“Touch yourself,” he mumbles with a mouth full of me. He stretches one arm toward my chest, covering the hand that rests on my breast with his own. While still lapping at the throbbing bud, he takes my finger with his and begins stroking over my pebbled nipple. “Just like that,” he croons when I lose all inhibitions and give in to his demand, tweaking the firm peaks while grinding into his face. Within seconds I come apart on his tongue. Tremor after tremor rocks through my core while he keeps at it, draining every ounce of pleasure from my body.
“That was just a prequel,” he says with a wink, reaching for the drawer on his nightstand. I watch with rapt attention as he retrieves a foil packet while still licking my release from his glistening lips. “Do you want to put it on?”
“Umm. I’m not sure I know how.” I brace myself on my elbows. “No one’s ever offered before.”
“It’s not hard,” he says, and I snort, staring at the massive erection pointing right at me.
He shakes his head. “That’s definitely hard.”
“I’ll say.”
“You just roll it on.” He tosses the little packet at me. “I want you to know you’re protected.”
Of all the things he might have said in this moment, I don’t think anything else could have possibly meant more. This man shows me his heart in a million ways each and every day. “Okay,” I say, climbing to my knees. “You ready?”
He grunts. “Don’t I look it?”
“Yes,” I confirm, my eyes widening as I get a closer look. “Yes, you do.” Still nodding, I rip the foil open, careful not to damage the condom. “Here I go.”
His dick bobs lightly with the soft rumble emerging from his chest.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Yes,” he deadpans, watching as I hesitate just above the head of his penis. “Here,” he says guiding my hand with his own along his shaft. “Rolls on just like that.” Each word becomes more strained as he hardens further beneath my touch.
“That was easy enough.” I grab the wrapper from the bed. “Where should I put this?”
“I don’t fucking care.” With a throaty growl, he hooks an arm around my back, flopping us both onto the mattress.
“I’ll just pick that up when we’re through,” I say, unsure of where it ended up. “Ohh,” I groan when his lips smash against mine.
Someone’s in no mood for conversation.
“I can’t wait any longer.” There’s an entirely unnecessary apology in his tone.
“Then don’t.” I lift my head to nip at his jaw while he seats himself at my entrance. It takes a herculean effort not to elevate my hips and force him inside.
Wyatt props himself on his forearms, stroking my hair while staring directly into my eyes, nudging inside just a fraction of an inch. He stills, his body trembling over me while I relish the feel of his warm skin on my skin—of his heartbeat drumming in time with my own.
“Here’s to forever, Whit.”
As he pushes forward, my nails score his back, breaking the skin on his shoulder blades. “Wyatt,” I whimper at the full feeling of having him sheathed inside me. My pussy begins to pulse around him, and I can scarcely draw breath I’m so caught up in the overwhelming sensation of being so connected to this man.
Then he starts to move—rocking in and out of my body at a deliciously slow pace. It’s a gift in the most exquisite form of torture.
“You feel so good,” he grunts, his eyes wild with desire. “So right.”
I grip two hands full of his hair, lowering his lips to mine. His tongue plunges in and out of my mouth while his hand sneaks between us, gripping my breast.
“So perfect,” he rasps.
My head whips side to side when Wyatt moves lower, sucking one pert nipple into his mouth. Then he moves to the other, lavishing it with the same attention.
My mounting climax continues to build, and my body starts to quake. The occasional spasm shocks my core, squeezing his shaft.
“Now,” I cry out as my walls clench tightly around his cock. “I’m gonna—oh God!”
His entire body locks up while waves of pleasure ricochet between us.
Forever feels like freefalling straight off a cliff, all the while knowing there’ll always be someone at the bottom to break my fall.
That someone is him.
“Hello future father of mine.”
The corners of my mouth give a little tug as I set down my drill and rotate my body toward the chapel entrance, where I see Prissy twirling a blue Tootsie Pop in her mouth.
“What’s up, Miss Priss?” At Whitney’s request, I don’t encourage this father business. I just don’t exactly discourage it either.
“I’m bored.” She plants herself on the top step of the brand-new altar. “How much you got left? Looks like you’re almost done in here.”
“Just gotta finish installing these windows and do a few touch-ups, then she’s good to go.” I wipe my hands off on my jeans before taking a swig from my bottle of water.
She pouts. “What are you gonna do when you’re done?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Finish fixing my house, most likely. Probably pop in three or four times a day to annoy your momma.” My eyes meet with hers. “See if a certain little heathen needs help with her math homework.”
That brings a satisfied smile to her face. It warms me to know she’s dreading my not being around as much as I am.
Speaking of… “What’s your momma up to? I haven’t seen her yet this morning.”
“Making arrangements for Jimmy and June’s baby girl.” She folds her arms over her knees, resting her head on top. “They been in there for hours.” Her eyes widen to further express the amount of time that’s lapsed before she gets real quiet, staring off into space for beat. “Hey, Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you know that roughly 350 children under the age of five drown in home swimming pools each year?”
