Every Last Secret

by Christa Wick

  "Well, there's an unfamiliar car parked in your driveway."

  I take a deep breath, my sides starting to hurt as I suppress a bad case of nervous giggles.

  "It looks like a rental. There's some crazy redhead talking on her cell phone."

  This is all so spontaneous and new. I take another deep breath and release it with a jittery snort as I finish.

  "Very suspicious if you ask me."

  There's a crash. From the sounds of it, Sutton loses his phone for a few seconds. A rushed mumble to someone else follows.

  "Put Buzz up for me, will ya?"

  Then his voice comes back as strong as ever.

  "On my way to investigate, baby."

  I step out of the rental as Sutton pulls his truck into the driveway. He parks and exits his own vehicle in what has to be record time.

  As he rounds in on me, it's clear he has no intention of slowing down. I prepare myself for impact.

  His arms slide around me. He bends his knees, just a little dip that secures his locked forearms below the curve of my bottom.

  He lifts, my feet leave the ground.

  "Kiss me," he demands despite our very public performance.

  Hugging his shoulders, I offer a chaste peck.

  "I need more, Maddy."

  "Well," I tease. "Delia doesn't expect to see me until tomorrow."

  Grinning, he sets me on my feet, clasps my hand and pulls me with him to his front door.

  We step into the cool interior. He backs me up against the wall. His hard body presses against my softer flesh. Yielding, I mold around him. He glosses over my lips to seize my throat.

  Fire crackles down my spine.

  His hands toy with my flesh. He presses a kiss on the underside of my chin. My head tilts back, offering him an all-access pass.

  "Keys," Sutton murmurs.

  I shake the cobwebs from my head and look at him.

  "Give me your keys, baby."

  I pull them from my pocket. A frustrated pout pushes my mouth forward when he takes the keys and turns away. Then curiosity overtakes me as he opens a drawer on a side table and pulls out a freshly cut key.

  Threading it onto the ring, he cuts a voracious glance in my direction.

  "You need something to drink or want to freshen up in the restroom, you better do it quick. After that, your body is mine for the next few hours."

  I like to think I am a feminist at heart. But at this moment?

  No fucking way.

  I turn toward the kitchen to grab a quick drink.

  I don't make it past the coffee table.

  "Sutton?"

  He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my torso in such a way that one hand cups a breast and the other slides down to cover my mound. I close my eyes for a moment, my mind suddenly dizzy from arousal.

  "What is it, Maddy?"

  Something…

  With the way he's touching me, with the hard press of his body against my backside, I will need to open my eyes to remember why I stopped and called his name.

  Couch…drink…coffee table…

  "That."

  I point at a small velvet box, black in color. It sits center of the coffee table. Next to it is a yellow notepad covered in bold, black writing, some of the lines crossed out.

  "Oh…that," he says.

  I turn to catch him rubbing anxiously at his jaw.

  I sit down before I pass out.

  "Maddy, I, uh…"

  Sutton kneels in front of me. The muscles of my face go crazy as I try to process too many emotions at once. He captures my hand and holds it firmly between his.

  "I'm sorry, baby. I was so excited to see you that I forgot I had it out."

  I slide my hand from his and pick up the sheet of notepaper. Starting at the top, I work my way toward the bottom.

  Plane banner? Lame!

  Somewhere exotic? Family has 2b there.

  Trail of yard signs, family at the end???

  Horse ride and picnic? Meh.

  Spell out WYMM with candles? Where at? Stables? Floating on the lake? Use flowers instead???

  There are more lines, but all of them are crossed out, some mercifully so.

  Dropping the pad onto the couch, I cover my mouth with my hands.

  My shaking hands.

  Soon to be my wet and shaking hands.

  Sutton pulls them from my face, draws them to his lips and presses a kiss against my knuckles.

  "Just tell me what you're thinking, baby."

  Gaze already flooding, I look at him and smile, answering softly, "I'm thinking how much I love you…and also…what color dress our fairy flower girl would like."

