“Mine,” he repeats, the hand on my shoulder moving slowly down my spine and then over my hip before he wraps it around my aching shaft. “Mine.”
“Yours,” I say again, thrusting into his hand, my fingers gripping the metal spiral of our headboard, the bed knocking against the wall as he pushes into me, then pulls back until he’s almost all the way out and then thrusts into me again, pushing my dick through the tunnel of his fist.
He’s the first to come, but it only takes a minute before the euphoria hits me, and cum sprays from my dick onto the bed and his fist. I thrust into his grip as he moves inside me until my hands drop from the headboard, and I fall into the puddle of cum, not even caring that I’m going to have to take another shower before class.
Maybe I can talk Jasper into joining me.
He collapses onto my back, reading my thoughts. “Don’t even think about it.” He’s smiling against the skin of my back. “You shower, and then I’ll shower, or we’ll never get out of here.”
“Would that be so bad?” I ask, teasing.
“You might be the death of me,” he says and kisses my back, still smiling.
“Not allowed to die until we’re old in bed in Kensley.”
“Morbid.”
“Nope,” I grunt, pushing him off me until he gets the hint and helps, rolling off and onto his side so I can roll to my side and face him. My finger traces the line of his smile and then over the small scar he has on his chin. “We have our whole lives together, and that’s fucking beautiful.”
He leans forward and kisses me softly, still with that smile on his face.
“Fucking beautiful, indeed.”
EPILOGUE
JASPER
5 years later…
“Did you pack your swim trunks?” Emerson walks into our bedroom, looking a little frantic, his wedding ring glistening in the sun that filters in through our bedroom window.
We bought this place last year, right after Emerson graduated from college. With honors, I might add. His parents wanted to give him a graduation present—a big-ass house in Kansas City—but Emerson told them we were looking in Kensley. That he had no desire to live anywhere else. I expected a huge fight, a large rift. But surprising the hell out of us both, they told us to look around for what we wanted and to send them the information. I guess parents really do just want their kids to be happy.
I’m not thrilled about them buying our first home, but Emerson said it could be a great wedding gift too.
Yes, that’s how my husband proposed to me, and yes, I saidyesimmediately. Without any thought of doubt. Now, letting his parents buy us a house as a graduation and wedding present wasa tough one, but since we got married in a small civil ceremony, Emerson said we saved them a lot of money on a huge wedding.
I let him get away with it because I know he wanted a house to settle down in. He talked about getting back to Kensley even more than I did. So I gave in, and we found a perfect little three-bedroom farmhouse with a lot of land. His parents keep referring to it as astarter house. I’m not sure what they’re talking about.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to die in this house someday—a long way from now. But if they have dreams I’ll want a big mansion someday, fine. But I have everything I need right here.
A modest house on a lot of land. We got cows last year and some goats. Kelly and John have downsized, working toward retirement, mostly relying on the crops. So Kelly has given me her goat-milk soap recipes, and with her blessing, we’ve relied pretty heavily on the revenue from the farmers’ market to pay our bills.
Emerson has a blog and lots of sponsors on social media to help pay bills too. Sometimes I can’t believe the amount of money they’ll pay. But it’s not for traveling—nope. It’s about life on the farm. And people can’t seem to get enough of it. He posts pictures of each step of building up our own farm and every time we fix something on the house. When we get a new animal. All of it. He documents our lives beautifully.
I don’t really follow it, but I smile pretty for the camera any time my husband tells me to, and it’s always genuine. He’s a gifted storyteller, my husband. He does it through pictures and videos.
My parents just wanted me to be happy, and believe me, that’s what I am. It’s almost gross how happy we are here. We go into town often, where most people know us. And thankfully, not many bat an eye when we walk in hand in hand or kiss. They wave and smile. Sometimes they ask about the next farmers’market products. Some ask about Kelly and John or my parents or Millie—who’s doing great, by the way. She moved to Texas last summer, almost immediately after we moved back. But she swears it wasn’t on purpose.
I like to tease her about taking it personally, but really, she just got a great job offer and is living her best life. Lucy is doing well too, from what I hear. She got a job at the same place as Millie, and they’re living it up in the big city.
My parents are doing really well. My dad has been doing a lot of physical therapy, and they seem to have found some effective pain management. He’s still not back to work, may never be, but he seems more at peace than I’ve seen him in a long time. With not having a mortgage payment, we’ve been able to help them out more and more, so my mom hasn’t had to work herself to the bone. They’ve even gone on a couple of small vacations during the past two years.
And we get to travel too. Often. We just have to have someone come by and take care of the farm when we leave for a bit, but it’s not hard to find help around here. “Yes, dear,” I say, zipping up my suitcase. “I may be a country boy, but I know if I’m going on a tropical vacation, I’d better bring trunks.”
He wraps his arms around me and kisses my lips in a quick kiss. “Well, I know your country ass wouldn’t mind skipping the trunks, but that’s not legal where we’re going.”
I chuckle. “Too bad.”
