Love at First House Bonus Scene
Lily
Five Months Later
Fifteen minutes into the first look, Turner eyeballs the photographer and says, “We’re done here.”
“Wait,” the confused thirty-something man with brown hair and tortoiseshell glasses looks confused. “You have me booked for an hour.”
Turner nods confidently. “Don’t worry. You’ll be paid for the full hour with a hefty tip, if you do me a favor.”
“And what’s that?” the photographer asks, still looking flabbergasted.
The grumpy cowboy pulls a wad of cash out of his back pocket, not even counting it, and hands it to the guy. “I want you to ensure nobody enters this tent until I come out. You hear me?”
The man pushes his glasses up on his nose, still a little confused, but takes the cash. “Sure thing,” he says, quickly packing up his gear and exiting the large glamping-style tent Turner and his brothers set up to act as the bridal suite for our wedding.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my head bobbling between my groom and the entrance to the tent.
In one stride, he covers the distance between us, looking like a ravenous wolf. Pulling me tightly into his arms, he twirls me around. “The veneer of civilization is pretty damn thin on guys like me,” he excuses, leaning down to nestle his head in the crook of my neck and cover me in sensual open-mouthed kisses that make my flesh spark and sizzle.
His hands find my breasts, and he thumbs over my nipple barbells until I breathe hard and clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle a moan. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Strawberry. One look at you in that dress, with those doe eyes of yours, so filled with love, and…I have to have you now.”
“Baby—” I start to scold, but he unzips the back of my dress, covering my mouth with his. The kiss is ravenous, wild, and I know I’ll have to redo my makeup afterwards, but my hands already shake with want. And my husband’s words and dramatic show of desire make the throb between my legs unbearable.
My Bohemian ivory wedding dress with vintage lace pools at my feet as his eyes flood with yearning, scanning over the white-and-pink lace bra and panty set I wear. I instinctively cover them with my hands, saying, “You’re not supposed to see these until later.”
He laughs low in his throat, making quick work of removing his suit jacket, dress shirt, and undershirt and tossing them unceremoniously to the ground. “I know you have at least three more lingerie sets you’re planning on wearing later…”
“And how do you know that? Did you look in the bags when I told you not to?”
He shakes his head. “No, ma’am, but you and I are both very visual people.”
The sound of his zipper punctuates the statement, and I watch hungrily as he pulls down his tight-fitting Wranglers and removes his cowboy hat. His cock tents the front of his black boxer briefs, and he pulls them down, revealing his gorgeous, thick, pierced cock.
Yes, I am a visual thinker, and my pussy floods at the glorious sight of him.
Grabbing me around the waist, he hoists me out of the pile of lace and into his arms. I thread my arms around his neck and wrap my legs around his waist as his mouth finds mine, possessing me with aggressive strokes of his tongue that make me moan with pleasure.
“Strawberry, I need you so bad right now. I can’t take another moment without being inside you.”
His hands grip my ass tightly, and he orders, “Pull your G-string to the side a little.” His eyes are molten pools of desire as my hand reaches between my legs, and he enters me with a demanding thrust. “Fuck, baby, you’re so damn wet. How are you always this wet for me?”
“Like you said, I’m a visual person, and husband, you are quite the visual,” I pant into his ear, burying my face in the crook of his neck to soften the whimpers and cries every stroke of his pierced cock wrests from me.
“God, I love the feel of your pussy. It’s perfection. Or more like addiction.”
I clamp my hand over my mouth, trying to stay quiet as I ride him. My burgundy hair falls around us like a curtain. He thrusts into me, his muscles flexing and hard as rock, until I writhe, my pussy gripping him as the heat of his release fills me in waves. I bury my fingernails in his back, pressing my face into his chest to silence my ecstasy. He squeezes his lips tightly together, straining not to scream.
Shuffling me over to the couch, he sits down with me still straddling him, and we melt into each other, satisfied, panting, and relaxed. He strokes my hair, staring earnestly into my face. “Now, I know what you’re going to say next. You’re going to tell me you need to redo your makeup and your hair and all the girlie shit you do. But you’re the most stunning, otherworldly creature I’ve ever seen with your hair wild and your face glowing from lovemaking. This is how I want to marry you…in the raw and totally natural.”