  31

  Sutton

  An early cold snap crisps the air on our wedding day. I stand on a stage built for the occasion. The edifice covers the spot where Teddy Raspell landed on Mama's lawn. More chairs than I ever want to count are lined up like carefully arranged troops on a battlefield.

  Every last chair is occupied. Aunt Dotty has declared it the biggest Turk wedding she has ever seen and I'm pretty sure she has seen them all. At least the ones that came after she was born.

  The crowd size is due, in part, to the rescue efforts to bring Caiden home. Everyone who participated that day had a seat offered to them. Most accepted the invitation. To further thank them, all the attractions of the ranch's annual Volunteer Day have been set up for the reception.

  We aren't asking for gifts, but donations to Willow Gap's new search and rescue fund are encouraged.

  Maddy and I can't take credit for the idea. If it was up to us, we would have eloped last month. It was Caiden who came up with the compromise of Mama wanting a big Turk wedding and Maddy and I wanting the simplest of ceremonies.

  "It's not a big wedding," he argued. "It's a little wedding and big fair!"

  Catching sight of the boy, I wave him over.

  "How are the rings doing, Sarge?"

  He crooks his finger, signaling me close enough he can whisper in my ear.

  "The rings aren't real."

  "No," I laugh. "Your mom and Emerson have the real ones."

  He huffs. "I wouldn't lose the real ones."

  "Maddy and I know that. But we didn't want you stuck standing guard over them."

  He considers my answer for a moment then shakes his head.

  "We could have made laser beams…and used the drone to watch the perimeter."

  "Not a bad idea, Sarge."

  The praise comes from Emerson.

  Caiden ignores him. With one last look at me, the boy shoves his hands in his pockets.

  "The music is supposed to start soon," he says.

  "Then you better get up to the tent."

  He starts to leave then runs back up the stairs and throws his arms around me for a brief second before breaking free.

  "What was that for?"

  "Next time I hug you, you'll be my uncle."

  He dashes off before I can say anything.

  "You're not going to cry, are you?"

  Turning to Emerson, I shake my head. "Remind me why I asked you to be my best man."

  "Because all your other brothers are taller than you?" he deadpans.

  "Yeah, that was it."

  Mama sticks her head out of the tent, catches the string quartet's attention and holds up two fingers.

  I hope that means we are two minutes out from starting this show. I need to hold Mrs. Madigan Turk in my arms.

  And the crowd is ready. Especially Dotty Belle. I see her little legs kicking as Adler holds her above his head.

  "So," I ask in a side whisper. "You change your mind about that transfer?"

  "Why would I?"

  I have an answer, but I shrug as if I don't. For some reason, I seem to be the only person who thinks my twin has feelings for Delia Mays.

  Maybe he doesn't. Maybe I'm just a silly romantic who wears my ovaries on the outside. But it would be perfect, wouldn't it? My soon-to-be wife has already brought two gifts wi
th her, Caiden and Delia. And Emerson does seem to be pulling back at the reins in terms of his transfer. So maybe those two gifts could produce another, most unexpected gift—Emerson coming home for good.

  Little brother eyes me with suspicion.

  "Was there something else you wanted to say?"

  I shuffle my feet and hold his gaze for a few long seconds before answering.

  "Thank you for being best man."

  "I'm just glad to see you finally admit it," he jokes.

  That earns a laugh and an admission from me.

  "I might have teased you more than necessary about being the baby of the family."

  "I turned out okay," he says before offering me a begrudging clap on the back. "So did you."

  Knowing Emerson detests public displays of affection, I pull him into a bear hug. A chorus of catcalls erupts from our three older brothers.

  "Get it while you still can!" Barrett shouts.

  Emerson looks ready to slap some cuffs on me. The musicians we hired save me from spending my wedding night in federal lockup as they start the first complex strains of Coldplay's Reign of Love.

