Page 137 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
Epilogue
FIVE YEARS LATER
Willow
Mason steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, nuzzling my neck with his chin, his whiskers tickling the soft skin making me giggle. He’s been experimenting with a full beard lately, instead of scruff. I’m still torn between which I like best.
“Mmmm, you smell good.”
“That’s cake frosting you smell.” I dip my finger in the frosting bowl and hold it up over my shoulder for him to taste. He pulls my finger into his mouth and sucks hard. The feeling is titillating. Warmth floods my center and my panties dampen.
“She’s smart, she bakes, she’s beautiful, and great in the sack, is there nothing you can’t do, woman?” he asks as he moves his hands up to grab my breasts, pressing his pelvis against me.
“She down?” I ask.
“Like a champ.” He turns me around to face him and claims my lips with his. He tastes sweet, like chocolate frosting.
I moan into his mouth. He pushes the frosting makings aside and lifts me to the counter, pushing my dress up to my waist and stepping between my legs, pulling me closer. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.
Mason stops the kiss after a minute and looks at me, our foreheads touching. “You know what this means?”
“We have time for a quickie?” I ask.
“Maybe even time for an in-betweener.” He wiggles his eyebrows. Our term for something in between marathon lovemaking and a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. As he would call it.
“I like where your head is at,” I tell him. He lifts me from the counter and starts to carry me down the hall, while I nibble at his neck and whisper about the other places I plan to nibble.
The front door crashes open as we are halfway down the hall.
“Daddy! Daddy! Guess what?”
Mason groans and stops. I lower my legs from around his waist.
“Daddy! Where ARE you?”
Little legs run from the front door through the living room and kitchen, to the back deck and then return the same way, before pausing in the entryway. “DADDY!”
“I’m right here, bud.” Mason heads toward the entry while I straighten my clothes and follow.
Dash looks up at Mason. “Wow, that was a close one, Daddy, I couldn’t find you and I HAD to tell you what happened.”
Dash, our four-year-old son, has been trying to work idioms into his everyday conversation, thanks to Zach. But he doesn’t quite have a handle on their proper usage yet.
“Wow, that sounds crazy. What happened?” Mason picks him up so they are eye to eye.
“Well.” Dash pauses for effect. “When we got to the store, there weren’t any Saturn Twenty-Sevens left. Right, Uncle Zach?”
Zach nods in agreement. I head over to him and give him a hug hello. “Thanks for coming back early,” I mumble in his ear.
He brings one hand to his chest and feigns shock. “Did I cock-block you, Willimena?”
“You know you did,” I say drily.
“You’ve already got two. Isn’t that enough? I thought you heteros only had sex to procreate?”
I backhand him in the stomach.
Dash is still telling Mason the harrowing story of how the store clerk had to get the very last of the Saturn Twenty-Sevens from the back as there weren’t any more on the shelf. Mason responds in kind with shock and awe. We already know Zach had called ahead and paid over the phone to get around the demand for the latest movie franchise character frenzy—Saturn Twenty-Seven. Which is all Dash has talked about for months.
