The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (good book club books .txt) 📕

"I love that." This position didn't let me see him—not much, anyway—but I loved that too. It was a perverse spin on wedding day superstitions. Though I didn't have to see him to know he was hard and throbbing right now. "Get your cock out. Make yourself come for me."

"Not until you do," he said.

"I asked you," I started, my tone as clipped as ever, "to get your cock out. It would be a terrible thing to disappoint me on my wedding day."

I heard his belt rattle and the rustle of clothing. I felt his groan when he had himself in hand. I didn't have to see him to know he was treating himself to a slow rub down his length, a twist at the crown, and then a rough jerk back to the base. I knew he'd let out a hummed growl any minute now as he sped up, let his hand fly faster over his cock as he found the rhythm he needed.

Linden sucked hard at my clit as he stroked himself, his fingers still working my pussy, and the mixed chorus of our groans and cries seemed to gather around the fine lace of my dress, the crisp cut of his suit. We were getting married within the hour.

"I love you so much," I gasped. "I want you to come on my ass."

I didn't know what it was about those statements that made them so profoundly right but my orgasm came at me fast, a jagged, thorny throb that spiraled through me and left everything from my belly button on down shaky and unsteady.

Linden growled out something as he pushed to his feet, replacing the hand around his cock with the one he'd had buried in my pussy a moment ago. He held my dress in place as he pressed me down, his big palm on the center of my back. "I fucking love you," he rasped.

I watched in the mirror as his arm flexed, his hand shuttling over his cock. The sound of slapping flesh and the brush of his knuckles between my ass cheeks left me aching and clenching and clinging to the last aftershocks of my orgasm.

Again— "I fucking love you."

And the hot lash of his release hit my skin.

This new chapter of my life, it wasn't nearly as tough as the ones that came before. It wasn't lonely or sad or defensive. It was dirty and messy, rude and lusty, and safe and loved. It was everything I'd ever wanted.

Epilogue

Linden

Three years later

We named them Sawyer Reuel and Savannah Eowyn.

It surprised me when Jasper suggested names that called to mind her home state but home wasn't something she needed to avoid anymore. The middle names were straight out of The Lord of the Rings and I was very pleased about that win.

Maybe it shouldn't have but the discovery we were having twins came as a shock. It knocked Jasper right over. She wanted everything to be perfect for them, everything to be just so, and that meant the first five months of her pregnancy were mayhem.

We put an addition on the house because she insisted we needed more bedrooms, more bathrooms, more space. More of everything. She had to paint and decorate and prepare—and then change it all and do it again. We took the classes, read the books, learned everything there was to know while my mother clucked about not worrying because these things came naturally. I had to gently ask her to stop filling my wife's head with any of that you'll know what to do nonsense. That wasn't Jasper's operating system.

The other two and half months of Jasper's pregnancy were also mayhem because the doctors put her on bed rest. If there was ever a time when she had to ask for help and lean on other people, it was then. She managed as well as anyone could manage nearly three months of confinement. Magnolia developed a schedule so that my siblings and their partners, plus our friends, were constantly dropping in to visit with Jasper while I was working. Some of them got really good at making fancy toast during that time. My brother-in-law was still a convert. My mother kept trying to make sandwiches but we forgave her that because she was there for us every minute of those months.

The twins spent two weeks in neonatal care until they reached fighting weight and we brought them home. I was glad we'd read all those books and taken all those classes but my mother was right about knowing what to do. I didn't tell her that but she was right. I understood what to do when I held them. It was the same way I understood what to do when I held Jasper.

They were almost one year old now and Magnolia's boys, Elijah and Ethan, were three. No kids for Ash and Zelda yet but they were busy looking for a home outside the city now that they were finally married. Jasper was lobbying hard for them to move in next door, into Midge's cottage. I didn't think it would happen but I couldn't deny it would be nice to have them there.

It would give that impossibly old black cat someone new to stalk.

We had nine crockpots in our pantry and two styles of toaster oven on our kitchen countertop, and six different baby carriers for walking in the woods. That was our life now and I loved it more than I could explain.

Magnolia and I worked together every day and this partnership was one of her best ideas and my best decisions. Commitment and responsibility weren't nearly as awful as I'd imagined. Jasper was the executive director of a community activism organization because world domination was only a matter of time when it came to my wife. She also hosted book (wine) club meetings every month, grew a mean kitchen garden, and had a standing pedicure date with