We stopped going after Clover was born. Not because we had to—Kyron’s mother had offered, my parents had offered, Annaleise had offered because she genuinely loved watching other people’s babies. We just stopped wanting to.
Clover was six weeks old the morning I stood on this porch with her on my hip and my coffee getting cold and understood I was never going to find anything better than this. I didn’t need to travel the world to know that. It was just true.
Kyron paddled to work in the mornings. Fifteen minutes down the river, canoe pulled up at the outfitter dock, the same stretch he’d been running since before I was paying attention. I watched him go sometimes from this porch with my coffee, Clover on my hip or Remy in the carrier, and felt something simple and complete.
He came home the same way. I always heard the paddle before I saw him.
I set my wine glass on the table and moved to the sofa.
He watched me approach without moving, that dark gaze tracking me the way it always had—patient, already knowing. I settled beside him and his arm came around me automatically. I tipped my face up and kissed the underside of his jaw.
His arm tightened slightly.
My hand found the hem of his shirt.
“Monitor’s on,” he said in a low voice.
“I know.” I slid my hand over his stomach. “Kids are asleep.”
He looked down at me for a moment—that long, appreciative look—and then his hand came up and tucked my hair back from my face. His thumb settled at my temple, and I went still under it the way I always did. Five years in and nothing had changed about that.
“Suri.”
“Kyron,” I said back, the same way, and felt him almost smile against my hair.
I kissed him, my tongue sliding against his as I let my hand drift lower, over the hard plane of his stomach and down to the waistband of his pants. He was already half-hard beneath the fabric. I loved the way he thickened under my palm, the quiet hitch in his breath that only I ever got to hear.
I took my time, stroking him through his clothes until he was fully hard and straining. Then I slipped my fingers beneath the waistband and pulled both pants and underwear down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head already glistening. I wrapped my hand around the base and gave one slow stroke, feeling the heat of him, the way he pulsed against my fingers.
Kyron’s hand tightened in my hair, but he stayed quiet, jaw clenched, that low rumble trapped in his chest.
I slid off the sofa, pulled his pants to his ankles, and knelt between his spread thighs. Looking up at him, I held his gaze as I leaned in and dragged my tongue slowly up the underside of his cock, savoring the salty taste of his skin.
His thighs tensed. When I reached the head, I swirled my tongue around it, then took him into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then deeper, hollowing my cheeks.
“Fuck, Suri,” he whispered, voice rough and barely audible.
I moaned softly around him, the vibration making his hips twitch. I worked him with slow, wet strokes of my lips and tongue, taking him as deep as I could, my hand stroking what I couldn’t fit.
The porch was so quiet I could hear every slick sound, every shaky breath he tried to hold back. His fingers flexed in my hair, guiding but never forcing, and I loved the heavy, full feel of him on my tongue.
After a few minutes, he pulled me up with a low growl. “Come here.”
His hands were already lifting the hem of my sundress, bunching it at my waist. I stood and pulled the dress over my head in one motion, letting it fall to the floorboards. The warm night air brushed over my bare breasts, nipples tight. Kyron’s dark eyes moved over me, hungry and reverent.
I hooked my thumbs into my underwear and slid them down my legs, stepping out so I stood completely naked in front of him. His gaze traveled slowly—breasts, the curve of my waist, the slick heat between my thighs.
“Come here,” he said again, voice low.
I stepped closer and spread my legs. He leaned forward, hands gripping my hips, and pressed his mouth to me. The first slow lick over my clit made my knees buckle. He groaned quietly against me, the sound vibrating through my body as he lickedand sucked, sliding one thick finger inside me. I was so wet it went in easily, curling just right.
I moved one leg up onto the sofa, opening myself wider for him. The new angle let him bury his face deeper, licking firm circles around my clit while his finger stroked that perfect spot inside.
Heat coiled tight and fast in my belly. I bit my lip hard to stay quiet, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder as my hips rocked against his mouth.
I shattered with a choked gasp, thighs trembling, pleasure crashing through me in waves. He kept his mouth on me, gentler now, easing me through it until I was shaking.
I didn’t give him time to recover. I climbed onto his lap, straddling him, my slick pussy hovering over his cock. He held himself steady as I sank down slowly, taking every thick inch until he was buried to the hilt. We both exhaled shakily at the tight, perfect fit.