Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
The door opens. Caldwell fills the frame, hair mussed, bow tie already undone, and the women squeeze past him with exaggerated sighs and eye rolls he doesn’t notice. He only sees me.
“Finally.” He slams the door behind him, locks it, and crosses the room in three strides. “They think they’re funny. Keeping us apart. As if I could sleep without you.”
“You managed.”
“Barely.” He pulls me up from the chair, his hands finding my waist, my hips, and the small curve he’s been too polite to comment on but can’t stop touching. “You look breathtaking,” he finishes and kisses me before I can respond.
It is always like this with him—the fall, the rush, the forgetting about everything else. His mouth on mine, his hands sliding under my robe, finding skin. Hours apart, and he touches me like I am the only thing that matters.
“Missed you,” he breathes against my neck, walking me backward toward the bed. “Missed this. Missed waking up with you.”
“Wells.” My hands are in his hair, pulling him closer. “The dress. The wedding—” The words die on my lips, needing this too.
“Can wait,” he says as he lays me out on the bed. His hand is gentle despite being across my stomach. “Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes.”
How can I say no to that, when his eyes are pleading and I have the power to give him what he needs... me.
His mouth finds my neck, my fingers undoing the belt and then the buttons to his slacks.
Wells groans against my collarbone, my weak spot. I love the effect I have on this man. “You always smell like home.” He nips my neck. “Like me.”
Wells pushes my robe open, spreading it wide. His eyes track down my body, lingering on the small swell of my stomach, and something fierce and tender crosses his handsome face. “My wife.”
“Not yet,” I breathe out, arching into his touch.
“Are you trying to make me lose control?” He kisses the curve of my hip, my ribs, and the underside of my breast.
I can’t respond, his mouth finding my nipple, his tongue swirling around it. I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair. He sucks harder in response, like he needs the sound of me being responsive and desperate for him too. I am. Always.
“Wells, please.” I tug at his slacks, freeing his cock, needing him inside of me.
His hand slides between my thighs, finding me wet and ready, and he groans again, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
“Always ready for me,” he whispers, “even when I’m impossible. Even when I bang down doors.”
“Especially then.” I lift my hips, urging him on. I love how crazy he can be for me. How badly he wants and desires me.
Wells doesn’t make me wait. He positions himself and pushes inside in one smooth stroke. I gasp, the fullness and pleasure almost too much to take.
“Move,” I demand, wrapping my legs around his waist. Okay, I guess I can be a little bossy when I need to.
He does as I command. Slow and controlled at first, but I can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his hips jerk like he can’t help himself.
“Missed this,” he chants, his voice breaking. “Missed you.”
I come fast, Wells knowing my body. I cling to him, my release triggering his own. He buries his face in my neck, groaning long and low, spilling inside me with a shudder that goes on and on.
We stay there, him still inside me, pressing kisses to my jaw, my eyelids, anywhere he can reach. “Love you,” he whispers. “Love you so much.”
“I know.” I stroke my fingers through his hair. The words are nice to hear but not necessary. His actions prove it every single day in everything he does. “I love you too.”
All that’s left is to make our Royal Vows.
Epilogue
CALDWELL
YEARS LATER
The chaos in the palace starts before dawn…and I don’t mean royal duties.
“Daddy!” I smile, hearing small feet scurrying down the hallway. Two seconds later, one of the doors to my bedroom slams open. Then she’s on me, all glitter and unicorns. I grunt dramatically when she lands on my stomach, making her snicker. Izzy is three years old and is convinced sleep is optional and not required to function. According to her, all she needs to maintain her energy is a little chocolate. She climbs up onto my chest with the confidence of a child who has never been told no.
“Mama says pancakes.”
“Did she now?” I mumble, eyes still closed. Mama let me sleep in, it appears, but I was up late with the same girl sitting on my chest late last night.
“With chocolate.”
“That sounds like something you’d say, not your mama.”
“Daddy, she said it with her eyes.”
I crack one eye open. My daughter has my relentless nature and her mother’s logic. Dangerous combination. Good. I take solace in that.