Page 115 of Whiskey Proposal

As soon as Emerson kills the engine of her pickup, I yank open her door. I beat her home because Hillary wanted to give her a tour of her room. Lady waited while I paced through my anticipation.

Emerson jumps out and right into my arms. She buries her face in my neck. We got to smile and cheer our engagement, but I couldn’t do what I really wanted to with my wife in front of her family.

“Mrs. Foster, I have some unfinished business with you.”

“I’m all yours, Mr. Foster.” She kicks the door shut.

I carry her into the house and fling off my boots. She does the same with hers, and I go all the way back to my bedroom. Our bedroom.

I set her on the bed and crawl over her. “You need to find another pillow. My cock needs a hen.”

Her hair spreads around her head like a golden halo. “Consider it done.”

I sink into the cradle of her pelvis even more. My dick prods against her hot middle. There are way too many clothes between us. “And give up your apartment.”

“Already put in my notice.” She stuffs her hands into my hair and wraps her legs around me.

I pull back, but only slightly. “You did?”

She nods. “I regretted what I did as soon as I saw the papers, but I didn’t know what to do. I was going to burn them when you’re working this weekend.”

Her confession is an assurance I didn’t know I needed. I was ready to follow her to the ends of the earth, but her admission means I won’t have to.

“I like that idea.” I capture her mouth for a kiss and delve deep. She opens for me, stroking her tongue against mine and arching into me. There’s a looseness that hasn’t been there before. She’s completely relaxed. Fully pliant. She’s not going to hold anything back.

I almost lose myself in the moment, but I pop my head up. “The other night, after Haven and Prescott’s wedding—that’s what you were worried about?”

Worry creases her forehead. “I did it right before Denver. I thought I was being prudent.”

“You were. I don’t blame you. Draw them up again if you need to.” I kiss away the line across her brow. “We’ll burn those. And you can draw them up again and again and again. I won’t run out of matches.”

“Promise?”

The ragged edge to the word cuts right through to my beating heart. “You can help me light the fire.” An idea occurs to me. I get off her and tug her hand until she sits up.

Alarm lights her eyes. “What are you⁠—”

I pull her close and hold her tight. “I’m going to bury myself so deep inside you, but we have to do something first.”

I tow her into the office and grab the papers. Her expression’s curious, but there’s still some concern lingering. I pull her with me to the kitchen and snag a bottle of peach-infused whiskey, Foster Nectar.

She’s more relaxed. Good.

I open the door and we step onto the porch, barefoot. Stopping at the grill for a moment, I hand her the bottle and papers and get my lighting kit. Then we go down the stairs and follow the pavers to the firepit I’ve almost never used.

“Have a seat, Em.”

She perches on the end of the Adirondack chair, hands on her knees. “You’re going to do it now?”

“Not just that.” I squat by the ring and get the fire going, then I hold my hand out.

She holds up the bottle in one hand and the envelope in the other, a brow cocked like she’s asking me which one to hand over. I narrow my eyes, loving her teasing and that we can do this. She grins and hands the papers over. I take them all out and toss the envelope in first.

“We should have marshmallows.” The flames glow in her eyes.

I put a knee down and half face her. “Later. Right now, I’m going to send each sheet to its destruction, and while they turn to ash, I’m going to be between your legs with my face in your pussy, and you’re going to watch them smolder.”

Her lips part, and the fire in her eyes grows stronger. “Yes,” she says with a whisper.