“I was gone maybe ten minutes?” He slips his arms around my waist as I stepped in close, eagerly going into his arms. “I had to help Bryn.”

“I know,” he murmurs against my forehead, his lips tickling my skin. “Is everything okay?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed.” I had faith it would be too. Matt understands Bryn, maybe even better than she understands herself. She needs to put more trust in him and their relationship.

“You’re a good friend.” Gage’s hands are wandering. Along my arms, to my waist, slipping down to my hips. The gown I’m wearing has a fitted bodice, but the skirt is huge. Like fairy princess, layers of tulle and silk and lace, Cinderella-at-the-ball giant. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it.

My husband—God, just thinking that word gives me a serious thrill—probably hates it.

“Where’s my wife?” I glance up to find him grinning down at me, his hands getting lost in the voluminous skirt. “I can’t find her underneath all the fabric.”

“I don’t know if he ever will,” I say with a dramatic sigh, hoping it will spur him on. “Especially when he only has five minutes to find her.”

That comment kicks him into action. He’s down on his knees in front of me, lifting the layers of my skirt until he’s buried beneath them. His hands go to my thighs and I giggle, his touch tickling me.

“Nice garters,” he murmurs, his voice muffled as he traces them. His fingers skim the exposed skin of my thighs and I’m thankful he somehow positioned us so I’m close to the wall. I lean against it, a soft sigh escaping me when his fingers explore upward, along my thighs, tracing the seam of my very lacy, very white panties.

I may not be a virgin, but I can certainly pretend to be one on my wedding day.

“Sexy.” His voice deepens right when his fingers slip beneath the lace, touching my bare, heated skin. I close my eyes and spread my legs a little, already lost in his touch when I feel him trace my soaked folds. “Baby, you’re wet.”

“I want my husband,” I say, wanting to both laugh and moan because, oh my God, what a picture we must make: me braced against the wall, my husband underneath my wedding gown, hurriedly trying to get me off with a few strokes of his fingers.

“Well, you’re getting him. Any way you can have him,” he says just as he circles my cl*twith his finger. I’m already primed and eager, ready for him to push me right over the edge and send me straight into an orgasm. Hopefully it will ease the incessant neediness that’s been raging within me for the last few days. Weeks.

I hate how distant we’ve been lately. But I’m going to rectify that too, with one incredible wedding night and an amazing honeymoon.

Gage touches me in a particular way that I love and a gasp escapes me. That familiar sweet sharpness echoes through my body, telling me I’m close, and I clutch the wall behind me as his touch becomes faster, a little rougher, his lips pressed hard against the inside of my thigh.

And then his mouth is on me, his fingers buried deep. I shriek and he pinches my thigh to remind me where we’re at, I’m sure. So I place my hand over my mouth to stop from yelling as the orgasm sweeps over me, leaving me a trembling, panting mess as I’m left slumped against the wall.

The man is good. I will give him that.

Within seconds he’s out from under my skirts, his face flushed, his lips damp. He’s smiling at me, looking mighty pleased with himself, and I can’t help but return the grin.

“My turn,” he declares happily, and I laugh as he stands so he’s looming over me. He takes me into his arms and kisses me senseless, the taste of me on his lips and tongue.

I don’t care. I eagerly accept his kiss, my knees shaky as his tongue plunders my mouth and when he breaks the kiss first, I follow him, my mouth still seeking his.

“Feel this,” he tells me as he takes my hand and places it over the very firm erection straining against his black trousers. I stroke him slowly, from base to tip, can feel almost every blessed inch and nuance of his flesh, and I smile up at him when I see the blissed-out expression already crossing his face.

“I think my husband wants me,” I murmur as I stroke him again. A little quicker this time.

“You’re damn right he does.”

“Think I can get on my knees in this getup?” I kick out my foot, making my skirt flare, and Gage chuckles.

“Are you serious?”

Oh, that’s a challenge if I’ve ever heard one. That’s one thing Gage and I like to do—constantly challenge each other. “Watch me,” I say as I gather my skirt in one hand and get down on my knees in front of my now very shocked husband.

