I laughed, gripping his hips as I pulled back slowly, then snapped my hips forward in a hard thrust. Charles cried out, his hands fisting in the couch cushions. I set abrutal pace, pounding into him with all my might. He liked it rough? Well, so did I.
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with Charles’s broken moans and my own grunts of effort. I adjusted the angle, hitting that spot inside him that made him see stars, and he let out a keening wail.
“Yes, fuck, right there,” he babbled, pushing back to meet my thrusts. “Harder, Eamon, please…”
I obliged, hammering into him with enough force to rock the couch. The pleasure was intense, all-consuming, wiping out everything but the tight clench of his body around my cock and the desperate sounds spilling from his lips.
Charles was a vision like this—back arched like a cat, head thrown back in ecstasy, that ass pushed back and wide open for the plundering. He was completely lost to the pleasure I was giving him. Knowing I could reduce him to this trembling, desperate creature was a heady power rush.
My fingers dug into his hips hard enough to bruise as I changed the angle, hitting that sensitive spot inside him that made him see stars.
“Oh god,” he choked out. “Right there, fuck, please…”
My hand found his cock. He was so hard, leaking steadily over my hand. His body clenched around me, his muscles fluttering and squeezing my aching cock. I could feel his orgasm building, could sense it in the way his breathing went ragged and his thighs began to tremble.
“Come for me, love,” I growled, my hand tightening around his shaft. “Let go.”
With a hoarse cry, Charles obeyed, his release pulsing over my fist and onto the couch below. His muscles clamped down on my cock like a vice, pushing me over the edge withhim. I buried myself deep and let go, emptying myself inside him with a guttural groan.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, whiting out my vision and stealing my breath. I collapsed onto Charles’s sweat-slicked back, panting harshly against his shoulder blade. He shuddered beneath me, little aftershocks rippling through his body.
Carefully, I pulled out and rolled to the side, gathering him into my arms. He came willingly, his head tucked under my chin, our bodies slotting together like two puzzle pieces finally reunited.
Absolute perfection.
EPILOGUE
CHARLES
Six Months Later
My hands were shaking.
I stood at the back of the Holy Cross Church, adjusting my tie for the fourth time in as many minutes, and tried to calm the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in my stomach. The church was packed to capacity with everyone who mattered to us. My parents stood on either side of me, tears already streaming down Mom’s face, Dad looking proud enough to burst his buttons. Solstice stood at the front as my best person—she’d threatened bodily harm if I called her a maid of honor—looking stunning in a flowing emerald dress with actual flowers woven into her hair instead of her usual daisies.
Behind them, the pews were filled with familiar faces. My sister, of course, plus a whole flock of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Then Dani and Judith, Dolly and the other Wedding Row merchants, Sheriff Morrison and half the sheriff’s department in their dress uniforms, Edna dabbing at her eyes, and Mr. Peterson looking uncharacteristicallyemotional in his best suit. The whole town had turned out, it seemed, to witness me marry the man who’d swept into Charming and stolen my heart.
Father Judson stood ready at the altar, looking dashing in his robes. When he’d heard we were getting married, he’d come to the bakery and had offered to marry us. Being Irish, Eamon had grown up Catholic, but considering the official Catholic doctrine was against same-sex marriage, we hadn’t expected to be able to get married in the church.
“God’s house should welcome all who come seeking blessing for their unions,” Judson had told us during our meeting to discuss the details. “Love is love, and it’s never a sin. It’s a miracle.”
I’d cried right there in his office.
The past six months felt like a dream I was afraid to wake up from. Eamon had integrated into life in Charming so seamlessly that it was like he’d always belonged here. Within his first month as deputy, he had solved the town’s first real crime in decades—a string of break-ins that turned out to be the work of a teenager from the next county over. The respect he’d earned from his colleagues was genuine, and watching him find purpose in protecting people on a human scale instead of a cosmic one had been beautiful to witness.
The bakery expansion was complete, transforming Sweet Relief into the café I’d always envisioned. Eamon had thrown himself into helping with the renovation, learning to install shelving and paint walls with the same intensity he brought to everything else. Our house felt like a true home—filled with both our belongings, our shared routines, the comfortable domesticity of two people building a life together.
The music began—not the traditional wedding march,but an Irish ballad Eamon had requested, played by a string quartet from the community college. Then Eamon stepped into my line of sight, and my breath caught in my throat.
Eamon looked devastatingly handsome in his dark-blue suit, his hair perfectly styled but still slightly rumpled in that way that made my heart skip a beat. But it was his smile that undid me completely—bright and joyful and so full of love it was like looking directly into the sun. Plus, obviously, those dimples. Swoon.
As I took my first step and then the next one, walking down the aisle accompanied by my parents, his eyes never left mine, and tears blurred my vision. Six months ago, I’d been a lonely baker hiding from a mob boss. Now I was marrying the love of my life in front of everyone who mattered to us.
When I reached the altar and took my place beside him, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. My dad hugged me and my mom kissed me, but I only had eyes for Eamon. Father Judson’s voice became a distant murmur as Eamon reached for my hands, his fingers warm and steady against mine.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, his accent thick with emotion.
“So do you,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
