“So around two in the afternoon?” Molly quipped.
“Pretty much,” Taylor agreed with a smile.
“Thanks for coming over,” Smoke told Bull, Skylar, Gramps, and Cassidy. Mario had long since graduated high school and college, and was currently living and working in New York City. He was determined to earn a spot in one of the huge Broadway shows. And Bull and Skylar didn’t have children of their own.
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Gramps told him.
“If you think I was going to miss prom night, you’re crazy,” Skylar said with a wide smile.
Molly gave each of her friends a hug, and Smoke gave the guys a chin lift as they all headed for their vehicles.
He stood on the front porch with Molly as they watched everyone head out. When it was just the two of them, Molly sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Smoke asked.
“Nothing. Everything’s perfect,” she told him. “I’m just already dreading the time in the near future when we don’t have this anymore.”
“Have what?” Smoke asked.
“This. Chaos. Noise. Craziness,” Molly said.
Smoke turned them and headed back inside. He looked around and understood what his wife was talking about. The great room looked like a tornado had hit it. Chairs were out of place, pillows were on the floor, champagne glasses they’d filled with orange juice for pictures were everywhere. He could barely remember what his house had looked like when it had just been himself living there. But he did recall that it had seemed big and cold. And empty.
Molly had not only filled his heart, she’d filled his home too. With her love and energy. Memories of her were embedded in every nook and cranny of their house.
Looking at the kitchen, he remembered the day Molly had learned her book about her time in captivity in Nigeria had been picked up by one of the Big Five publishers. She’d been cooking dinner and had absently checked her email.
They’d been sitting on the couch when she’d gotten word that the book had hit the New York Times bestsellers list.
He’d been in his office when she’d come to the doorway and informed him that her water had broken and they needed to get to the hospital.
The easy chair she’d spent many an hour in, rocking and feeding Kelsy. The dining room table she’d insisted on eating at every night when Kelsy was younger. The laundry room where they’d snuck off to have sex when Kelsy was sleeping in the living room, and they’d been scared of waking her up if they moved her.
Sleepovers, Halloween, Christmas mornings, birthday parties, tears, tantrums . . . he was a blessed man, and he knew it.
“I’m kind of afraid to go upstairs and look into Kelsy’s room,” Molly said with a small laugh.
Smoke nodded. It would likely be a disaster. Alessa had come over to get dressed here, and he knew from experience the two girls weren’t exactly neatniks.
“Later,” he said firmly, pulling Molly toward the laundry room.
“What are you doing?” Molly asked, but she didn’t try to pull away.
Smoke shut the door behind them and backed Molly up against the counter along one wall.
“Mark?” she asked, her brows furrowing in confusion.
“When’s the last time we snuck in here to make love?” he asked.
Her confusion cleared. “Um . . . eight years ago?” she said with a laugh.
“Exactly. I’ve missed this place,” Smoke told her, looking around and smiling.
Molly’s hand came up, and she caressed his cheek, running her thumb over his dimple. “I love you,” she said softly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to live with, but you never even blink when I get in one of my moods or when I’m being crazy.”
“I love your crazy,” Smoke told her honestly. “You’ve kept me on my toes for fifteen years, and I expect you to keep doing so for the next thirty.”
“We aren’t as young as we used to be,” she told him. “I’m not sure washer sex is gonna work anymore.”
In response, Smoke reached for the fastening of her jeans. He undid the button and zipper and pushed the denim and her panties down until they fell around her ankles. “Hop up,” he ordered.
Smiling, Molly did as he requested, and he helped her sit on the counter sans pants. She winced at the coldness of the granite under her ass, but Smoke didn’t hesitate to do what he’d been thinking of all night.
His wife made him feel as if he was perpetually fifteen. He wanted her every minute of every day. Simply seeing her laugh at something made him hard. He knew more than most men what he’d almost lost, and it was as if his body was still determined to make the most of his second chance.
Pushing her legs apart, Smoke leaned down. Unfortunately, Molly was right—sex on the counter in here probably wasn’t something they could do comfortably anymore. It took him longer to orgasm, and he preferred for her to be in their soft bed while he took her anyway. He never wanted to hurt her.
But Smoke knew he could get her off without too much difficulty. She loved having his hands and mouth on her body, and never failed to orgasm when he went down on her.
“Mark,” she halfheartedly protested. “We need to clean up.”
“Tomorrow,” he said absently, licking one of her inner thighs. When she spread her legs open to give him better access, Smoke smiled. God, he loved her. She was perfect for him in every way.
Forty minutes later, they were in their bed, his clothes and her shirt thrown haphazardly on the floor, and he was deep inside the woman he loved more than life itself. As he lazily made love to her, he looked into her eyes.
Her pupils were dilated, and she clenched his cock tightly every time he pulled out of her.
“I love you,” he said softly.
“Love you,” she panted in response. “Harder, Mark. Please.”
He wasn’t the kind of man who liked to hear his wife beg for anything, so he immediately obliged. Giving her what she wanted. Needed.
Truth be told, as much as Smoke loved his daughter, and loved the craziness of their life, he was looking forward to being an empty nester. He liked spending time with Molly. Liked when it was the two of them and they sat around talking about anything and everything. He had no idea what life would bring them in the future, but as long as she was by his side, he didn’t care.
Leaning up on one hand, Smoke freed the other so he could reach between them. He knew as soon as he began stroking her clit, Molly would go off like a rocket. He began to play with her, and before long, she threw her head back and arched. Her nails dug into his biceps, and she began to tremble.
The second her body flew over the edge, Smoke began to take her hard. Within thirty seconds, he groaned as he filled his wife with his come. Every time seemed as if it was the first. He loved her more than he had yesterday, and tomorrow he’d find that he loved her more than he did today.
Rolling over, Smoke pulled a slightly sweaty and exhausted Molly into his arms. Her warm breaths puffed against his shoulder, and as they did most nights, her fingers went to the faint scar on his side where he’d been shot fifteen years ago.
“Love you, Mark. Thanks for not dying.”
She said that almost every night too.
“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he replied, as he did every night.