I snicker, stroking his angular jaw. “You may dress like a cowboy and act like a cowboy, but underneath it all, you’re still a hippie artist.”
“The first hippies were cowboys,” he grumbles. He kisses me tenderly, running his fingers through my locks and gazing wistfully at me. “I’m going to make another sculpture of you. Embodying every inch of your feminine glory…”
I know where he’s going with this. When inspiration hits, he’s like a madman. He must start working on his project right away, even if it’s simply taking notes and drawing sketches. But we have somewhere we need to be.
“Baby, you need to marry me first…again.”
It takes a moment for the words to bring him back from his musings, and he says with a lopsided grin, “Are you ready to do this properly?”
“Properly? How can you use that word, considering you just turned the first look into the first fuck?”
He laughs seductively. “You know, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my woman satisfied and coming back for more…even if it requires getting a little creative with convention.”
His hands cup my breasts, and his thumbs circle my nipples, flicking my barbells through the lace of my bra. I can’t hold back the heavy sigh of ecstasy the skilled move elicits.
“You have to get outside to your brothers. Otherwise, everyone’s going to start thinking I’m a jilted bride who’s been left at the altar.”
“No fucking way,” he replies, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “I love you more today than I did the first time we got hitched. How is that even possible?”
“Easy. We barely knew each other the first time we got married.” I chuckle, stroking his neck. “So help me, Turner, if you don’t get outside and take your place by the minister, I’m going to start thinking you’re having reservations about a real wedding.”
“Alright, then,” he says begrudgingly, loosening his grip so that I can scramble off his lap.
I duck into the bathroom and clean up, listening to him whistle from the next room.
When I come back out, his jeans are zipped, his hat is in place, and he’s finishing putting his suit jacket over his dress shirt. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I say, “Well, aren’t you a tall drink. Before you go, would you please help me with my dress?”
He nods. Showering my shoulders and upper back in kisses, he takes his time, making me feel like the most cherished woman on the planet before zipping up the back.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are today, wife?”
“About a million times. Now go take your spot so we can get the show on the road.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, making me laugh. It’s not often the bossy cowboy takes orders.
Stopping in front of the mirror, I resist the urge to do my makeup again. Instead, I re-apply my pink lip gloss and call it good.
Heading towards the entrance of the tent, I almost forget the gorgeous bouquet of lilies, peach carnations and roses, and succulents that we had arranged for this special day. Fingering the petals, I think back to our first rushed marriage and all the crazy emotions that gripped me that Valentine’s Day. I had no idea how pivotal it would be to our future happiness.
As I make my way out of the makeshift dressing area, I survey the expansive meadow reaching from sunrise to sunset. It’s filled with warm memories of my groom.
Jess grabs my hand, scolding, “Isn’t it customary for a photographer to capture your first look?”
I shrug, blushing. “He did. More or less. But Turner had other plans…”
She frowns suspiciously.
Turner’s other sisters surround me, fussing with my dress and modest train. Faith lowers the veil, and tears fill her eyes. “You’re stunning!”
The music starts, and we line up, taking our cues from the wedding planner as my grandpa, who’s visiting from San Diego, offers his arm to me and pats my hand. “Are you ready for this, sweetie?”
“More ready than I’ve ever been.”
“I wish my daughter was here to see this day. She and Donovan would be so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Grandpa,” I say, dabbing my eyes and trying not to mess up my mascara as we head down the aisle towards my future.
Staring into Turner’s sky-colored eyes and restating my vows with the full dedication and emotion they deserve puts me in tears again. And his eyes redden, too. We stand with the minister in the shadow of the sculpture I inspired. I smile, staring up at the gorgeous, sensual creation that he poured his love into before admitting his feelings to me.
After the ceremony, everyone gathers for a fully catered meal from Sweet Rush. Turner and I sit at the head of the bridal party table on our sprawling forested acreage, decorated with tea lights that illuminate the shift from afternoon to evening. I notice him discreetly sketching and jotting down notes on the back of his napkin. Soon, I hand him mine, too, and he smiles, saying, “You know me better than anyone on this planet.”
“That’s what soulmates are for,” I reply.
“Soulmates and twin flames,” he corrects, finishing a list of ideas and dimensions on the second napkin. He tucks both into the pocket of his suit.
