Body trembling, breath breaking, she clamps around me with a soft, choked sound of surrender that damn near undoes me.
But I’m not done.
Not until I drive into her one more time—rougher now, more frantic—and spill with a guttural curse against her throat.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
The only sound is our breathing and the soft rustle of her dress as I hold her close, forehead resting against hers.
Finally, she whispers, “That was… definitely not on the schedule.”
“I’ll file a change request,” I murmur, brushing sweaty hair from her face.“Item one: more supply closet sex.”
She laughs, breathless and glowing.“We’re insane.”
“No,” I say, kissing her nose, “we’re in love.Big difference.”
A pause.Then she says, quietly, “Yeah.We are.”
And just like that, I’m ruined all over again.
That is, until the closet door bangs open.
We spring apart like magnets to find Mira wide-eyed in the doorway.
"Sorry!So sorry!But—" She's trying not to laugh."Buttercup escaped bathroom jail and she's in the reception tent and I think she's eating the wedding cake."
"Of course she is," Sage sighs.
Fixing ourselves—and our clothes, we run for the tent, finding chaos.
Buttercup has indeed discovered the cake table and is methodically working her way through the bottom tier while guests scramble back and wedding photographers frantically document the disaster.
"This is perfect!"one photographer shouts."So authentic!Very Pacific Northwest!"
"Buttercup!"Sage lunges for the goat, who dances away with surprising agility for someone mid-cake consumption."Drop the cake!"
"Is traditions!"Karina's mother calls out, now on her third glass of wine."In Armenia, goats at weddings mean fertility!"
"That's not a thing," someone mutters.
"Is now thing!"
Connor and Karina are laughing, which is good.
The tiny tyrant flower girls are chasing Buttercup with their baskets, which is chaos.
And I'm standing there watching the woman I love wrestle a goat away from designer fondant while wearing a cocktail dress and heels.
"Need help?"I offer.
"What I need," she pants, finally getting hold of Buttercup's collar, "is a normal life.With normal problems.And no livestock."
"Where's the fun in that?"
She glares at me, but she's fighting a smile, flustered again."We're in the middle of a goat-related cake crisis!"
"Best time for declarations of love."
