Bringing brooklyn home, p.9
Bringing Brooklyn Home, page 9
Carter,
I want to share everything with you. You always say you want
to make my dreams come true. You inspire my dreams. I want
to explore everything the world offers with you, and God
willing, one day, our children. I planned to give you this on
our anniversary—the first time we said I love you. Carter, I do.
I love you more than even you understand. We have a new
anniversary to celebrate. Standing with you today, hearing
your words, slipping the ring onto your finger was the most
amazing experience of my life. Every time I saw you
entertaining one of the kids, I thought about the fact that one
day you will do that with ours. This is my gift to us. Open the
box, and I’ll explain.
Always yours,
Brooklyn
“Well?” Brooklyn asks. “It won’t open itself.”
I slip the bow from the square box and slowly open the lid.
A key? I look to Brooklyn to explain.
“Confused?” she asks.
“A little.”
“Let me start by asking you a question,” she says.
“Okay.”
“Do you have any desire or thoughts about moving from
our house?”
I’m puzzled. Does Brooklyn want a different house? “I
never thought about it. I mean, if you want some place bigger
or some place different, we can move.“
“Carter.” Brooklyn laughs. “I asked you if you see us
moving?”
“I guess I assumed we’d stay. But I mean, if we have a
baby—or God, if we ever have four, the house will be…”
“Carter!”
“What?”
Brooklyn shakes her head and laughs some more. “I don’t
want to move. And I told you. Four is a limit. I’ll be happy
with one.”
“You don’t like odd numbers.”
“No. I’d love two,” she tells me. “We don’t need to talk
about that today. I love where we live. It’s where I envision us
raising our family.”
Now, I’m totally confused. Brooklyn seems amused by it.
“I think we should buy a cottage here.”
“Here?”
“In Ireland.”
I’m stunned.
“We don’t have a mortgage.”
“No,” I agree.
“Maybe staying here for a full year isn’t in the cards soon.
But we could have a place that’s ours to stay. If I make this
move, I will have time off. The same time as our kids. You can
work anywhere. I can write anywhere. Maybe one day,
somewhere down the line, it will be time for us to come here.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Completely,” she says.
The last thing I want to do is stare. I don’t know what to
say.
“You haven’t traveled here in two years,” Brooklyn says.
“That’s not normal for you. And I don’t want that to be normal
for us or our family. You love it here. And don’t tell me you
love me more. I know how much you love me. We’re a team.
For the rest our lives, we’re a team. This is part of you. Even
you mom knows that. I want it to be part of us.”
I lean in and kiss her. “You amaze me.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“The best thing.” I kiss her again. “If you still feel this way
at the end of the week, we’ll talk about it.”
Brooklyn sighs.
“Hey.” I guide her eyes to mine.
“I would have bought something,” she tells me. “But we’re
a team. This matters to me, Carter.”
“I can see that. Do you think you’ll want to pack up a baby
—or two and fly here?”
“Yes.”
I nod. “You sound sure.”
“Because I am. We’re lucky. We can afford to do this. And
how wonderful would it be to give this to our children? They
would get to experience life in a different country in a way
most people never will. It opens them to the world in ways
neither of us enjoyed. Yes. I’m sure. Maybe we can spend a
little time while we’re here looking.”
“You want to spend our honeymoon looking at houses?”
“I want to start creating the rest of our lives. Some things
will take longer. This doesn’t have to be one of them.”
My hands reach up to cup Brooklyn’s face. “In that case,
we’ll start tomorrow.” Her smile fills my heart with hope.
“Tomorrow, huh?”
I hold out my hand.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“I think it’s time I made love to my wife.”
Brooklyn can leave me breathless simply by entering a room.
Her proposal is as unexpected as it is meaningful. In all my
years of dreaming of spending a year in Ireland, I never
entertained the idea of buying property. One of the things I
love about Brooklyn is her ability to make what I view as
indulgent, practical. She has a unique ability to achieve
balance. That’s what made her a successful organizer. It’s also
what makes Brooklyn a fabulous partner. She’s braver than
me. And she’s astute. I respect and admire her as much as I
love her. Standing here, watching her undress with the stormy
sea behind her, leaves me with a feeling of gratefulness no
words could convey.