  I look to the tent. Ashley emerges. Walker takes her arm. Siobhan is the next bridesmaid to leave the tent with Jake as her escort. Then come Caiden and Leah.

  My precocious niece has called a temporary truce with "that boy." They walk down the aisle shoulder-to-shoulder, picture perfect angels.

  Madigan and Delia emerge together, Delia both the Matron of Honor and the one who will officially give away the bride.

  Tactically, now would be a good time to glance at Emerson and observe his reaction to seeing the Widow Mays all glammed up. But I can't peel my eyes away from my beautiful Maddy.

  She wears an oyster-colored gown, the trim of pearls a pale champagne. Her gorgeous red hair is down and delicately curled. Meeting my gaze, her gold-brown eyes blaze with mischief and leave me wondering how much of an etiquette faux pas it is to pop an erection at my own wedding.

  Worse or better than popping it at someone else's ceremony?

  Maddy steps onto the stage. Delia places my bride's hand in mine then takes her place as Matron of Honor.

  I am blind to it all. Maddy fills my thoughts. No one else.

  The pastor's voice is like a fly buzzing around my ear. It is up to Delia and Emerson to gently prod Maddy and me when it is time for us to say our vows.

  No small amount of time went into their composition. The words are layered with meaning that others may not recognize. Many of the lines trace their origin to the day of Caiden’s rescue when I found Maddy in Leah’s playroom. Within those lines are tones of progress and understanding, of reaching out and looking within.

  When Maddy and I read our vows, we do it together.

  With my whole heart,

  I believe in you.

  The person you are today.

  The person you will become tomorrow.

  I believe in us.

  Friends,

  Lovers,

  Companions in this life

  And the next.

  It is to you I pledge my love,

  My devotion,

  My honor.

  I promise to protect you,

  To challenge you.

  I promise to be your sanctuary

  As you are mine.

  Before God, family and community,

  I promise this forever.

  We finish the vows as we began—together. Maddy's lips tremble with the need to be kissed. We suffer through a few too many words from the pastor, awaiting his final blessing and his introduction of us as two halves now made whole.

  At last he says it.

  “Husband and Wife.”

  I kiss the bride.

  As she melts into me, my hands move to her face, take control of the kiss. She smooths a hand around my waist. Fingertips whisper down my back. Her soft touch straightens my spine, takes my breath away.

  Softness has turned into a kink with Maddy, the pressure of a gentle hand in our lovemaking as much pain to her as it is pleasure. It turns her wild, makes her wet.

  Ending the kiss to cheers and applause, I meet my wife's gaze. A sensual awareness dances in the topaz depths. She knows exactly what she has done to me with the feathery caress.

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to scoop her up right then and escape with her. A dozen plans to do just that hatch in my mind. But a few hours spent smiling and taking pictures with family and friends will buy us more uninterrupted time later. So I thread my arm through hers and lead her down the steps.

  Right before we are swarmed by well-wishers, I caress a kiss against her ear and whisper, "I meant every word, Maddy Turk. I believe in us. Forever.”

  Epilogue #1

  Madigan

  -- One Year Later --

  Leaving the truck, Sutton races to the door of our newly constructed home and unlocks it. The lights inside are already on, my sister and sisters-in-law having invaded earlier to add a few romantic touches and amenities to the newly built house.

  He is slower to return, his gaze locked on mine and burning with a heat that singes my thighs even at a distance. Reaching the truck, he opens my door and holds out his hand. I step down and into his arms. Burying his face against my neck, he offers a soft bite that leaves my knees unsteady as we walk to the front door.

  Before I can protest, he scoops me up and crosses the threshold.

  "I thought that was only on the wedding night," I tease even though I am secretly thrilled by the gesture. "I'm a wife, not a bride!"

  "My beautiful wife, Maddy," he says with warm lips that nuzzle my ear. "In our new home, with a freshly painted nursery for the baby growing inside you."

  Feeling another flood of emotion that I still haven't learned to control, I bury my face against the crook of his neck.

