Big Man's Bride (Big Men Small Towns 1)

Ally laughs, the vibrations of her mouth feel so fucking good, and she lets me go just to say, “Seems like I know how to shut you up too.”

“You’ll pay for that,” I manage.

“Promise?”

I can’t answer. I’m too busy reveling in the feeling of her fucking tongue and the fact that this amazing woman is mine forever. “You’re really very good at that.”

“I know,” she says, before swallowing me deeper. I groan, which only spurs her on. Deeper than I think she’s ever taken me, gently working me into her throat before pulling back completely.

The perfect warmth of her mouth touches my balls, and it’s all I can do not to come right then. I want to. But I also want to make this last as long as possible. Ally pulls them into her mouth, sucking on one and then the other, pulling and pushing and sucking. Fucking hell.

She licks her way back to the tip and swirls her tongue around the head of my cock. I swear that I’m so close that I can nearly taste lightning, and then she stops. Time freezes, and I look down at her smiling face. She crawls back up to me and kisses my cheek. “You’re a tease,” I manage to breathe.

“You know what you have to do?” she asks, pressing her lips to my ear.

“Tell me.”

I can feel her smile. “You have to beg me.”

The laugh that comes out of me is so loud that it echoes off the walls. I should have seen it coming—the perfect payback. “If you want me to beg, I’ll beg, Mrs. Staunton. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says, grinning and waiting for me to say the words.

And I do.EpilogueAllyOne Year LaterIt feels so good to be home. Don’t get me wrong, traveling with Caleb is luxurious. I never would have guessed that one day I’d be flying to New York on a private plane, but right here, sitting on the front porch of the Cumberland River house, this is paradise.

“Are you comfortable?” Caleb asks sarcastically climbing up the steps. He has a suitcase in each hand and a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“Oh so comfortable,” I reply sweetly. “Please leave those in the bedroom upstairs. Much appreciated.”

We’ve just gotten back from the Hamptons for the second year in a row, and this visit was just as awkward as the first time we’d gone as newlyweds. As Caleb had predicted, his parents weren’t exactly fans of the shotgun bride that he’d come home with who was a nobody from nowhere. But that didn’t stop us. We enjoyed the beach and had sex just as often as we had at home. Us being newlyweds actually gave us a perfect excuse to escape his parents.

But they couldn’t deny the fact that we were in love, or the fact that Caleb had fulfilled their ridiculous and unnecessary condition to access his inheritance. And so they signed it over to him.

This year though, things were different. We brought someone with us. I glance down across the yard where my grandpa is checking on his prized roses. He hates being away from them for any amount of time, so he’s earnestly checking them for any signs of pests or disease, making sure the soil is just moist enough. He was thrilled with the opportunity to go to the beach in the Hamptons, but right here on the Cumberland River is where he’s happiest.

It took some convincing to get grandpa to move onto the property, and he refused to move into the main house. So Caleb and I had a guesthouse built for him. It gives him his privacy and he doesn’t feel like he’s intruding on us. I think the fact that we’re about to grow our family in a few months may have been his tipping point. And who can blame him? The man gave up so much of his life to raise a teenager after his daughter died. I can’t blame him for not wanting to live with a newborn.

I push my feet gently against the floor, and listen to the creak of the swing chain as I rock. I run my hands over the swell of my stomach and dream about rocking my baby right here, in the porch swing grandpa and I built together. Sweet emotions flood over me, and damn these pregnancy hormones, the tears slide down my face.

As tender as my grandpa has been through my pregnancy, and as excited as he is to be a great grandfather, telling Caleb’s family on our trip out to New York was more complicated, and not as happy. Caleb wasn’t interested in telling his father about my pregnancy at all, and I didn’t blame him. His father has scarred him for life, and I knew that the thought of his father having anything to do with his child scared the hell out of my husband. But even though his mother has her own faults—and I know that part of me will never forgive her for abandoning Caleb to be beaten—he wanted to tell her. Or rather, he was fine with her being told.