The Culmination (8 page)

“Grassy bottuhl.”

“No, you can’t hold the bottle, Little G. Your mommy gave me this bottle because she figured your daddy already let you spill the other one all over the ground.”

“Wow. Maybe there
is
something to this mother’s intuition thing,” I say.

Gracie tries to grab the bottle out of Sarah’s hand, but Sarah holds it up high, out of her reach. “
No, monita.
You can’t hold the bottle. You can hold the
wand.
”

Gracie starts to whine and stomp her feet.

“Oh good lord,” Sarah says. “She’s so much like her mother, it’s frightening.
No, bebe.
No es para ti
.”

Gracie grabs for the bottle again.

“
No, no, no,
pequañita
.
No.
”

“Grassy bottuhl.”

“
No
.”

Gracie grabs at the bottle again.

“
Jeupucha culo.
That’s enough.”

“Uh oh, Gracie,” I say. “Run for the hills. Auntie Sarah’s cursing in Spanish.”

Sarah levels Gracie with unflinching eyes. “
No tócala. Me entiendes, sobrina?
”

Gracie nods, every bit as mesmerized by Sarah as I am.

“
Muy bien, amor,
” Sarah says to Gracie.
“Ahorita, dame un besito.
” Sarah leans her cheek into Gracie for a kiss and Gracie complies.
“Buena chiquitita
.
”
Sarah looks at me, her eyebrow raised. “And
that,
my dear, is how we do it, Latina-style.”

“That poor girl never stood a chance.”

“We don’t put up with crap from anybody, no matter how tiny and adorable they happen to be.” She looks at me sideways. “Or how big and gorgeous and full of muscles.”

I exhale loudly. My cock is tingling. This woman slays me. “Put the bubbles down,” I say evenly.

She puts the bottle of bubbles on a nearby table and returns to me.

“Gracie, will you go look for the bunny that lives by those rocks again?” I ask. “I think I just saw him poke his head out and look for you.”

Gracie traipses over to the rocks, just out of earshot of us.

I put my hands on Sarah’s cheeks. “You’re the goddess and the muse, Sarah Cruz Faraday.” I pull her into me for a deep kiss and reach around to grab her ass. I have to reach a little farther around to get a good grip on her backside these days, but it’s worth the extra effort. “Damn, I love this ass,” I say, squeezing it with enthusiasm and grinding my hard-on into her.

“My ass loves you, too.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For my ass?”

“For always kicking my ass when I need it.”

She shrugs. “I love you truly, madly, deeply. That’s what love is—kicking someone’s ass when they need it.”

“Don’t give up on me,” I whisper.

“Never. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good. Because if you ever do try to leave me, I’ll hunt you down and drag you back, kicking and screaming, and then lock you in our bedroom and put bars on the windows and doors.”

Her face lights up. “Ooh.” She presses herself into my hard-on. “I love it when you get all creepy and intense on me.”

I laugh. “My baby loves herself some crazy.”

“Hellz yeah, I do.”

I kiss her again.

“I wish we were doing whatever Kat and Josh are doing right this very minute,” she breathes. “I can’t stop thinking about that box of goodies you gave me.”

“It’s gonna be fun,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“So
that’s
what you were thinking about when you looked like a serial killer earlier?”

“Well, it depends which time you’re referring to.”

She laughs.

“I’d say of the twenty or so times I looked like a serial killer today, probably four or five of those times I was thinking about putting those cuffs on you
.
”

She glances at Gracie, her cheeks bursting with sudden color, and then back at me. “And here I thought you looked like that because you were stressed about the babies.”

“Well, yeah, the other fifteen times, I was stressing about the babies.”

“Please stop worrying, baby. Everything’s gonna be fine. I promise.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe it.

“You’re really okay with the whole bondage thing?” she asks. Her eyes dart to Gracie again.

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“Hellz no. I’m just surprised, given what you’ve said in the past.”

I shrug. “At the touch of love, every man becomes a pervert.”

She smiles broadly. “Hmm. Is that the quote? I could have sworn Plato said something about love making a man into a
poet
?” She crinkles her nose.

