Page 74 of Sister of the Bride

“Fuck, Pippin, I’m coming,” Toby grinds out, following me over the edge, pulsing inside of me, the sensation of him filling me new and decadent and perfect.

He collapses, his warm body covering mine, rolling us onto our sides so he can gather me to his chest without crushing me. He plants soft kisses along my jaw as we work to slow our breathing.

He’s still inside of me when I realize that I want to spend the rest of my life hearing Toby Sullivan call out my name as he comes.

Chapter30

My phone beeps inside the pocket of my unicorn robe, which is lying in a heap next to the bed. I groan, rubbing far too little sleep out of my eyes as I lean over the edge of the bed. I am achy in all the best places from being worked over and soothed by Toby late into the night. It takes me a minute to dig through the folds of hot-pink fabric to find the phone and open the text message.

Toby

What did the patient with the broken leg say to their doctor?

I fall back onto Toby’s pillows and roll over to see him naked and smiling, his phone in his hand.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer?” he asks with giddy excitement. The man can barely contain himself.

I want to roll my eyes or groan, but something about how his wild curls are falling over his forehead but still not concealing that boyish spark in his eye makes me smile. So I tap back.

Pippin

What did the patient with the broken leg say to their doctor?

Toby

Hey doc, I have a crutch on you.

And goddammit, I laugh.

“I knew it! I knew you thought they were funny!” he says, and I reach behind me to grab a pillow and whack him in the face with it.

“I think it’s more that you’re texting me from right next to me in bed and you’renaked,” I explain, lifting the sheet to glance down at his muscled frame, and his cock grows harder under my watchful gaze. “That’s the only way I find those jokes funny.”

“Well, that’ll just have to be the procedure going forward,” he says. He drops his phone onto the bed and rolls over to plant a kiss on my lips.

“You’re awfully awake for someone trying to get onto a nocturnal schedule,” I say as his hand skates up the outside of my thigh and comes to rest on my ass.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to sleep when reality is better than my dreams,” he says. His lips trail along my collarbone, his tongue dipping low into the valley of my cleavage. I’m just about to pull him on top of me when my phone beeps again. Only this time it isn’t a text message; it’s the alarm I set last night, long before I went tromping out in pajamas and high heels and wound up in Toby’s bed.

Because today is Polly’s wedding day.

“Shit, I have to get moving,” I say through a groan, because it is not the kind of moving I want to be doing. But there’s lots to be done still before Polly walks down the aisle. There’s makeup and hair, flower delivery and cake delivery and checking in with the caterers and the photographer. I-To-Do even has a special checklistjustfor the wedding day, and that only adds to the giddy feeling I have from waking up next to Toby.

“Sorry, you can go back to sleep,” I say, then lift his arm so I can snuggle up into the little nook of his shoulder. He reaches around with his other arm and envelops me in the warmest, most delicious hug of my entire life.

“How about this—you jump in the shower, and I’ll run down to Starbucks and get us coffee and breakfast,” he says. “What do you want, egg bites? Bacon gouda?”

My stomach growls, and I know it’s going to be hard to find a moment to eat in the craziness of this day, so I tell him I want a bacon gouda and the biggest coffee they’ll sell him. He climbs out of bed and puts on a pair of sweatpants and a Mass General fleece, and before he heads for the door, he pulls me in for another knee-melting kiss.

“You’re not freaking out?” he asks.

“Not a bit,” I tell him.

“Good,” he says. “I feel like there are things to say, but maybe we can do that after the wedding craziness is done? I’d love to take you out for an honest-to-god date, Pippin Marino.”

“I’m in, Toby Sullivan,” I reply, my smile so wide I feel like my cheeks are going to crack.

Toby goes to fetch breakfast, and I climb out of bed, ready to jump in a hot shower, but then my phone beeps again. I reach for it, expecting another cheesy dad joke from Toby—maybe even hoping for one—but instead it’s a text from Polly.

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