I must be swaddled in thick blankets and locked in a sauna. Maybe I’ve been banished to live on the sun. It’s the only explanation for this oppressive heat, and the sweltering weight smothering me. The weight moves, tightening and loosening its hold, and my awareness seeps back. Not a blanket. A body. A large body. A kiss lands on my cheek, miles of rippling muscle shifting against me. We could be sleeping in an emperor-size bed, and Nico would still wrap his long limbs around me all night. It’s one of my favorite things about him.
That and the heat he’s packing between his thighs.
He presses his morning wood into my hip. “Hey.”
His voice is all rocks and gravel, his lips and hands everywhere at once, like he’s a mutant squid with three mouths and eighty fingers, caressing my breasts, my belly, my thighs. I’m surrounded, and I love it. Totally engulfed by Nico.
I move, restlessly, turning in his arms, and my face meets his wide neck. I bite, then I suck, and a red mark blooms on his dark skin. My mark on my husband. His answering groan lights a path through my veins, and my blood turns to molten lava. It’s been over a year since the fight that broke us up, and it’s like we’re still making up for lost time. Apologizing. Forgiving. Over, and over. I’m not sure we’ll ever get enough of each other.
His busy hands stroke my back, one thick thigh pushing between my legs, rubbing exactly where I want him. “I’m so wet,” I murmur. “And I’m ovulating.”
Nico grunts and kneads my ass. We slide and drag against each other, nothing but skin for days. Then he says, “I could live like this. With you. Forever. I don’t need anything else.” My (sexy) gentle giant isn’t always much for words, but he sure knows how to make them count.
He only needs me. I only need him. But we want a baby.
I wiggle higher until our mouths are lined up, my hand meandering down the dips and grooves of his chest and abs, along the slide of his hipbone. I kiss him and take his cock in my hand, always amazed at how thick and heavy it is, hot to the touch. Hard for me. Our tongues swirl, once, twice, and his hips glide forward, searching for my rhythm, demanding my attention.
I am rapt.
Still stroking him, I shift my head and look into his eyes. The sky has nothing on his blue gaze. “If we can’t, if it’s not in the cards for us, would you want to adopt?”
I doubt most people would have this conversation while giving their husband a hand job, but we’re not most people. We’ve been known to fall asleep on our front lawn while counting the stars. We choose to stop and kiss in the rain. We dance on the beach. We got married in private, just the two of us and a waterfall. That didn’t stop our friends from throwing us the most outrageous party known to man (punk-meets-country theme; think: hay bales, Mohawks, dueling guitars, and cowboy hats), but Nico and I follow our own rules, even choosing tattoos over wedding bands. Or maybe we follow his rules. He is, after all, the mushiest, most romantic man birthed this century.
All two hundred and seventy pounds of him.
He traces my lips with his finger. “I’d love to adopt. We can try naturally as long as you want, but I’d rather not go the whole doctor and appointment route, unless your heart is set on it. If we can have our own baby, I’ll be thrilled. If we get to give a kid a chance at a good life, I’ll be just as excited. More, maybe.” He places a gentle kiss to my temple. “It’s only been six months. Whatever will be, will be. As long as we’re together.”
Again his chosen words flatten me. I run my thumb over the head of his cock, spreading around his pre-come, watching how his eyes flutter closed, how his broad chest rises faster. It sends my heart skating across the moon.
“I love you so much,” I say.
“Love you, babe. Forever.”
He grabs my hips and lifts me over him, like I’m nothing but a feather, and I straddle his bulk. I rock against his length, not taking him inside me yet, just feeling all that power under me, his hardness rubbing me just right, our breaths guiding us. It reminds me of us dancing on the beach, letting the rush of waves set our rhythm. Faster. Slower. Gentle swaying. Then I lift up, and lower myself down. God. It never gets less intense. Never ceases to amaze me how perfectly we fit together. Two halves of a whole. A really pleasurable whole.
That’s when someone knocks on our door. “You two spend any longer in there, and we’re hitting the slopes without you.” Shay is way too dedicated of a skier.
“You can mainline Gatorade to replenish your fluids.” Sawyer laughs at his own joke and pounds the door once.
I rock against Nico’s hips, the two of us grinning at each other. “Give us a minute,” I call.
“A minute?” Nico whispers.
“Be quick.”
“Only if we get alone time later. I like this baby-making business.”
“I like you. Now hurry up and make me come.”
I swivel my hips, and he growls.