Without hesitation I reach for him and unzip his fly, impressed by his thick c**k straining against the damp cotton of his underwear.

“Five minutes, baby?” he asks, his fingers sliding into my hair and pulling me closer to his erection. “Think you can do it?”

“I know I can,” I murmur just before I wrap my lips around the tip of his cock, his low hum of pleasure sending a shot of arousal through me. Just like that I’m turned on again.

And just like that I make my husband come in less than five minutes with only my mouth. On our wedding day, down the hall from where our reception still rages on.

Yeah. Life can’t get much better than this, can it?

Ivy

“BABY. BABY, BABY, baby, baby.”

I let my head flop against the pillow, my chest aching with the ragged breaths I’ve been struggling to take. This pushing a baby out of my va**na business is f**king hard. Why didn’t my mom ever tell me this?

Probably because she knew I’d refuse to do it if I understood the truth.

“Are you talking to me or your future son or daughter?” I ask Archer when I finally find my breath once again. My mouth is dry. My skin is soaked with sweat, and I feel like I’m going to collapse which is sort of funny considering I’m lying down. Well, half lying down, since I bend forward every few minutes to try and push the baby out.

“You. I’m talking to you, babe. Trying to encourage you.” Archer takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. God, I love this man. I really hope with the next few pushes I can produce that baby he’s so eagerly awaiting. “You’ve got this, babe. You’ve been working so hard.”

“I know,” I whisper, closing my eyes when I hear the doctor start talking. He keeps saying all the right things, but those things are irritating the crap out of me right now. The only one I want to focus on is my husband. That’s it.

No one else.

“One more push, Ivy, and you could be holding your baby in your arms within minutes,” the doctor says, making me want to punch him.

He’s a guy. He has no comprehension just how damn hard this entire endeavor is.

“Ivy.” Archer squeezes my hand again and my eyes pop open to find him watching me, an encouraging expression on his handsome, albeit tired face. “Let’s do this, baby. One more push. You’re so damn close. I can see our baby’s head. So much dark hair and a little scrunched up face.” He was just down there with the doctor, checking me out in all my na**d, pushing a baby out of my va**na glory and at any other moment, I might’ve been slightly freaked out.

But not now. I just flat out don’t care. I want the baby out. I’m done. I’m tired and worn out and burned out and done, done, done.

“One more giant push, and we’re a family of three,” Archer continues. “Isn’t that what you want? Your mom and dad are waiting in the lobby, and they can’t wait to meet their grandchild. Gage texted me and said he and Marina are going to stop by before they head to the hotel. Let’s go, babe. You ready?”

Archer knows exactly what to say to pump me up. That my parents are waiting, that Gage and Marina are going to stop by in the hopes that they see the baby, spurs me on. “Yes.” I struggle to sit up and he helps me. I’m bent forward, my knees pointed toward the sky, my legs spread wide for God and everyone to see, and I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and push with all my might.

This is it. I gotta make this happen. I’m tired, and my baby needs to be in my arms.

Within seconds I feel the baby spill out of me. That’s what it feels like at least. A baby just slipped right out of my body and ended up in the doctor’s hands.

“It’s a boy,” he declares just as a piercing cry fills the room.

“I knew it,” I mumble as I watch Archer look at his son for the first time.

“Cut the cord,” the doctor encourages, and Archer does, looking like he’s in a daze as the doctor hands me my baby. I’m crying, cuddling the baby close to my bare skin. I bend over him and sniff his damp head, feel his little face root against my chest like he’s looking for a nipple already.

Greedy little thing. Just like his father.

“A boy.” Archer settles his hand over our son’s head, his palm covering it entirely. His tone, his expression is full of awe and disbelief. He lifts his head, his gaze meeting mine. I see tears glimmer there and that spurs my tears on, until the both of us are smiling and crying and cuddling our baby close.

“He’s beautiful,” I say.

“Like his mama,” Archer agrees, solemnly. “Thank you, Ivy.”