“I believe the exact quote from Plato is, ‘At the touch of love, every man wants to cuff his wife to a bondage sheet and fuck her brains out.’”

“Gosh, that Plato’s got a quote for everything.”

“Do I detect a certain annoyance with my man Plato?”

She touches my left forearm, grazing her fingertips over my tattooed declaration of love to her. “No, baby. Never. Plato’s my homey. I’m in favor of anyone or anything that helps you, Jonas. Always.”

“That’s what Josh said, in so many words.”

“Your brother’s a wise man.” She smiles. “And powerful.”

“He has his moments. So you know what I’ve decided?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna stop thinking so much.”

“Ha!”

“No, really. I’m just gonna enjoy the ride—just like Josh said. I’m gonna focus on our happiness and nothing else. Fuck everything else.”

She exhales like she’s been holding her breath underwater. Her eyes glisten.

“A man can think himself into sorrow if he’s not careful.”

She wipes her eyes. “Plato?”

“No, Jonas Faraday.”

“Damn, it’s getting harder and harder to tell you two apart.”

I pull her close. “When you and the babies are in the clear, I’m gonna give you the most unbelievable sexual experience of your life. It’ll be Jonas and Sarah’s Fucktastic Adventure. Thailand 2.0. Bigger, better, and harder. A whole new peak
.
”

She glances at Gracie again—and once she’s confirmed her niece is happily throwing a beach ball, her eyes return to me.

“You wanna know what the rules to this Fuckstastic Adventure are gonna be?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“One, I get to do whatever the fuck I want to you.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“And, two, I get to do whatever the fuck I want to you.”

She exhales, clearly turned on.

I brush my lips against her jawline and then her ear. “Another round of delicious anticipation, baby.” She looks exactly the way she did when I kissed her outside the cave in Belize. Holy fuck, I want to take her right here and now on the lawn. “Your cocky-bastard-asshole-motherfucker is
back
, baby.” I whisper. “And with a fucking vengeance.”

Chapter 7

Sarah

Jonas comes out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his body as chiseled and ripped and muscled as ever. Good lord, I will never get over the sight of him. He’s a work of art.

He rips off his towel and chucks it across the room, giving me the view of him that never gets old, and then he growls like a polar bear and flexes every muscle in his arms and chest.

“Wowza,” I say. “Hello, Incredible Hulk Jonas.”

“Damn, I wanna fuck your brains out, woman. Holy fuck.”

My heart lurches in my chest. “Do it.”

He leaps onto the bed and hovers over me, his muscles taut. “Oh, the things I want to do to you.”

“Do ’em.”

“Nope.” He kisses my nose.

“Just this once. I won’t tell.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“See, I’ve already explained this to you, woman. If I fuck you the way I want to do it and hurtle you into premature labor, I’ll never, ever forgive myself. Is that what you want?”

“Well, jeez.
No
.”

“I thought so.” He bites my neck and pretends to rip at me like a shark.

“Jonas!” I shriek.

He growls. “Just six more weeks, and then you’re all mine, woman.”

“Well, you do realize I’m gonna have to, you know,
heal
after giving birth.”

“Fuck that. Once those babies are out of you, I’m going in, any hole I can get. You’re just gonna have to fucking deal with it.”

“Jonas!”

He laughs and licks my face.

I wipe my cheek, scowling at him. “Another Hallmark moment brought to you by Jonas Faraday: ‘My darling, once those babies are out of you, I’m going in any hole I please, no matter how bloodied or mangled you happen to be from birthing my children. Happy Valentine’s Day.’”

He belly laughs and licks me again.

“You really are a master of Valentine’s Day bullshit, you know that?”

“I really am.” He sighs, completely enamored with himself. “A little music to set the mood, Mrs. Faraday?”

“That would be lovely, sir.” My heart is racing. He’s a new man. Oh my God. I could pass out with relief.

He leaps off the bed and over to his computer, cues up a song, and then turns to me with a devilish grin. I’m not sure what that naughty smile of his means. Is he going to play something fuckstastic for me, signaling he’s ready to throw caution to the wind and fuck the shit out of me? Doubtful. Or has my hunky-monkey husband selected a song suited to tenderly romancing his saintly, pregnant wife, per doctor’s orders, yet again?