“I didn’t.” My chest becomes tight as the final memory I have of my own baby sister in that little white casket flashes through my mind. Suddenly I’m filled with alarm, thinking about what happened to Jimmy and June’s toddler. “Hey, Priss?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever had swimming lessons?”
She shakes her head. “Where you think I’m gonna drown? The bathtub? We ain’t got no pool.”
“No, but my property meets up with the bayou, and if I have anything to say about it, you’ll be spending a lotta time there. Everyone should know how to swim, anyway.” I scratch the back of my head. “I’m gonna mention it to your mom.”
“You do that.” She jumps up from her perch. “Think I just heard Paw and Mr. Rusty pull up in the van. I’m gonna go see if they need help unloading.”
“You do that.”
I, myself, plan to stay as far away from that retrieval van as humanly possible.
Rather than jump right back into work, something tells me I should pop in and check in on Whitney. My intuition is spot on. When I reach the lobby, I peek through the front window to see the only unfamiliar vehicle out front pulling away.
“Everything, all right in here?” I tap lightly on the door frame before peering into Whit’s office to find her with her head bent over a stack of papers, deep in thought.
“Not really,” she answers, lifting her gaze. Her normally vibrant blue eyes are red-rimmed and swimming in tears. The stress of what she’s just had to endure is etched in every detail of her face. “That was brutal.” The hitch in her voice hits me hard right in the pit of my chest. It’s so easy to lose sight of the fact that she’s not just a funeral director, but an actual person with real feelings and emotions. Whitney’s always so strong for those around her, because she has to be. But the pitiful sight before me has me wondering how many times she’s wept alone in this office.
“Tell me what I can do to help.” I step into the room, shutting the door behind me.
Her one-shouldered shrug is pitiful. “Hold me?” Her jaw tremb
les as a steady stream of sorrow begins to line her cheeks.
I move my hands in a come-hither motion. She’s around her desk, wrapped in my arms, and full-on sobbing into the bend of my neck seemingly before I draw my next breath.
I smooth my hand in circles over her back, pressing kisses to her temple. I have no clue what to say. I don’t dare tell her it’s okay, because there’s not one thing about the death of a two-year-old that could ever be anything other than tragic. “Wanna talk about it?” I ask once she winds down, reaching for the box of Kleenex at the corner of her desk.
She gives her head a slight shake. “Sorry about that,” she says, dabbing at her nose. “I can’t believe I just broke down all over you.”
“Better out than in, right?” I push her hair back off her tear-sticky cheeks so I can see her pretty face.
Her upper lip curls. “Isn’t that saying about farts?”
“Meh,” I shrug. “I think it’s some solid, multidimensional advice…applies to all the bad stuff.”
She nods, shaking her head at me. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I held it together just fine until you walked in…” Her lips pucker, before turning to one side.
I’m her safe space.
Hearing her say as much in not so many words just further proves what I’ve known all along. We belong together. “That’s what I’m here for.”
She stares up at me and quirks a brow. Whitney doesn’t even have to say it for me to know she’s thinking about what went down on that rug in front of my fireplace last night. Bad timing or not, I can’t help the laugh that erupts from my chest. “I didn’t say that was all I’m here for.”
She pulls back just a little and begins smoothing her hands up and down my arms, obviously deep in thought. I doubt even she realizes what she’s doing. I’m more than happy to let her relieve a little stress in the repetitive motion while she ruminates. “June just kept saying over and over that she didn’t want her last memory to be of her baby in a box.” She frowns. “Can you even imagine?”
I nod, clearing my throat. “It’s a vision that never leaves you.”
I barely remember what my parents looked like that awful day. I still think of them as healthy and alive, but with Annie…it’s the only image I can conjure.
Her nails dig into my bicep. “Oh, Wyatt.” She shakes her head. “You are the last person I should be dumping this on.”
“I’m not gonna break, love.” I smooth her hair back, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Actually, I think I might have an idea.”
“I’m listening.” Her arms drop, and she perches on the end of her desk granting me with her full attention.
“What if you laid her out in a cradle instead? Made it a little more intimate.” When she remains quiet, I start to backtrack. “It was just an ide—”
“No,” she exclaims cutting me off. “Wyatt, this is brilliant.”
“It is?” I mean, of course it is.
She nods, already picking up the phone and dialing someone. “Jimmy!” she greets. “Hey. This is Whitney…Daigle.” She rounds the desk, collapsing into her chair. “Yeah. One of our employees just had the idea to—”
I give her a little wave before sneaking out and leaving her to finish her call.
As a general rule, I keep as far away from the viewing areas as possible. With the exception of the time I helped retrieve that damn flying squirrel, I haven’t stepped foot in either one. So, when Whitney insists I pay the little girl a visit before the family starts arriving, I’m extremely hesitant.
“I’m good,” I insist. “I didn’t even know her.”
“You should see your work,” she says, referring to the cradle I went home and built in my shop yesterday evening.
“I’ve seen it.” I dig my feet into the floor. “I’m the one who built it, remember?”
“Please,” she begs, tugging my arm. “It would mean a lot to me.”
“Why?”
She blows out a frustrated breath. “Because I think it’ll help you.”
