‘Your turn.’ She smooths the denim back over the tops of her thighs and stands shakily.
I rise from my knees, kiss her mouth, then spin her around until she’s facing the bath. ‘Turn the water off. I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.’
She bends over and I get a flash of her glistening folds. She twists the taps off. The room goes oddly silent, bar our ragged breathing and the furious beating of my heart.
I place my palm on the small of her back, motioning for her to stay bent over the tub, in the exact angle I’ve been fantasising about all day. Her head cranes and her eyes meet mine with understanding. I tug my shorts down and immersemyself in Savannah’s tight, hot walls, inch by life-affirming inch.
‘I love your pussy.’
‘It loves you too.’ Savannah thrusts backwards, her ass striking my skin with a sexy slap.
‘I’ve wanted you so badly, for so, so long.’ My hands grip her hips, fingertips sinking into her skin as I drive into her.
‘I’m yours, Ro.’ White-tipped fingers grip the side of the bath as I give her everything I’ve got.
Fire builds in my groin, the temperature rising with every passing second. I can’t hold on much longer. I reach around, my fingers skimming Savannah’s soft satiny flesh, searching for her sweet spot to drag her into devastation with me. My thumb circles as my hips drive both of us over the edge.
Her walls tighten in a vice-like grip and my dick doesn’t stand a chance. Static blurs my vision as her pussy pulses on my cock and a million stars shoot through me, catapulting me sky-high into my personal hedonistic heaven.
Afterwards, she sits between my legs, her glossy hair secured high on her head as it rests against my chest, and we sip our champagne. The jets spray against my shoulders, massaging every ounce of tension from my muscles.
If I died right now, I’d die a fucking happy man. But I’m not planning on checking out yet. Not when things are finally starting to go my way.
EPILOGUE
One year later
Savannah
My ivory silk dress cups my breasts and accentuates my narrow waist before extending all the way to the floor.
My hair is loose in bohemian-style waves, embellished with an orchid rather than jewels.
My veil is short and light, but it makes a satisfying swishing noise when I tilt my head, exactly the way I imagined it would when I was a child.
My feet are bare, the sand warm beneath my toes.
For a woman who never went to the beach, I’ve certainly made up for it since. The sun beats down on our shoulders as we stand under a floral archway mere metres away from the Atlantic. Not the Irish side. The Dominican Republic side. Punta Cana, to be precise. There was no way I was relying on the Irish sun for an event this important.
My gaze roams over the crowd, taking in each and every one of our guests.
Steve and Stuart sit in white wicker chairs in the front row, Stuart dabbing his eyes with a brilliant white handkerchief while Steve rubs soothing circles on his back.Ronan’s mother, sisters, brother-in-law and baby, Mark, sit beside them, Mark grabbing fistfuls of Rachel’s hair and laughing.
So many of our friends made the trip to be with us, including Lucas Beechwood, who sits three rows back with his new girlfriend, Felicity, a former Miss Ireland.
After the Coral Chic shoot last year, Lucas offered Ronan a partnership in the business. As well as designing and manufacturing sophisticated sculpting swimwear, they’re now producing a practical swimwear range for professional athletes world-wide.
Ronan still teaches swimming at St. Jude’s but only during the week these days now he no longer has to make excuses to see me every Saturday morning!
And as for me… I finally opened my own store on Grafton Street stocking my designer infant clothing range. My latest book,Sassy Sav’s Guide to Dating After Kids,was a bestseller and I’m currently outlining another one loosely calledSassy Sav’s Guide To Getting Married.
I glance down to where Isla and Eden flank my side, each clutching a bouquet of colourful, tropical blooms. In matching pastel pink dresses, they’re the cutest flower girls I’ve ever seen. If the way Ronan’s pageboys, Joseph and John, are looking at them, they think so too.
Ashley and Holly, my bridesmaids, stand to my right, wearing the same shade of pink as the twins and holding a more elaborate version of the girls’ bouquets. Ashley brushes back a single tear from her cheek, while Holly beams like a kid in a candy store.
My stare returns to my almost husband standing in front of me. In navy dress shorts and a white fitted shirt, he looks every bit the poised groom. Rolled-up sleeves reveal strong tanned forearms, and the open collar flashes a hint of the smooth muscular chest beneath. A smile the size of a stadiumstretches his lips and silver specks glitter the edge of his irises.
Ronan catches my hands, and a surge of electricity slithers over my skin. Our pupils lock as he slides a glittering diamond wedding band onto my fourth finger.