I meet Turner’s biological sister, Camille, who traveled from Sacramento with her husband and two small children for the event. I don’t see much in the way of a family resemblance, and the meeting feels a little stilted since they don’t know each other well. But I still feel honored to make her acquaintance.
As twilight descends, my gorgeous groom grabs my hand, whispering in my ear, “I think some of my friends are about to show up… They’re a little different, so prepare yourself.”
Prepare myself? No two words have ever proven less adequate…
Soon, a train of strange, dusty RVs and trucks roll down the long driveway towards the house. I squint hard, trying to make out the people inside.
Turner grins, explaining, “Burners. They heard about my impending nuptials through the moccasin telegraph and had to stop by.”
“Moccasin telegraph?” I ask.
“It’s what we call the word-of-mouth train of communication that keeps nomads and hippies up-to-date on the latest happenings. You’re about to meet my younger brother, Vincent, too. I wasn’t sure if he could make it. But apparently, he thought this was better than the Playa. He and his crew are here to regale us with fire.”
“Fire?” I repeat breathlessly, searching the crowd for Travis. “Thank God we have a firefighter here.”
He chuckles.
I notice Roxanne sitting with Turner’s brother, Hawk. He’s got gorgeous bronzed skin, high cheekbones, and stunning brown eyes so dark they almost look black. I can’t help but think they make a beautiful couple. With all of the wedding planning that’s been going on lately, I haven’t had a chance to get the full scoop from her about the hunky helicopter pilot. But I do know a lot of crazy stuff has happened to them and between them over the past few months…
Fortunately, I’ve decided to let bygones be bygones when it comes to the drama she caused between Turner and me. Going the forgiveness route isn’t something that comes naturally, but as Turner has pointed out, there’s no place for grudge holding when it comes to family. And based on the contented smile on the shy helicopter pilot’s face, Roxy may very well be headed towards family status…
With the arrival of the dusty caravan, a drum circle quickly forms. Soon, women and men in colorful costumes dance and play various handheld instruments. It’s the most Bohemian thing I’ve ever seen. Even Paris can’t hold a candle to the strange wonderfulness of it.
I order the photographer to take more pictures. My fingers itch to start a series of oil paintings inspired by this colorful and bizarre evening.
Vincent is Turner’s doppelgänger, only skinnier, shorter, and covered in tattoos. He and his crew juggle and entertain the gathered crowd before the fire-dancing, fire-eating, and fire-breathing begin.
We round up the children and make them sit with us because we know their track record around flames. Their tiny voices ooh and aww as the reflection of fire illuminates their faces.
Pulling me into his lap, Turner kisses my lips tenderly and strokes my long locks. “Do you ever feel tied down here in Rough & Ready with me… Or want to return to Paris?”
“Tied down? You’re the only thing in this whole world I want to be tied down to,” I reply, nuzzling his neck. “Do I think about Paris? Sometimes. But I’m happy with the education I’m receiving in Tahoe. And as for international art galleries? You couldn’t do any better if you went to Switzerland. The only way I want to see Paris again is with you.”
“Where do you think we’re honeymooning?” he asks with a wink, and I cover my mouth, gasping in delight. “I figured we better go wrap up all those canvases you left with your advisor. I can’t wait to see your paintings and bring them home.”
“Every time I think I can’t possibly love you more than I already do—” I can’t finish the sentence because of the tears welling in my eyes. My sight blurs as I palm his stubbly cheeks, pouring every inch of my heart and soul into passionately kissing the man who makes me believe in happily ever afters every single day.
Hawk
I can’t remember a time before Roxanne…or secretly loving her. But Milton, her older brother, is my lifelong best friend and Army National Guard buddy, which makes the curvy waitress off-limits.
But fate doesn’t seem to get this. Everywhere I turn, the Native beauty’s waiting for me, far more irresistible than she realizes. Of course, I’ve got plenty of excuses for keeping her at arm’s length. I don’t date rez girls. I don’t date little sisters. And I don’t cross the line between friends and lovers…
Until an unexpected night provides glimmers into a forbidden world of possibilities. Can I keep the gorgeous girl who haunts my dreams? Or will crossing the line mean losing everything? Devour the next steamy installment in the Rough & Ready Country series, Love at First Night.
