pranks. No more itching powder?”
Uh-oh!
His eyebrow dropped to join the other one, then they both narrowed. “What did you do, Lowenna?”
She bit her lip, her eyes sliding to the side. “Um … ”
His head began to shake. “Oh no, Lowenna, what did you do?”
Grumbling, she fixed her gaze back on him. “It’s your fault, really. You gave me the idea … I just took it a step further.”
“Me! What did I do?”
“You’re the one who sent me the link to that old English guy.”
“You didn’t!”
“I didn’t what?”
“Make a mold of your asshole and then give it to them?” At this point she wasn’t sure his eyes could get any wider or his voice any higher. It was a pretty hilarious look for him, particularly because he was also naked.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and shook her head. “No. I did not make a mold of my asshole. But I did have the English guy send me a mold of his. With which I made a bunch of chocolates and a few with chocolate laxative. And I may or may not have left those laxative buttholes in their honeymoon suite.” She bit her lip again.
“May or may not?”
“May.”
“Oh God, Lowenna … ”
“What? I was still hell-bent on revenge. And then when Doneen and I talked, I was so shocked and then determined to get to you that I completely forgot.”
Once again, his body started to shake with laught
er beneath her. His eyes were closed, his mouth open in a big smile as a sound she’d come to love rumbled from his chest. “Oh, my love,” he finally said, opening his eyes, “they are in for a pretty interesting night and morning, aren’t they?”
“She did have her wedding on my birthday,” Lowenna said sheepishly.
“And she did sleep with your husband,” he added.
“True enough.”
He rolled his eyes, still laughing. “Okay, but no more revenge plots. That was it.”
She held up her pinky finger. “I promise.”
He linked his finger through hers, and they shook. Then he pulled her forward, using just their pinkies until their lips locked.
They were both breathless, and Lowenna was incredibly wet, by the time they broke the kiss. Her heart full and her brain gloriously fuzzy.
She lifted her head and gazed down at him.
“You’re it for me, Lowenna,” he whispered, reaching up and cupping her cheek, bringing her face down to him once again, his lips brushing over her eyes, her cheek and along her jaw. “You’ve been like a song in my head for months. Over and over you’ve played until I went to sleep thinking about you and then woke with you on my mind again.”
Tears stung the back of her eyes at his words.
He was the same for her. A love song, a ballad she kept putting on repeat. Only it took her a bit longer to learn the words of the song than it should have, but now, it was her favorite tune and one she wanted to hum and whistle forever. It was the song she wanted to dance her life to.
“You, me, Willow, we’re going to be a family.” He buried his face in her neck.
“And maybe some frozen-egg babies too?” she asked, unable to stop that persistent tear from slipping down her cheek, a small sob choking her from just how happy she was. Truly. Finally.
He lifted his head from the crook of her neck and cupped her face again, his eyes so full of love, she thought her heart might burst. With the pad of his thumb, he wiped away her tear. “And all the frozen-egg babies we can make.”
She laughed through the tears, through the sob. “No condom, okay? I’m clean.”
“Me too.” His voice was rough and deep like a well-aged whiskey. It made everything inside her clench and pulse.
“Just us.” She shifted until he was notched at her center, the tip of him bobbing at her slick entrance.
Mason bucked up and sheathed himself to the hilt inside her, both of them letting out a moan of satisfaction when he seated himself fully. When they became one.
“Just us,” he repeated, then took her completely, and she gave him everything.
Her present, her future, her forever.
Epilogue
2 years later …
Mason yawned his millionth yawn for the night as he wandered up and down his hallway, bouncing and swaying his six-week-old son in the stretchy wrap he wore on his chest.
Wyatt Oscar Whitfield had been up off and on since midnight, and it was now four thirty in the morning. Mason could count on one elbow just how many hours of sleep he’d gotten.
Finally, though, it looked like Wyatt had settled a bit and was dozing. Mason didn’t dare try to get the little guy out of the carrier. Oh no! That would not work. Wyatt—much like his big sister when she was this age—much preferred to sleep vertical and attached to someone. God forbid Mason extract him from his cozy cotton cocoon and try to get some sleep himself.
He stood in front of the living room window, gazing out at the dark street, wondering just how many other parents were currently up with their newborns.
Probably more than he realized.
A creak on the floor behind him had him wincing. Even the slightest sound could wake Wyatt, and then he’d be back to square one. Slowly, he spun around, hoping that Willow hadn’t gotten up needing help with the potty.
Thankfully, his daughter was still happily asleep in her room. Lowenna blinked tired eyes at him as she cradled Wyatt’s twin brother, Warren Oliver Whitfield, in her arms. She yawned. “This one’s fed and has a full belly. Finally. How about that one?” Her hoarse whisper indicated just how exhausted and depleted she was.
Lowennna, the selfless, amazing mother of his children. She had decided that she wanted to try to breastfeed their twins. So she took a drug with some crazy possible side effects that encouraged lactation. It worked like a hot damn, and his wife was a milk machine.