“I assure you I don’t need any help.” I turn to head off in the direction of the chapel when her words stop me from taking the first step.
“I haven’t been in there yet.” She grabs one of my hands in both of hers, fiddling with my fingers. “Not since Momma and Daddy set it all up and laid her out. I could barely make it through the makeup application last night.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am. I know how hard this little girl’s death has hit her. How could it not?
“I have to be in and out of that room all day today, and I’d really like you to be there holding my hand the first time I go in.”
I suck my tongue to my teeth, shaking my head down at her. “You fight dirty.”
“Isn’t this the kind of thing boyfriends do?” She fans her lashes. “I need you, Wyatt.”
Well, hell.
“Fine,” I growl. “But only because I have a really big soft spot for those baby blues of yours.”
“I’ll take it.” She throws her arms around my neck, bringing her lips to my ear. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave your side.”
I narrow my eyes as she takes hold of my hand. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her thumb brushes over the inside of my wrist a few times. “We got this…together.” Something tells me this is about a whole lot more than her being nervous to be around that body.
The walk down to the viewing area is quiet but for the sound of Whitney’s heels clicking and the buzzing of the fans overhead. A feeling of dread falls over me when we reach the massive double doors.
Whit squeezes my fingers, saying nothing as she pulls one open, and we step inside. There’s a ton of lead sitting in my chest as we walk hand in hand up to the cradle to pay our respects.
The baby is brunette. I didn’t know that until now. I hadn’t thought to ask. Her hair is shoulder length and curls at the ends. “She looks asleep,” I whisper.
Whitney’s head bobs. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she asks, leaning forward to adjust the bow on the top of her head.
I nod. Her pink dress is very similar to the one Annie was buried in. This little girl is wrapped in a white crochet blanket, and there’s a well-loved gray elephant lovie at her side. To the right of the cradle is a glider rocker upholstered in plush pink fabric.
“Jimmy brought that from her nursery, so June can rock her.”
I stare into her sparkling eyes and give her hand a squeeze. “You are great at what you do.”
She blushes. “This was all you.”
I shake my head. “I may have built the cradle, but the way you care for your clients…the love you put into each and every one of them.” I hang my head, searching for the right words. “You have a special soul, Whit. You can’t see it, because that same spark resides in the people who raised you. It’s just a part of who y’all are. And it’s already there in Prissy, even at such a young age.”
She clears her throat. “The idea was to get me ready to not cry today, Shakespeare.”
I ignore her feeble attempt at changing the subject. “I know this one’s been tough. I just wanted to say—you’re good at what you do. Sometimes we all need to hear it.” Lord knows her clients aren’t in any position to be thinking about how hard the death of their loved ones might be on someone in Whitney’s position.
She smiles. “Yeah, well…” Her eyes scour the scene before us. “I think it’s safe to say we make a pretty good team.”
“I’m glad you think so.” I give her arm a little tug toward the doors, more than ready to make my escape.
“Are you?” she asks, following me out.
“I might’ve signed Prissy up for swimming lessons at Flippers starting after the new year.”
“You did?” Her eyes go wide.
I nod. “Signed Lucy up too. I haven’t told Kate yet either.”
“Don’t you think she’s a little young?”
I twist my head back toward the room we just left. �
�Are you seriously asking me that right now?”
“Fair point.”
“One more thing,” I say, backing her up against the door to her office.
“Yes?”
“Next time you feel like counseling me… I’m much more responsive to play therapy.”
“Wyatt’s here.” Momma’s voice echoes through to the back of the apartment, where I’m still struggling with Prissy over her outfit.
“Coming,” I answer, glaring down at my obstinate daughter. “There are two perfectly acceptable choices laid out on that bed. Put one of them on.”
“But I wanna wear my hoodie,” she whines.
I scowl at the ratty, faded sweater in question balled up in the corner of the room. “Absolutely not. We’re meeting Wyatt’s grandparents for the first time tonight, and you will not go looking like a homeless person.”
With her arms folded over her chest, she props herself against the wall. Her stance says she’s not planning on yielding anytime soon. Too bad for her, six years of dealing with that attitude of hers has made me a seasoned pro.
“Very well,” I stoop and press a kiss to the top of her head, enjoying a brief whiff of strawberry-scented shampoo. “You can just spend Christmas Eve here with Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw. Don’t stay up too late.” I flounce my hair, not giving her a backward glance. “I’ll bring you back a plate of food.”
“Wait!” she hollers when I make to turn down the hall. “I’ll wear that one.”
I halt, slowly pivoting in her direction to see her pointing at the black leggings and white and black checked tunic.
“What a wonderful choice.” I try not to look too smug when I rush right back in to help her get changed.
After donning her boots and slinking into her leather jacket, she quickly rips a brush through her tangles and declares herself presentable. “Let’s go!”
We find Wyatt waiting in front of the Christmas tree, examining one of Prissy’s handmade ornaments from preschool. He’s dressed in black dress pants and a burgundy button down, looking like dessert—a real tease seeing as there will be no chance for sampling any of that yumminess tonight. “Well, aren’t you looking spiffy?”
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