“For what?”

“For giving me a son.”

“You had a hand in it too.” I smile and stroke our son’s downy soft hair. The nurse will take him soon to clean him up, so I need to cherish this moment for as long as I can.

“What are we naming him?” Archer asks.

I tilt my head, contemplating him. “Didn’t we talk about this already?”

“Well, yeah.” Archer shrugs, his gaze dropping to our baby once more. “But a woman is allowed to change her mind.”

“You mean that? Okay, I want to name him Oscar then,” I suggest.

Archer grimaces. “Hell. No.”

“Pauly.”

“Gimme a break.”

“Jeffrey.”

“That name is just . . . no.” Archer shakes his head.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes, cradling my son close as I stare down at him with wonder. My fingers drift across his cheek, caressing his tiny little rosebud lips as I murmur, “Welcome to the world, Jackson.”

We’ve been discussing names for months, arguing back and forth. One of us would come up with a suggestion we loved just as the other would shoot it down with both barrels. It became a point of contention, made worse because we didn’t know what we were having, but I wouldn’t budge on finding out early.

It was kind of fun, keeping it a surprise, though deep down inside I knew Jackson was a he. We kept going round and round with girl names but looks like that didn’t matter. A few weeks ago, we agreed on Jackson as a name if he was a boy, and I loved the choice.

So did my husband.

Jackson Archer Bancroft has a nice ring to it.

Archer scoots closer to us, sitting on the edge of the bed as he reaches out and strokes the baby’s cheek just like I did only moments ago. “Welcome, little man. We’re glad to finally meet you.”

Turning, I lean in and kiss my husband’s cheek, overwhelmed with love for both of these men in my life. “I love you,” I whisper. “So much.”

“Love you too, babe. More than you’ll ever know,” he murmurs.

I feel exactly the same way.

Chapter Six

* * *

Gage

One week since the wedding

“I DON’T WANT to go home. Can’t we just live here forever?” My wife crosses her arms in front of her bare chest and pouts, looking sexy as hell wearing a skimpy little white bikini bottom and nothing else. Her skin is golden from the sun, her blonde hair piled up on top of her head in a messy knot. Giant sunglasses obscure her eyes and a thin gold chain hangs from her neck. The wedding band on her ring finger is the only other piece of jewelry she’s wearing.

She’s bare and simple and so freaking gorgeous it almost hurts to look at her.

Almost.

“I would love to live here forever,” I agree, looking around at the view of the crystal blue ocean spread before us. We’re staying at an exclusive resort in a three-room suite with a giant balcony that has the best view of the ocean I’ve ever seen. “Maybe I’ll move my business over here. I can sell luxurious vacation homes to the rich.”

“Ooh, are you serious?” The excitement in her voice makes me smile. She lifts her glasses and peers at me, as if to see if I’m for real or not. “And I can open a bakery here. But I won’t call it Autumn Harvest. How about Tropical Harvest instead?”

“Sure. Whatever. It all sounds good as long as I have you with me.” I lean back against my lounge chair and slip my glasses down so the intense sun doesn’t blind me. We haven’t done anything our entire honeymoon besides eat, swim, have sex, lounge around, lay on the beach, have sex, eat—

Yeah. It’s been great. Relaxing. My stressed-out bride-to-be has completely disappeared and in her place is my relaxed, happy wife. I don’t want to go home either.

But the reality is we’re flying back tomorrow. Another reality? I’ll be glad to see everyone. Happy to see baby Jackson and watch my sister and best friend lose their minds over one tiny human being.

“I wonder if Jackson’s changed at all,” Marina muses, reading my mind as usual.

“It’s been a week,” I say. “He’ll be what? Eight days old by the time we see him again? Nine? I’m sure he hasn’t changed much since we met him at the hospital.” We’d lucked out when we were finally able to stop by. Along with the baby, we got to see Archer and a very exhausted Ivy. Marina had held the baby and cried along with Ivy, which had moved me because I’d had a sudden image of Marina holding our baby someday.