He flips me over and pins my hands above my head, rolling his hips exactly how I like it—short strokes in and out, then deep and hard. It won’t take long. It never does. The trouble is keeping quiet. In our Vancouver house, screaming and shouting my pleasure heightens my release, something we’ve discovered as of late. In our shared Aspen condo it might be best to keep a lid on the vocal side of our performance. I bite my lip instead.
Nico has other ideas. “Fuck ’em. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”
He palms my breast with his free hand, his lips crushing mine in a greedy kiss, wet and punishing as our hips meet. It overloads my senses—his thickness filling me, his breath inflating my lungs. Our talk of babies and all the love my husband has to give is bigger than this room. This vacation. It blocks everything out but us.
I shout, “God yes,” as we move against each other. I forget where we are, that I have a huge photography show to pull together and events coming up. That our friends can hear our every word. All I can do is feel.
“Fuck.” I’m so close, each snap of his hips pushing me toward the edge. “Yes. Oh God. Yes. Just like that.” Then I topple over, a symphony of yeses hollered.
Nico’s “Fuck, I love you. Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” is loud enough to wake the dead.
I press my face into his neck and cringe; our friends will never let us live this down. I should care. I really should. But they can suck it.
My abdomen clenches, and Nico shudders. He nips my shoulder. “To be continued. Shower now.”
He does caveman well.
Twenty minutes later we stride out, long underwear on, humming to ourselves. We planned this group vacation a while back—our three-year Aspenniversary—as a way to have fun and celebrate how we all met. The chalet we’ve rented has soaring ceilings, Navajo rugs, and a spectacular view of the mountains. Shay and Kolton are cuddled on one end of the living room couch, his face lowered to Shay’s still-flat belly, talking to his unborn kid. Lily and Sawyer are at the dining room table, his mouth wide open as she flicks Lucky Charms at his face. He catches most of them and chews happily.
Thankfully our friends don’t say boo. Don’t even look our way. Maybe the walls are thicker than I thought. Nico pours us each a coffee while I search out bowls and milk.
“What time do you guys want to head out?” I ask.
“Not sure,” Sawyer says. “Maybe nine oh, oh, oh, ooooooh clock.” His high-pitched orgasm impersonation stops me cold.
“Really?” Kolton deepens his baritone. “I just ohfuck ohfuck don’t know. Might be too soon.”
Shay joins in with “Oh, baby. Yes, yes, yes. Nine is ohGodyes perfect.”
They get louder and more dramatic, tossing out random exclamations of rapture. Lily face-plants on the table, laughing hysterically, and I can’t even be annoyed. Not with the way she and Shay are cackling while Sawyer and Kolton kiss and fondle the air like pornographic mimes.
Nico’s cheekbones glow, matching the color of the hickey on his neck. We trade looks. We shrug. Then we high-five each other.
“Be jealous,” is all my man says.
No chance they are. Shay and Kolton got married before us, a stunning affair at Whistler Mountain hosted, of course, by Over the Top Events. My favorite photo is of Kolton spinning Shay, her curly hair flying in reckless circles. In seven months they’ll be adding a little boy or girl to their perfect slice of life. Sawyer is as immature as ever, but he and Lily are inseparable, too. They’ve even started a new line of recycled clothing called Saved.
His homage to her effect on him.
When the catcalling dies down, Nico and I sit at the table to drink our coffee and eat our cereal in comfortable silence. As I shovel a spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth, a red bra lands in front of me.
“We’re tossing them today.” Shay is way too chipper for this hour.
Lily’s undergarments aren’t strewn over the table, but she’s already blushing. “I brought my purple one.”
I raise my hand. “Black for me. Can’t wait.”
Kolton steps behind Shay and wraps his hands around her belly. He’s always been a “hands on” kind of guy, but since announcing her pregnancy, he hovers more, touches more, holding her and getting as close as possible. I often forget he lost his first wife during childbirth. Fear must dampen his joy at times, worry about everything that could go wrong.
Today he seems nothing but adorably thrilled. “What’s with the bras?”
I sip my coffee. “We’re re-creating the Karma Event.”
He squints. “I don’t follow.”
“The Karma Event,” I repeat. When his brows crease deeper, I add, “The bra toss. You know, like the day you skied into Shay.”
His reply: “She skied into me.”
Shay cranes her neck to gawk at him. “You really are delusional.”
“Just admit it, already.”
“We already agreed it was your fault. Just like the fact that you broke the dishwasher.”
“Didn’t happen,” he tells her. “But what’s this about a bra toss?”
