More Than I Could (93)

“Will that make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then do it.”

I laugh again. “I like this side of you.”

“You mean you like to get what you want?”

“Yeah.”

“I bet.”

He turns around and puckers his lips. I press a kiss against them.

Just like the first time he kissed me, my knees go weak. I hope it’s this way forever.

“I need to figure out how to get my stuff here from Mom’s,” I say.

He stands and peels off his shirt. “We can go get it or hire a moving truck. How much stuff do you have?”

“Not much.”

“Maybe when Kennedy is out of school for winter break, we can visit your mom and get it.”

I watch as he slips off his pants. “I’d like that.”

Chase tosses his clothes into the hamper, then moves to the dresser. He busies himself organizing his things.

It’s a chore to watch him—my fiancé—in his boxer briefs. He’s my fiancé. What the hell?

It takes everything I have in me not to giggle. I haven’t felt pure joy like this ever in my life. There are lists of things to be done in the back of my mind, but none of them matter. They all feel secondary.

Because I’m marrying the sweetest, kindest, hottest man I’ve ever seen.

Chase Marshall is mine.

Grinning like a loon, I lie on the bed and let my mind wander. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I have to manage my thoughts. It’s okay to think, wonder, and ask questions—because the most important one has been answered.

I wasn’t destined for a life of uncertainty. Despite my pessimistic thoughts, I wouldn’t roam the world looking for meaning for my entire life. I just needed to experience everything I needed to know before finding where I was meant to be.

My experiences have taught me about kindness. I know bullying. I’ve met despair face-to-face and won. I’ve lived alone, traveled alone, and relied on myself to make it. I’ve found success, experienced loss, and had enough relationships to know precisely what I don’t want in a significant other.

It felt like individual strands of something that would never come together. Starts and stops of different lives that never amounted to anything.

But I was wrong.

All those things led me here—to the Marshall family. And every one of the lessons I’ve learned has already come in handy.

Would I fit as well if I didn’t bring my unique set of experiences to the table? Would I know how to love Chase? Would I understand Kennedy?

Probably not. And suddenly, I’m grateful for everything that, until now, I’ve viewed as a failure or dead end. I didn’t have the whole picture yet.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Making you room in the dresser.”

I hop off the bed and find my bag. I rummage through it until I find what I want.

“Make me room later,” I say. “Let’s take a bath.”

His head snaps up. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

I set a bag of bath salts on the tub's edge and turn on the water. As I strip down, Chase checks out the black crystals.

“Make Me Wet?” He looks at me and grins. “What’s this?”

“Bath salts. Dump them in the water.”

“Okay.”

He rips the top open and deposits the eucalyptus-scented salts into the tub. The room immediately fills with the minty, piney scent. I take a deep breath and relish in the perfection of this moment.

Chase loses his underwear and tests the water. It must pass inspection because he slips inside.

Our gazes connect.

“I love you,” I say.

He smirks. “Get in here.”

I climb in and sit between his legs. He takes a handful of water and trickles it over my chest.

“You are going to be Mrs. Marshall,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “How do you feel about that?”

“Great. Looking forward to it.”

He chuckles.

I rest my head on his chest and tap my fingers against the water. “Chase?”

He hums.

“I was thinking …”

“What about?”

“How do you feel about being called Daddy?”

His body tenses. Immediately, his cock gets hard against my back.

I try not to laugh. This man is so predictable.

“What are you telling me?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

“You swear?”

I turn around and smile coyly. “I mean, eventually, I want to have your baby, and it can call you Daddy. But not right now.”

He grabs my face and brings it to his. “I can accept you calling me Daddy for now.”

I burst out laughing, but his mouth captures the sound.





Coming Home Series





The Coming Home Series … Let love guide you home.

Each story in this series is crafted around the same premise—what does it mean to come home?

Twelve standalone stories, one per month, from a different author, will fill you with heat and heart.

Welcome home.

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