FIVE YEARS LATER…
I STAND on the dais in the middle of the studio, staring at the many versions of my reflection in the multiple mirrors surrounding me. I slowly turn to the left, then to the right, examining each side with a critical gaze, vaguely displeased. I gather the mounds of fabric that make up my skirt and let it drop heavily with a pout and stomp of my foot, careful not to step on the hem.
“I’m fat.” I’m acting like a baby, but I hate how round my face is becoming, and how we’ve had to let out the waist on this dress yet again. I’m also incredibly emotional, and overwhelmed with everything that’s happening. Hence the pouting and behaving like a baby.
I’m ridiculous, I know this. But at least I’m self-aware, right? Thank God I’m getting married this weekend, or else I wouldn’t be able to wear this dress at all.
“You are not,” my mother says indignantly from where she’s perched on an elegant pink velvet tufted chair, watching me. “You’re pregnant.”
I smile at myself in the mirror, my hand automatically going to my belly, rubbing across it gently. “True. But it’s all happened so fast.”
“More the reason for you to hurry and get married once and for all.” Mother rises to her feet and comes to stand beside the dais, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “You look stunning.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
“Let them pin you where they need to and then you can change out of your gown and I can get you home.” Mother checks her phone when it buzzes, frowning at the screen. “He won’t stop texting me.”
My smile stays firmly in place as the seamstresses both step forward, eager to complete the fitting. “He can’t stand being away from me. He’s so needy.”
“I’ve never seen a man so enamored before. And after all these years too.” I can tell she’s pleased. “You’re a very lucky woman, Summer.”
I am so lucky. She doesn’t know the half of it.
Once the fitting is finished, we exit the atelier together and climb into the back of the Town Car that’s waiting for us, the driver’s gaze meeting mine in the rearview mirror. I give him a little nod and a smile and off we go, zipping through the streets of Manhattan, headed home. My mother lives in the same neighborhood, since she and Howard got married last year.
She has quite the reputation among society for breaking up marriages, but she doesn’t give a damn. And for once, I believe she is truly happy. Howard doesn’t set any expectations on her. He appreciates who she is and lets her be herself. Her happiness with Howard—and his firm encouragement—has allowed our relationship to flourish once more. We’ve never been closer.
We still have our secrets though. I never told Whit what really happened the night of the fire. He doesn’t know about the confrontation between my mother and Yates. I will take that secret to the grave.
Some things are best never to be discussed again.
We drop my mother off first at her building before we travel the next few blocks to mine. The moment he pulls up to the curb, the driver leaps out of the car and comes to my door, opening it for me and offering a hand.
“You feeling all right, miss?” he asks me, concern lighting his eyes.
“Just a little tired, Reggie,” I say with a soft smile. We’ve become friends, Reggie and me. He drives me everywhere. He’s seen me at my best, and my worst.
Like the time last week when I demanded he pull over so I could throw up on the side of the road. Not one of my finer moments. Luckily enough, Reggie doesn’t judge.
Within minutes I’m at our apartment, which takes up the entirety of the twenty-first floor. Over six thousand feet belong to us, which sounds like a lot, but truly? It’s as if we fill every inch of space.
I open the door to a little burst of energy running toward me, his golden hair flying, ice blue eyes just like his daddy’s sparkling with delight at seeing me.
“Mama!” August Whittaker Lancaster wraps his chubby arms around my knees and squeezes me tight, just before dropping a kiss to my denim covered leg. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” I swing him up into my arms and smother his delicious face with endless kisses, making him squirm and giggle. He’s such a beautiful baby, though he’s nearly three and about to become a big brother thanks to me being pregnant with his sibling.
We are the Lancaster scandal. Babies out of wedlock. Doing whatever we want, living however we want, the establishment be damned. The only thing Whit was a stickler about was the tradition in keeping the names passed down to the Lancaster sons. I got him to compromise, shortening our son’s name to August.
My own little Augie, that’s what my mother calls him. I just roll my eyes and humor her. She’s rather possessive of Augie, but so am I.
I love this little boy with all of my heart.
“Where’s your daddy?” I ask him as I walk deeper into the apartment. There’s a fire currently in the fireplace, and I glance toward the wall of windows, taking in the impressive city skyline. The sun has started to go
down, shining off the windows of the skyscrapers that surround us, and I have one of those surreal moments I seem to experience every few months or so, still. A moment where I realize this is actually my life, and I’m so incredibly happy, it’s hard for me to believe I deserve it.
Happiness.
Whit does his best to convince me I deserve all the happiness in the world. And I adore him for that.
I adore him for so many things. This damaged, seemingly deranged boy who scared me just as much as he intrigued me. I’m so lucky he came into my life. He’s given me so much. A home. His heart. His love. Our children.
Still can’t believe I’m going to have another one. I suppose this is what happens when two people who can’t keep their hands off each other fall in love.