Shay rolls her eyes.
“The bra toss,” I say again, slower and louder, like English is his second language.
Kolton frowns. “Still in the dark here.”
“Me, too.” Sawyer picks up the red bra and holds it over his chest. “Can’t wait for the details, though.”
“Me three,” Nico adds.
Lily stares at Shay, her look of confusion likely matching mine. “You never told Kolton?”
“Nope.” Shay tries to snatch her bra from Sawyer, but he fends her off.
“But that’s the beginning of it all,” Lily persists. “How could he not know?”
Kolton steps back from Shay and crosses his arms. “Now’s a good time to fill me in. Especially considering Sawyer is a minute from wearing your bra.”
Which is exactly what Sawyer does. He slips his arms through the straps and positions the cups over his long-underwear top.
“You’re ridiculous,” Lily says, all smiles.
He winks at her. “You love me.”
She doesn’t contradict him.
Kolton, however, isn’t sidetracked. “Let’s hear it, Shay. What’s with the bra toss?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “It’s no big deal. Just, the day you skied into me, I’d seen the bra tree earlier—the one on the mountain with all the bras and tacky necklaces hanging off it—and decided to take mine off and sling it. Wanted to erase my past and start over.”
“Does that mean you skied into my boy braless?” Sawyer asks, still dressed in drag.
It’s Shay’s turn to wink. “It does.”
Nico’s large hand grips my thigh. “You planning that, then? On slinging yours and skiing without a bra?” The spark in his gaze is all lust.
“That I am.” I cover his hand with mine and squeeze.
We proceed to discuss the logistics of our mission and decide to wear our bras until our last run. We’ll slip them off at the lodge, ride one final chair, then let our undergarments fly. Our nod to the Karma Event and the place that brought us all together.
Kolton has been quiet awhile. He drags a hand down his long hair. “Was the bra you tossed last time black?”
Shay nods. “Yep.”
“And it hit the tree? It landed on it?” His intensity sucks the levity from the room. Is he pissed she never told him? Mad he didn’t know she skied braless?
Shay shakes her head slowly. “I missed. It landed on some guy’s head. Why?”
Kolton’s jaw tics. “Unfuckingbelievable.”
We all trade looks. I stay mute, unsure where his anger is coming from. Kind of annoyed he’s making a thing out of this. It’s our vacation, after all. We’re supposed to laugh and ski and have fun. (And have ridiculously loud sex.) Nothing about Kolton’s pursed lips screams fun.
Then he laughs. Maybe loses his shit is a better description. The man clutches his stomach and doubles over, heaving as he cackles. Jekyll, meet Hyde. The sound is contagious, though. One by one we titter then chuckle then howl, until we’re all smacking our thighs, desperate for breath.
Nico comes up for air first. “Why the hell are we laughing?”
Shay punches Kolton’s shoulder. “Seriously. What is up with you?”
He opens his mouth, says, “I was…” then doubles over. Each time he tries to speak, he gets out another word or two, then succumbs again, the thirty-two-year-old reduced to thirteen, tears streaming from his eyes.
“Okay, okay.” He sucks in a breath. “I was skiing that day and stopped under the chairlift. Like right by that stupid tree. And”—he locks eyes with Shay and shakes his head, his expression dumbstruck—“a black bra landed on my head.”
No fucking way. I think back to that moment in time, the memory sharpening: us on that chairlift, Shay’s bra sailing through the air, us cracking up as it landed on some dude’s helmet.
Shay smacks him again. “Fuck off.”
“Swear to God.”
“No. Seriously. Fuck off.”
Lily’s jaw nearly hits the floor. “Oh my God.”
I don’t bother replying. I tip into Nico and erupt again, my man laughing, too, his huge frame shaking hard enough to cause an earthquake. Once we’ve relived the event ten thousand times, telling and retelling it until we’re beyond giddy, we hurry to finish getting dressed. Tossing our bras today has taken on a whole new meaning.
Nico stops me in our room. “You think it was fate? The bra and everything that followed?”
If Shay weren’t braless and full of adrenaline that day, she might not have skied her mogul run and careened into Kolton. If we took a different route together, and Lily didn’t fall on our way down, we wouldn’t have met Sawyer and Nico. We probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to knock on their condo door if they’d been total strangers. There’s a chance I wouldn’t have married the beautiful man in front of me. “I’ll go with fate,” I say.
He smooths my hair behind my ear and smiles. “Fate it is.”