Which was great, because their sons were hungry little beasts, so Lowenna spent nearly every waking minute feeding one baby or the other. Although they did top the boys up with formula, Lowenna was determined to breastfeed as much as she could—and it was taking its toll on her.
“Come sit down,” he whispered, extending an arm out, which she stepped into immediately. Her body went lax against his as he led her over to the couch, his other hand gently patting Wyatt’s butt.
She plopped down on the couch, Warren still in her arms, fast asleep. He was the easier baby of the two. Poor Wyatt was a touch colicky and not so easily soothed as his fraternal counterpart. He also very much preferred Lowenna to Mason, so it was a bit surprising he was as asleep and content in Mason’s arms as he was.
He didn’t think about that too long, though, in case he jinxed himself.
His gorgeous woman closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the couch, the baby cradled safely in her arms. “Can you imagine if more of those embryos had implanted? I’m exhausted with two babies and a toddler. I couldn’t imagine if we had triplets or”—her eyes flew open—“or quadruplets.” She shut her eyes again and shook her head. “I don’t know how some parents do it. This is exhausting.”
Bravely, Mason eased himself down on the couch next to her, still patting Wyatt’s butt. “Yeah, me either. Though I must say, I am happy to have someone in this chaos with me this time. Those first few months with Willow where it was just me … I don’t know how many times I thought I’d made a mistake becoming a single dad—going it alone. Lay awake at night a lot wondering how I was going to get through the next day and the next and not inevitably screw her up for life.”
Lowenna chuckled softly beside him, her head falling to the side to rest on his shoulder. “There’s nobody else I’d rather weather this diaper storm with.”
Mason snickered. “Me either, baby.”
Too good to be true, because most things in life are, Wyatt began to stir and fuss in the carrier. His head bopped vigorously on Mason’s bare chest in search of sustenance. “Looks like twin B is hungry,” he said, hastily pulling his squirming newborn out of the stretchy wrap before he woke up his brother.
Every one of Lowenna’s movements was slow and precise, fatigue in her weary muscles and joints. Once Mason had Wyatt out of the wrap, they did the baby shuffle. Mason took Warren, plopping him in the wrap, where he snuggled right down and promptly began to snore, while Lowenna put Wyatt to her breast. The baby immediately began to guzzle.
“Hungry beast,” she whispered, running her knuckle over his cheek.
“Voracious.” Mason pecked her on the temple. “You’re Super Mom, you know that?”
She shut her eyes and leaned her head back on his shoulder. “I don’t feel like Super Mom. I feel like Tired Mom.”
“You can be both.” He grabbed a blanket off the corner of the couch and draped it over their legs. She nestled right in next to him, her arm cradling Wyatt, whose eyes were glued shut, his hands holding his mother’s breast like it was a bottle. “Thank you for this life,” he said, resting his hand on her thigh beneath the blanket. “For our sons, for being the most incredible mother to Willow. The most amazing partner to me.”
She opened her eyes and lifted her head from his shoulder. “I should be thanking you. Without you, I’d still be on the train of vengeance. Plotting Operation Revenge 2.0. You gave me something bigger, something greater to hope for, to love.”
“I love you.”
Her smile was small and serene. She was so tired. “I love you, too.” Another yawn c
laimed her smile. “What time is it? All the days and hours seem to be blending together.”
He glanced behind him at the clock on the mantle. “Closing in on 5 a.m.”
She blinked a few times before her eyelids drooped, then finally closed. “I feel like just a minute ago I was sweeping up the mess Willow made on the floor after dinner.”
He snorted. “That was last night. We were at my parents’ for dinner tonight.” His gaze fell to the still-nursing Wyatt. “You really are tired.”
She yawned again. “Just a little.” Then she perked up. “Wait! Is today Monday?”
Mason squeezed his eyes shut and tried to envision his work calendar in his head. “Yes, I think it is.” His eyes flew open. “Oh shit!”
“It’s okay.” She shook her head. “We both forgot.”
Damn it.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I knew it was coming up. I just thought I had more time. I could have sworn it was next week.” How could he forget his wife’s birthday? It was on the calendar with a holiday marker and everything.
“I forgot, too.” She kissed him on the shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mase. There isn’t anybody else I’d rather spend it with than you, be it in bed naked with chocolate body paint or sitting on the couch in the middle of the night, covered in spit-up with our starving newborns. As long as you’re my Valentine every year, I’m happy no matter where we celebrate.”
And this was why he loved this woman so goddamn much.
“Mase?” she said, her head back against the couch, eyes closed.
“Hmm?”
“Marry me?”
Mason sat up straight and pivoted to stare at her, jostling Warren slightly but not enough to wake him up. “Lo?”
She opened her eyes and smiled serenely at him. “Marry me.”
Fuck, she really was perfect.
Without saying a word, but careful not to disturb his kid, he pried himself off the couch and took off down the hall toward their bedroom. He was back in a flash, box in hand. He handed it to her.