The song begins—it’s “The One Who Loves You the Most” by Brett Dennen, a beautiful, heartfelt love song—one of my all-time favorites, actually—and, instantly, I know what brand of fuckery we’re going to engage in tonight. Again.

Jonas scoots into bed next to me, his hard-on raging.

“Hi, husband,” I say. “And hello to your boner, as well. Good lord, baby. That boner deserves its own zip code tonight. Holy moly
.
”

“Why, hello, wife, from the both of us.”

“I think your dick grew
again.
”

“At least another four inches. Thanks to your fucking hotness.”

“At least.”

“How are you this fine evening, wife?”

“I’m good.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Tell me all about it, My Magnificent Sarah. Don’t hold back.”

“Well, let’s see. My feet are swollen. My back hurts. And I’m as big as a house.”

“You’re not as big as a house.” He touches my swollen belly. “You’re as big as an exceptionally large condo.”

“Wow, you sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”

“So I’ve been told many, many times.” He smirks. “Many, many,
many
times. Before you came along and kicked my ass, of course.” He winks.

“You woman wizard, you.”

“It’s true. I can’t deny it. I am, indeed, a wizard of women. It’s what they
all
say. And in my vast experience with many, many, many, many—”

“I got it, Jonas.”

He laughs. “
Many
women, you know what I’ve figured out?”

“Oh, this ought to be good.”

“The thing that makes women want to bone a guy the most?”

“What?”

“When he tells them they’re as big as an exceptionally large condo.”

I laugh and groan at the same time.

“But lucky for me—and
you
—I happen to like women who are as big as exceptionally large condos. As evidenced by my twenty-inch boner.” He runs his hands over my belly and nuzzles into me. “You know I’ve had a nonstop hard-on for you since our conversation in the backyard? Damn, that was hot. Have you ever seen a boner this big in your entire life?” He lifts up the sheet.

I don’t mean to do it, but I yawn.

“Wow.”

I laugh through my yawn. “I’m sorry.”

“My dick has elicited a myriad of different reactions in its time—from exclamations of awe and wonder to shrieks of mortified terror and shock—but that’s the first time it’s inspired a fucking
yawn
.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I just feel so fatigued tonight,” I say.

He touches my face. “Should I be worried?”

“No. Gracie just wore me out today.”

“That girl’s a bossy little thing—just like her auntie.”

“Faster, Unkie Jo Jo!” I say, laughing. “Unkie Jo-Jo-Dah-Clehn!”

“
Stop
.”

I giggle. “But it’s so funny.”

“It’s not funny.” He kisses my neck and pokes me with his erection.

I exhale in total exhaustion. “Jeez, I can’t even imagine how tiring it’s going to be chasing
two
monkeys around every single day.”

“Well, we’ll get a nanny. Obviously.”

We’ve never talked about this. Up until now, Jonas has steadfastly avoided talking specifics about our future, much to my confusion and frustration. “Is that so?” I say. I squint at him, trying to decide if he’s joking—but he looks one hundred percent serious.

“Of course. And a night-nurse, too. At least for the first year.”

Huh. He’s definitely serious. “You’re an amusing fellow, you know that?” I say.

“What? What’s amusing about that?”

“We don’t need a night-nurse. Who are we? The Kennedys?”

“What are you talking about? Any sane person who can afford to hire a nanny and a night-nurse for twins does it. Why suffer unnecessarily?”

“
Suffer
? Taking care of my own children doesn’t count as
suffering
, Jonas
.
” I can’t keep indignation out of my voice.

“That’s not what I meant.” He exhales, apparently trying to gather his thoughts. “Josh just gave me a few things to think about, that’s all.” He pauses, apparently trying to figure out how to articulate something. His face softens with earnestness. “Josh and I had Mariela,” he says quietly. “And we loved her. But that didn’t mean my mom was any less of a great mom.”

My heart is in my throat.

“There’s nothing wrong with having help—and more people to love. Nothing at all.”

I bite my lip. I don’t know what to say. Occasionally, at times like these, I’m reminded that, in some important ways, Jonas and I had vastly different childhoods.