The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline(277)
Nicole, Jenna and Alice were there to support me: Nicole determinedly arguing until the last second that I should go on at least one shopping spree to find a bridal outfit; and me stating with equal determination that it would never happen.
My friends’ initial wariness of Sebastian had long since worn off, and they treated him something like a younger brother, much to his irritation and my amusement.
Sebastian stood by my side in front of the deputy clerk at City Hall and promised to love me every day for the rest of his life. I cried tears of joy, and said I would never again let anything separate us.
The day was cold and clear, and the crystal sun shone on our small party as we celebrated the life that Sebastian and I were, at last, going to have.
Despite the difficulties we had been through, despite the difficulties we had yet to face, I had never been happier in my whole life, full of hope and gazing through tears at the man I loved. We were beginning again, or, perhaps, adding a new chapter to our story.
The bride wore jeans.
THE END
PART THREE
EPILOGUES & BONUS CHAPTERS
EXTENDED EPILOGUE 1
christmas at long BEACH
Three Months Later
“For fuck’s sake, Caro! How many people have you invited?”
I’m staring at a fucking Himalaya of food covering our coffee table, our kitchen table, and across every surface in the kitchen.
She’s slumped on our couch, looking so fucking sexy, hair all mussed up.
She glares at me, but I can see the amusement in her eyes, too.
“Huh! We both know you’ll eat at least half of this, Hunter.” Which is true. “You know that I’ve only invited the girls, Atash and his family.” Which is also true. “I feel like I’ve been standing in the kitchen all day—my feet are killing me.”
I have married a fucking wonderful cook. Hell, she’s just a fucking wonderful woman, period.
“Want me to rub your feet, baby?”
“Oh, please, Sebastian.”
“Scoot over.”
I sit on the couch and pull off her sneakers and socks. She moans softly as I massage her feet—fuck, that sound turns me on. And she has beautiful feet: kinda reminds me of some of those fucking boring statues she dragged me to see when we were in Italy.
She closes her eyes, then says, sleepily, “That’s not my foot, Sebastian.”
“I know, baby. What can I say, if a job’s worth doing…”
I lie on the couch and press myself into her. I can’t help it: I get hard just looking at her, but touching her. Yeah … definitely her fault.
“Ugh, you’re all sweaty, Sebastian!”
True. I’ve been out for a run. Well, more of a slow, fucking limping jog along the boardwalk. I hate being so fucking feeble, but it’s getting better. The doc says I’ll always have a limp—well, what the fuck does he know?
It’s already dark outside, but the boardwalk is buzzing, everyone drinking, having a good time, celebrating Christmas Eve.
I’m beginning to feel part of it, like this really is my home. But the truth is, home could be anywhere, as long as I’m with Caro. I am one lucky bastard. Even with a bullet hole through my damn shoulder and a chunk of muscle missing from my right thigh.
She pushes me off.
“Hold that thought, Hunter. I’m going for a shower.”
She slides out from underneath me and heads for the bathroom. I wait until I can hear the water running and then I follow. Although I may have just taken a slight strategic detour to taste some of that amazing fucking food along the way.
I peel off my sweatshirt and t-shirt in one go and somewhere between the living room and the bathroom, I kick off my sneakers and socks. I know she’ll be mad at me for that later, as I leave a trail of clothes through the house, but I fucking love it when she chews me out: the way her dark eyes flash, and her nostrils give that little flare. My sweatpants and briefs make it as far as the bathroom door before I lose them. She keeps reminding me we have elderly neighbors and thin curtains. Whatever.
I slide into the shower behind her and she gives a little gasp.
Her hair is all lathered up so I run my hands through it, massaging her scalp, and she gives a groan of pleasure. Yep, definitely feeling that in my dick.
Then I take the shower gel and wash her all over, sliding my hands over her gorgeous, soft skin; over her fantastic ass; and, my favorite, her beautiful breasts.
I bend down to kiss her and the water from the shower pours over us both, but I don’t need the warmth of the water—I’m fucking on fire just touching her.
I’d like to crouch down to taste her delicious, wet pussy, but the truth is, it’s fucking agony stretching out my thigh muscles like that. The thought pisses me off. Whatever. There’s other stuff I want to do. A lot of other stuff.