I find Whit in the kitchen, snapping the lid on one of Augie’s sippy cups. “There you are,” he says when he spots us, his mouth stretching into a smile. Only to be replaced with a frown within seconds. “You shouldn’t be carrying him.”
He takes Augie out of my arms and sets him on the floor, handing the cup to our son who takes it and sips from the cup loudly before making a loud “aah” sound. “Delicious,” he says with an adorable little lisp.
I send Whit a look. “What did you give him?”
“Water,” he says with a shrug. “How was the fitting?”
“Exhausting.” I go to Whit and rest my hands on his chest at the exact moment he leans down and drops a kiss on my upturned lips. “I want a nap.”
“It’s nearly dinner time,” he says.
“For old people,” I tease. It’s as if we’ve become old people lately—or more like, I have—eating early and going to bed early too. I’m tired all the time from being pregnant and I’m barely out of my first trimester. “Come nap with me.”
Our nanny Mari chooses that exact moment to walk into the kitchen, grabbing hold of Augie’s hand. “Want to go to the playroom?”
“Yeah!” he shouts, grinning up at her.
“Thank you, Mari,” I say, grateful for some alone time with my husband.
“Of course,” Mari says with a smile. “Are you eating dinner together this evening?”
“I think we’ll eat a little later tonight,” Whit says, grabbing hold of my hand. “If you don’t mind feeding Augie at his usual time, we’d appreciate it.”
“Not a problem,” Mari says.
The moment the nanny and our son are gone, I turn on Whit. “Eating later? We always eat with Augie.”
“Not tonight.” Whit grabs my hand and whisks me out of the kitchen and down the hall. “You deserve a break.”
“Taking care of our child isn’t a job,” I protest, which only makes him laugh.
“Augie is a full-time job all by himself, and we’re going to have two before the end of the year.” He smiles at me from over his shoulder. “Besides, Daddy wants to get Mommy alone for a little while.”
Only Whit could make that sentence sound positively filthy.
By the time we’re in our bedroom with the door firmly locked, our mouths are fused, Whit’s busy hands everywhere. He strips me to my underwear before we collapse together on the bed, Whit lying beside me, his hand moving over the gentle swell of my stomach.
“It’s a girl,” he says reverently, his fingers drifting back and forth across my skin. “I just know it.”
“She’ll have you wrapped around her finger from birth,” I tease.
“Just like her mother.” Whit’s glittering blue eyes meet mine and he dips his head, his mouth finding mine once more. The kiss turns instantly carnal, his
tongue thrusting, making me moan. He breaks the kiss before we get too carried away. “I have something for you.”
“Whit,” I protest as he jumps up from the bed and goes to his dresser, pulling open the top drawer. “You do too much for me already.”
He never stops giving me gifts. Expensive ones, too. I don’t need all that. I’m happy with him and our little life, which isn’t little at all considering who he is and what he has. He’s an important man who comes from an important family, and he’s recently started devoting his time to philanthropy, wanting to help organizations that are dear to his heart raise money. Right now, his favorite charities involve children, thanks to our sweet little boy.
Whit returns to the bed with a small, black velvet box clutched in his hand. He thrusts it towards me. “Open it,” he demands.
I take the box from him and pop the lid open, a soft exhalation escaping me when I see what’s inside.
A glittering yellow diamond ring, surrounded by tiny white diamonds. The thin band is also covered in white diamonds, and it glitters and flashes in the light.
“What do you think?” he asks, joining me once more on the bed. He slips his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my bare shoulder. “I saw it and thought of you.”
“You need to stop buying me gifts,” I gently scold as I withdraw the ring from the box and slip it on my ring finger on my right hand. It’s a perfect fit. “It’s beautiful.”
“Almost as beautiful as you,” he whispers, his mouth finding my neck, delivering soft, wet kisses along the length. “Should I fuck you? Or am I going to do permanent damage to my daughter?”
“What are you talking about? She’s about as big as a grape right now,” I tease him, turning so I can kiss him fully.
He touches my cheek, deepening the kiss, pulling me into him. “This is where I admit I’m dying to treat you terribly. Call you names. Spank your
pretty ass.”
I laugh. Our passion for each other is as strong as ever, but Whit isn’t quite as cruel as he used to be. I miss it sometimes. And sometimes, we fall back into those roles because we enjoy it.
“You can spank my ass,” I tell him softly, a faint smile curling my lips.
“It’s no fun when you tell me I can do it,” he teases, growling when I lean forward and nip at his lower lip. “You’ll get punished for that.”
“I can’t wait.” I scoot away from him and go on all fours, wagging my lace covered ass at him like a taunt. “Go ahead. Spank it.”
He doesn’t spank me. Instead, he tugs the lace out of the way and spears his tongue inside of me, lapping at my folds, driving me out of my mind with need within seconds. He licks and sucks and teases and touches until I’m gasping his name and coming with an intensity that hasn’t happened in a while.