  "Ah, the elusive coquette," he murmurs as he carries me through the living room and into the master bedroom. Placing me on the edge of the king-sized mattress, he strokes my cheek in warning.

  "I'm undressing you, love."

  Anticipation has me nodding and chewing at my bottom lip.

  Sutton disappears down the hall. He shuts the front door, flips the lock. The light in the hall grows dimmer as the ones beyond it are turned off and dimmer still when he stands at the threshold of our new bedroom, his body filling the frame.

  "Happy, Maddy?"

  Maybe he asks because I am on the verge of tears, my emotions stretched thin from all the affection that has been showered on us after we announced the pregnancy today—and also from the anticipation of the intimacies that will pass between us tonight.

  "Bursting with it," I answer.

  A naughty smirk lights his face.

  Sutton moves from the doorway into the room. Making me wait, he slowly goes from one piece of furniture to the next, lighting the candles that Delia and the others brought. The candles are unscented, but the room smells of jasmine, the freshly cut flowers disbursed around the room in white wicker baskets. The display reminds me of our wedding—fitting since our first night in the new home is also our one year anniversary.

  With the candles lit, Sutton turns off the bedroom and hallway lights.

  I expect him to start stripping me, but he peels off his shirt. His fingers glide from button to button, unthreading them with just a touch. I shove my hands beneath my tensing thighs to keep from reaching for him.

  He steps out of one shoe and then the next. Watching the slide of his pants down his lean hips and powerful thighs, I suck at my bottom lip.

  Sutton comes closer, stopping within inches of me. His cock thrusts forward, its strong pulse leading it in a hypnotic dance.

  "Do you want to touch me, baby?"

  Gaze tracing the thick veins of his erection, I bob my head.

  "You will," he promises. "But not yet."

  A gurgle of protest bubbles in my throat. But then he orders me onto my feet and I forget my complaint.

  "Turn around."
<
br />   I obey his command. Sutton runs his hands over my curves, starting with my shoulders, caressing downward to the flare of my hips, a slide forward, his torso against my back as he lightly smooths his palms over my stomach and breasts.

  "Hands on the mattress."

  My legs begin to shake. I lock them tight as I follow his instruction. Sutton's cock presses resolutely at the skirt of my dress, the width and hardness forcing the cheeks of my bottom to mold around him. He continues pressing forward as one hand secures my shoulder and the other pinches the pull of the zipper and slowly draws it down.

  When he reaches the bottom curve of my spine, he releases the pull and my shoulder. With a teasing slowness, he lifts the skirt of my dress up and over my hips. Light as a spring rain, his fingers flow over my flesh, a stream of sensations popping like firecrackers as he traces the pattern of my lace panties. Reaching the gusset, he slips a careful finger beneath it and probes at my core.

  Panting with need, I push back.

  "I want to hear you groan first."

  Oh, I am so there. Need has twisted my throat beyond the capacity for real speech.

  "Please," I mewl.

  Sutton pushes another finger into me. I rock back, burying him deeper. He trails the other hand along my spine. The sensation is soft as a kitten's whiskers. It hurts and thrills at the same time. My pussy contracts around him in response.

  Pulling his fingers out, he uses them to hold the gusset to the side and spear his heavy cock into me. Here is the hard pressure I need to balance his breezy caress.

  Staying buried balls deep, Sutton coaxes me into straightening. When I am upright, he peels the sleeves down my arms then frees my breasts from their confinement. He cups them, tests their weight as he sucks and bites at my throat.

  My hips dance, my thighs and ass tense and grind against him.

  "Not yet, love."

  Sutton leaves me empty once more. My dress falls to the ground and he helps me step out of it.

  "On the bed, on your back."

  Still wearing my heels and stockings, I climb onto the mattress and get into position.

  My husband's smile is downright wicked as he reaches up to the ceiling fan and wraps his hand around the cord that controls the blades. I would laugh at myself, but a hard need twists through my body.