“Dylan, look at me.” I do, and he takes over holding my legs back as he thrusts into me. “Feel it. Feel how I make every part of you feel good. You want this. You want me here.”

“Yes,” I answer, but it comes out as a plea. To keep fucking me. To never stop. To love every part of me, because that’s what he’s doing.

His breath comes out uneven, ragged. He’s gasping above me, struggling to not lose control yet. And seeing him like that gets me right there with him.

“Reese.”

“Fuck, I can’t… Dylan, I can’t stop.”

“Don’t stop. I’m so close.”

His movements become urgent, slamming into me with a crucial force. Pushing me up over the edge. And he’s right there with me.

“Coming,” I barely choke out as my orgasm moves through me like a tidal wave. I need to see him. I need to watch him lose it even though my eyes are straining to remain open while I ride this out.

“Holy fuck. Oh, my God, Dylan. Fuuckkk!”

He keeps his eyes on me, giving me the satisfaction of seeing him unravel. And it’s unlike anything he’s ever done. He’s wild. Screaming out my name between moans. Throwing his head back and flexing every muscle in his upper body. He gives me everything in a way I’ve never seen. It’s chaotic almost, the way he lets go, but it’s beautiful.

When his orgasm subsides, he drops my legs and pulls out of me. Arms wrap around me as he sits back and pulls me against his chest, burying his head between my breasts. I feel him tremble against me and thread my fingers through his hair.

“Thank you, love. Thank you for giving me that.”

Dropping my head, I press kisses into his hair. “See, that wasn’t so bad. I told you you’d like it,” I tease.

He lifts his eyes to me, stunning me with that sweet face. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” I brush my nose against his. “Now what? Should we box up more of my stuff? I feel like we still have a lot to do.”

He cocks an eyebrow, looking around the room. “Anal sex and getting you ready to move in with me permanently? Fuck yes. That’s my kind of Thursday night.”

I throw my head back, falling into a laughing fit as his arms tighten around me, pinning our bodies together.

Close, but never close enough.

33

I’m getting married tomorrow.

I’m finally becoming Dylan Carroll.

Holy shit.

Okay. Focus, Dylan.

I’m chopping up the bars of semisweet chocolate I’ll need for my wedding cake frosting while Brooke watches the mixer with keen interest. She completely lost her shit this morning when I told her she would be in charge of making the caramel buttercream frosting for the other wedding cake. I’ve been right beside her, supervising everything, but this really is her baby and she’s studying it with a mix of pride and restlessness.

“Can you grab the peppermint extract off the shelf for me?” I ask, breaking into her trance. She gives her frosting one last glance before she grabs the bottle I’ve requested and places it next to my cutting board. “Thanks. How’s it looking?”

She begins to twirl a strand of her hair, a nervous habit I’ve picked up on today. “Umm, I don’t know. Like frosting? It might taste like ass, though.”

“Oooo, I love ass,” Joey rejoices as he carries in a gift bag. I blush instantly and he notices. “Hmm. Care to elaborate?”

“Nope,” I state firmly, shaking off my reaction to the word ass. Really, Dylan?

He places the bag in front of Brooke and she surveys it peculiarly. “Here. This is my thank you for the shirt you got me. Which I look amazing in, by the way.”

I roll my eyes at his astounding modesty.

“Oh. You didn’t have to get me anything.” She stops the mixer, sliding the bag closer to her and peeking inside. I’ve placed my knife down, not wanting to miss the reaction to what I already know is in the bag. Her mouth drops open as she pulls out the apron Joey special-ordered for her. “You got me my own apron?” She holds it out, and I see the moment she notices her name on it. Her eyes well up with tears at the sentiment, just like any Wicks girl. “Thank you so much!” She flings her arms around Joey’s neck, clutching onto her apron.

Joey looks over at me and smiles as he returns the hug. “I was the last person who thought you should be working here, Brooke. But you’ve actually done really well. And you’re a natural back here with my cupcake.”

She spins around and slips her apron on, tying it around her neck. “Look, Dylan! It matches yours!”

“Apron sistas,” I sing, seeing Joey grimace behind Brooke.

“Goddamn it. I knew I should’ve ordered me one,” he mumbles as he turns around and disappears up front.

I stifle my laugh, dumping my chopped-up chocolate pieces into a mixing bowl. I brush my hands clean on my apron and walk over to examine Brooke’s frosting. Dipping a teaspoon into the bowl, I pop a small amount in my mouth.

“Well?” she asks fretfully. “Oh, God. Please, tell me we have time to make another batch of this?” She slaps a hand over her eyes. “I will never forgive myself if I’ve ruined some girl’s wedding cake.”

I grab her arm and pull her hand down. “It’s delicious, Brooke. Really. Try some.” I hold out a spoon and she takes it after studying it for several seconds, the obvious shock pouring out of her.

She dips it into the bowl and tests her creation. Her eyes flutter closed. “Mmm. Holy shitballs.” They pop back open, full of wonder. “I made that?”

I hold out my hand and she high-fives me. “Told you you could do it. Don’t doubt yourself back here.” I walk to the fridge, grabbing the heavy cream and catch her taking a picture of her frosting with her phone.

I love that: her excitement, her pride over what she’s created.

I’m so glad I hired Brooke Wicks.

After setting a large saucepan on the stovetop, I pour in the heavy cream and turn on the heat. Once I get it to a boil, I can add the peppermint extract and strain the mixture into the chocolate. Then it has to cool before I can frost my cake.

My wedding cake.

Both cakes are already assembled and ready to be iced. I’ve timed everything perfectly, allowing us to frost the other bride’s cake while my icing cools. The sugared orchids are already assembled for her cake. I tackled those bright and early this morning, knowing they would take me several hours. They turned out amazing, incredibly life-like, and I sent a picture to Reese so he could see what had me skipping my run today. His response was just as sweet as the flowers.

Reese: You amaze me, love. You always have.

And then he sent me one more a few seconds later.

Reese: One more day.

I turn the heat off for the cream and carry the saucepan over to the worktop. I slowly pour the mixture into my mixing bowl, whisking the contents as they melt together. As soon as the cream touches the chocolate, that familiar smell permeates my senses, filling me with the memory of this frosting. The only one I have besides the time I made it for Mrs. Frey’s anniversary cake. Reese hasn’t had this frosting since he ate it off my body on this very worktop, and when I was deciding on what to do for my own wedding cake, I knew I had to incorporate this flavor somehow. However, it’s not going to be hot pink this time. At least, not on the outside of the cake. I’ve tweaked the recipe to leave out the shaved peppermint sticks, opting for the flavor from the extract instead. And with a little help from some food coloring, I’ll have a beautiful white-mint chocolate wedding cake, as opposed to a pink one.