“You wore this on purpose,” I murmured against her skin. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I pulled the dress up, my fingers finding bare skin underneath. She hadn’t been fucking with me; she really wasn’t wearing underwear.
“Ava.” Her name came out rough. “Fucking hell, woman. You always know how to get me hard.”
“That was the plan.” She was already working at my belt, her fingers quick and sure. “We only have twenty-five minutes now. Stop talking.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I grabbed her thigh and lifted, wrapping her leg around my hip as she shoved my jeans down just enough. Then I was pressing into her wet heat, relishing in how perfect we fit together.
“Fuck,” she breathed. “Liam?—”
I set a pace that was fast and urgent, nothing like the slow, savoring sex we’d had last weekend when the kidswere at sleepovers. This was different. This was a stolen moment and the particular thrill of being parents who’d learned to take whatever time they could get.
But even rushed, even frantic, I couldn’t stop looking at her.
I watched her face as I moved inside her—the flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her lips parted on each thrust, the moment her eyes went glassy and unfocused as the pleasure built. I watched her the way I’d always watched her, memorizing every detail like it might be the last time.
She held my gaze, letting me see everything—the love, the trust, and the need that matched my own. There were no walls between us and no secrets. We were two people who’d chosen each other a thousand times and would keep choosing each other for a thousand more.
“I’m close,” she gasped. “Li?—”
I shifted my angle, hitting that spot I’d memorized decades ago, and felt her clench around me. Her orgasm hit fast and hard, her whole body trembling as she cried out against my shoulder. I followed seconds later, burying myself deep, her name on my lips like a prayer.
We stayed like that for a minute, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. The horses shuffled in their stalls. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a car door slam—one of the kids, home early.
“That was fifteen minutes,” Ava said, her voice shaky with laughter. “We’re getting efficient.”
“Practice makes perfect.” I pressed a kiss to her lips, soft and sweet. “You good?”
“Better than good.” She smoothed her dress back down while I fixed my jeans. “Although we should probably compose ourselves before Lily comes looking for us.”
“She’s sixteen. I think she can figure out why her parents disappeared into the barn.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” But she was smiling, that satisfied, glowing smile that made me feel like a goddamn king.
We walked back to the house hand in hand, arriving just in time to see our youngest, Holden, barreling across the yard toward us. At eight years old, he was filled with energy. He had my chaos and a smile that was all Ava. It was amazing to see how our different characteristics developed in each of our children. They were all different with their own gifts, but every time I looked at them, I saw the love that Ava had shown me. She was the reason our family existed, and there would never come a time I wasn’t grateful for her.
“Dad! Mom! Coach said I might get to start at the game on Saturday!”
I scooped him up, ignoring his protests that he was too old to be carried. “That’s awesome, buddy. We’ll be there.”
“Both of you?”
“Both of us.” Ava ruffled his hair. “We never miss a game.”
When we went into the house, Lily already had her headphones in, while Scott was working on homework, and Mae was heading toward the backyard with her soccer ball. This was our life. Our little chaotic family. The family I’d been so terrified I’d never be able to build.
Dinner that night was the usual madness. Everyone fighting over their favorite sides and then shifting from eating to homework, discussing sports schedule conflicts, and an argument about whose turn it was to feed the chickens. Ava and I moved through it like we’d done a milliontimes before, as a team so in sync we barely needed words to communicate.
Later, after the kids were in bed and the house was finally quiet, we sat on the back porch watching the stars. Ava leaned against my shoulder, her hand in mine, the same way she’d done practically every night since we moved here.
I’d found heaven with Ava Farrell—a heaven built on hazelnut coffee and oil changes and Thursday night reality TV. A heaven that included four kids who drove me crazy and made me prouder than I’d ever imagined possible. A heaven in a farmhouse in Meadowbrook, Montana, with the woman who’d taken a chance on a broken boy and helped him become a man worth loving.
Twenty years, and I was still the luckiest man alive.
I pulled Ava closer, breathing in her vanilla-cinnamon scent, and watched the stars overhead.
It turned out Farrell men could be built for staying after all.