“You’re always so horny when you’re pregnant,” he says after I’ve come down from my orgasm. “You were the same way with Augie.”
“You’re the one who got off on fucking me endlessly when I was eight months pregnant,” I remind him, rolling over on my back and kicking off my panties at same time. He studies me, his gaze settled on the spot between my legs. Such a typical man. “Only a few more days until we’re married.”
He lifts his gaze to mine. “Are you excited?”
I nod, fighting the nerves that want to attack. “There are going to be so many people at our wedding. It’s a little—scary.”
“You’re going to be beautiful. Finally making you my bride.” He crawls over me, his face in mine. “I would’ve married you at nineteen.”
“Ridiculous.” I roll my eyes.
“No, you’re ridiculous. You’re also the only girl I’ve ever met who wasn’t impressed by my money,” he says, and I see the sincerity there. How much he appreciates that.
When we were younger, he was always shocked when I would turn him down and tell him no. He wasn’t used to it. He definitely wasn’t used to me not being interested in his family fortune. He eventually came to realize it was because nothing mattered to me but him.
I find the fortune that comes with his family name a nuisance, really. I only like some of the Lancasters. Sylvie and I talk, but it hasn’t been the same after our falling out. Whit’s father comes over often. He’s completely enamored with his grandson.
Sylvia and I don’t get along whatsoever. I barely let her spend time with Augie. I don’t trust her at all, and I have my reasons.
So does Whit. He feels the same way I do.
The massive fortune doesn’t matter either because the money doesn’t make the man. Whit is special all on his own. He is my lover. My protector. My fighter. The father of my children. The man I adore more than anyone else in the world.
I can say this from a very privileged place. I’m lucky we have enough money that myself and my children never have to worry for the rest of their lives. But even if we were to lose every penny, I know Whit and I could survive, because we have each other.
“Did Monty show up for your fitting this afternoon?” Whit asks me.
I burst out laughing. “I banned him from it. I knew he would call me out for getting fat.”
The frown on Whit’s face is fierce. “You’re not fat. You’re pregnant. I should kick Monty’s ass for saying that.”
“He never said it, but I know how he thinks. Besides, to him, I’m fat. And that just wouldn’t do for the wedding day, darling.” I imitate Monty’s voice, but Whit is still scowling.
“I think you’re beautiful.” He kisses me, and it’s not as passionate this time. It’s softer. Sweeter. Just as intoxicating because these gestures are full of love. I know he mentioned spankings and wanting to be wicked with me, but lately we can’t manage it.
We fall into a lovey dovey pattern, as I call it, which secretly drives Whit crazy.
“So sweet,” I murmur against his lips as I run my fingers through his thick hair. “You can’t resist me.”
“I should growl and demand you suck my cock,” he says, his voice stern. “Go ahead,” I tell him. “I’ll do it.”
“Call you a—” He winces. Presses his forehead against mine for a moment, a soft laugh escaping him. “It’s hard for me to call the mother of my children a pretty little whore.”
“But I am your pretty little whore, Whit,” I whisper running my hands down his back, settling them beneath the waistband of his jeans so I can grip his ass. “You can call me that. I won’t be offended.”
“You’ll be my wife in mere days.”
“And your whore forever,” I say with a laugh, which doesn’t seem to lighten his brooding whatsoever. “Go ahead. Tell me what you want.”
“I want you completely naked. On your knees with your mouth stuffed full of my cock,” he murmurs, his gaze darkening as he imagines exactly that.
I scoot off the bed, taking off my bra so my breasts pop free. I kneel on the carpet, resting my hands on my knees like an obedient servant. “Whatever you want.”
He strips himself of his clothes eagerly, until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed completely naked, his thick cock curving upward, toward the flat expanse of his belly. I reach for him, but he rests his hand over mine on his thigh, stopping me.
I frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just…” He smiles, and it’s sheepish. Almost bashful. “I love you so fucking much, Summer. How’d I get so lucky to find you?”
“It’s what you’ve always said.” He removes his hand from mine and I grab his erection, curling my fingers around the base of his shaft, squeezing him
tightly. “We were made to be together. The stars aligned that night oh so long ago, allowing us to find each other.”
“You truly believe that?” He leans back, his hands propped on the mattress behind him as I rise up on my knees and take him into my mouth, sucking him deep. He leaks onto my tongue, the musky, slightly sour taste lingering there and I release him from between my lips, swirling my tongue around the flared head.
“I believe it with all my heart,” I tell him. “Which you own, by the way. I belong to you.”
He touches my face. Strokes my hair. Presses on the back of my head until my mouth is once more aligned with his dick. “That’s nice,” he says, his tone smug and I can’t help the soft laugh that escapes me. “Now suck.”
I do as he asks, drawing his impressive cock into my mouth. Bringing him to the brink of orgasm in mere minutes. Smiling in my knowledge that no one understands this man like I do. No one.
He’s mine.
Just like I’m his.
