GABBY

Streaks of sunlight run across my skin and warmth coats my backside. My husband is behind me, sound asleep, his body heat almost serving as a layer of protection.

Mornings like these are always my favorite. Waking up next to the man I love, knowing I’m safe in his arms.

Sighing, I roll onto my back, and a deep groan fills the quiet space of our bedroom as Marcel turns onto his back too, almost like he did it out of instinct because I did.

I take a moment to relish in the fact that the house is quiet. No screaming children are bickering over toys or what movie to watch next. No barking dogs or cars driving back and forth in the neighborhood.

It’s a fresh day—a new day. I am so thankful for days like this.

I look to my left, at Marcel. He’s sleeping soundlessly. He’s shirtless, a hand above his head, showing off that broad chest of his. He looks so vulnerable and peaceful when he sleeps, like there are no worries in his life at all.

I sit up and lean over, kissing him on the lips.

He groans. I know he won’t wake up, though. He had a long night at the office, and he has to leave in a few hours to drive to North Carolina.

Apparently, he’s working on a backyard for a high school track coach who was involved in a scandal with a student. The story was all over the news, mainly because the student happened to be the daughter of some woman who was running for mayor. I didn’t look into it much, but I remember hearing my assistant talk about it after one of our classes at the art studio.

Stories like that are easy to judge if you aren’t there firsthand, but I’m the last person to do it, and so is Marcel. Our relationship didn’t start off on simple grounds. It was taboo at it’ finest, but we made it work.

I get out of bed, padding softly to wash up in the bathroom. After I check on the kids, who are soundlessly asleep on the bunk bed, I make my way to the kitchen to get a fresh pot of coffee going.

Marcel hates the automatic coffee maker. He’s an old-fashioned man. He wants his coffee brewed and made fresh and doesn’t care that it takes longer to happen.

I smile, pouring coffee into one of the mugs I sculpted. After adding cream and sugar, I hear something jingle and realize its Callie’s collar. She walks my way and I bend down to rub her head.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” I coo. I kiss the top of her head, then walk to the backdoor, opening it quietly and letting her out.

When I turn back, sipping my coffee again as I crack the door, I hear a low yawn and look up, spotting Marcel standing at the mouth of the kitchen.

I swear he is so sexy in the mornings. His bed hair is disheveled but it makes him sexier, whether he thinks so or not, and when he has those morning eyes, I swear his blue gaze sears me even more.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, walking around the counter to get to me.

“Morning,” I whisper.

He meets up to me, cupping his large hands around my waist. “Kids still sleepin’?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good.” He takes my coffee mug away from me, setting it down on the countertop behind him. Then he picks me up, and my ass lands on the countertop behind me. “Gotta leave in a few hours. Wanna take a piece of my wife with me.”

My heart booms and desire courses through my veins as he skims his palms up my thighs. His fingers loop around the strap of my panties, and he tugs them down to my ankles.

I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, sighing as he lowers the front of his boxers enough to pull his hardening cock out. Bringing me closer to the edge of the counter, he thrusts inside me, his parted mouth crushing mine.

I fight a loud, pleasure-filled moan, tightening the hold I have around his neck. “It’s not like you’re going to miss me,” I breathe, teasing.

“Fuck yeah, I will.” He cups my ass, then drops his head, laying kisses on the crook of my neck.

I love these little moments. In fact, I cherish them now. After having our kids, we don’t get as much freedom. But when we do, and the time allows us to drop everything and indulge, we definitely take advantage of it.

“Comin’,” my husband groans in my ear, and I let out a hitched breath as he gives me several hard thrusts before groaning softly in my ear. “Fuck, Gabby.”

He pulls back, but not completely. He brings one hand up to keep my thighs spread apart, and then his middle finger plunges into my pussy.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper, and I clench around him.

“What?” he says, smirking. “You thought I was done with you?”

I gasp when he hits my spot—a spot he knows about very well.

“When will you learn, little thing.” His voice is gravelly and deep, and purely orgasmic. I shudder a breath as he tilts my hips and finger-fucks my pussy. He kisses me in the process, and I swear it takes everything in me not to scream. If I do, it’ll wake the kids.

I hold off on the scream as much as I can, clutching a handful of hair at the back of his head to take the edge off. He sucks my bottom lip and that’s what does me in. I come all over his fingers.

Marcel smiles, proud of what he’s accomplished, and as he pulls back, adjusting his semi-hard cock, something bangs against one of the walls of the house and tiny footsteps pound on the floor.

“Mommy!” Shay screams.

I hop down off the counter and bend down to pull my panties up as Marcel stands in front of me, blocking Shay’s view.

“Hey! How is my girl?” After glancing over his shoulder at me and seeing I’m situated, Marcel rushes for Shay and scoops her up in his large arms.

“I had a bad dream. One of the kids at daycare took my candy and I couldn’t figure out who done it.”

I giggle at that.

“Really?” Marcel asks. “And you just let it happen? You didn’t use your loud voice to demand an investigation?”

Shay laughs. “No! it was my candy and it wasn’t supposed to get taken!”

Marcel can’t fight his laugh. It’s so adorable how serious she is. She means business about her bad dream.

I hear Forrest yell for his Daddy from down the hall and Marcel turns with Shay. “Come on, let’s go get your brother.”

He heads down the hall with his daughter in his arms while I open the door for Callie to come back inside and make her some food and water.

Marcel returns to the kitchen with the kids, and sits them at the table. He makes breakfast for us, while I occupy the kids by organizing Cheerios in a row. Of course, I can’t stop looking at my husband every few seconds, thinking about what we just did.

He is so amazing. I can’t believe I still get so bubbly over things like what we did on the counter. You’d think, with as much time as passed, it would get old, but it doesn’t. The passion burns hot for us. That’s how I know this is real—that it’s meant to be.

I don’t think I could have asked for a better life than this one and when he peers over his shoulder, I know he’s thinking the same. We are both so lucky, and so damn happy.

“I love you,” I mouth to him.

He turns the stove off and walks my way, all broad and tan and lean. He drops a kiss on my forehead, staking his claim. I clench for him, aching and in need all over again. He always does this to me.

“I’ll have to get some more of you before I go,” he murmurs in my ear, so only I can here.

“Ew! Don’t kiss her!” Shay wails.

Forrest giggles.

Marcel ignores them both and plants a kiss on my lips this time.

“Ew!” They both scream hysterically.

I break out in a laugh as they start giggling.

“Hey! Before she had the two of you, she was all mine,” Marcel says, pointing his spatula between them playfully. “This ain’t nothin’ new to us!”

“Well, she’s my mommy now,” Shay asserts.

“No! My mommy!” Forrest yells back, brows dipped. He’s so territorial. But so is Shay.

The kids argue and Forrest grabs a handful of cereal to chuck it at Shay, trying to get her to be quiet.

I put my focus on Marcel and shake my head. “See what you’ve started!”

All he does is laugh.

Yes, our lives are different. It’s madness sometimes, really, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. This is the life I was always supposed to live. A life with my beautiful kids, who give me so much purpose, and Marcel Ward, the only man I will ever need.