Brooklyn is mesmerizing like the white-capped waves that
gather in the distance behind her. Her eyes are dark with
passion, and sparkle with untold secrets. Loving her is a never-
ending adventure. One moment it rocks me gently, the next
she tosses me about violently, and sucks me under until I
struggle to breathe. Gently, she guides me back to the surface,
cradling me as I float in her embrace. She tosses her bra onto
the floor, steps out of her jeans, and walks into my arms. I
claim her lips as she unbuttons my shirt. My hands caress her
back, trying to pull her closer.
“Off,” she says.
I grin and remove my shirt for her. Her eyes travel to my
jeans. She looks back at me and arches her brown. I force
myself not to laugh as I unbutton my jeans and lower them.
I’m not as graceful as my wife. My foot catches on the cuff of
my pants and I stumble. Brooklyn catches me. Once again, I
land in her waiting arms.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Oh, no. You’re exactly where I want you.”
There’s no cause for embarrassment. Her tongue sweeps
across my lower lip. The kiss that follows assures me we
won’t be leaving this room soon. I move us toward the bed.
Brooklyn stops me and holds me in place. She kisses me
deeply, her tongue baiting mine to chase hers. I could kiss her
forever. Nothing more. The feel of her pressed against me. Her
breath mingling with mine, and the sweet sound of her sighs
escaping between breaths clenches my heart with longing.
Brooklyn’s fingertips glide over my hips and track inward,
then upward. Over and over, she caresses me. My hands roam
over her back and across her shoulders. I run a fingertip up her
neck and down again. Brooklyn breaks our kiss. Her tongue
bathes my skin, tracing patterns from my earlobe, down my
throat, and to my breasts. She touches me as if she’s never felt
me before. She takes my nipple into her mouth and sucks it
tenderly. My hands grab her shoulders. She tastes my other
nipple the same way, and I moan. She lowers herself and her
nipples brush against my stomach. A tide rises steadily within
me. One I’ve no inclination to resist.
“Hold on to me,” she says.
I look down at Brooklyn as she kneels before me. Does she
believe I can stay upright? Almost as if I spoke my question,
she wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to her. Soft
kisses rain over my stomach and thighs. She eases my legs
apart. I feel her breath wash over my heated center. If I don’t
fall over, this will be one of the most erotic experiences in my
life. There is nothing for me to hold except Brooklyn. My
muscles tense with apprehension.
“I’ve got you,” she promises.
Her words hold more truth than at this moment. Brooklyn
has me—all of me. Beyond my love for her, I trust her to keep
me safe. I know there will be moments of friction and
uncertainty. Life is unpredictable and pain seeps into the
crevices change creates. I know that, too. Our commitment is
founded in more than the promise to see it through together.
We always endeavor to be each other’s safe harbor. Every part
of my life has more meaning with her as part of it. I’d like to
claim that I do most of the guiding. Brooklyn is the brightest
light in my world. My lighthouse. When I feel astray or
insecure, all I need is one glance at her and I know I’ll make it
home—even when the waters between us get rocky. I don’t
need to tell her. She knows.
I sigh when her tongue sweeps across my center. I sway.
She holds me tighter. The warmth of her mouth tenderly
exploring every inch of my arousal makes me dizzy. My eyes
stay locked to her. No images of the outside world—of any
time in the past or that may come to pass invade my thoughts.
There’s only Brooklyn and the sweet kiss she gives. She
makes love to me the way she kissed me a moment ago. A
tender discovery and a loving promise. The waves of my need
gather and recede and do it again. I barely manage to speak her
name. “Brooklyn.”
Brooklyn’s gentle kiss becomes more insistent. Her tongue
plunges into me for a moment. I quiver. She begins again. A
cool breath followed by a firm stroke that makes my legs
tremble. My breath comes faster. Brooklyn’s tongue draws
circles, round and round, harder with each pass, until my body
quakes. I tense again, afraid to collapse. I forget her physical
strength matches the power of her conviction. She continues,
this time slowing her pace, gradually bringing me back to
myself.
A kiss to my thigh, my navel, my breasts, and she stands
before me. I cup her face in my hands and shake my head in
disbelief. What did I do to deserve someone so wonderful?
“I love you,” she says.
I kiss her mouth and pull her to the bed. I need to feel her
beneath me—against me. My breath catches in my throat
when I look at her.
Brooklyn smiles at me and caresses my cheek. “You make
me feel beautiful.”
“You are beautiful,” I tell her. My hands map curves and
dips, I’ve spent hours discovering. I touch my fingertip to a
birthmark on her left hip. I kiss the same spot. My fingertips
travel over a curve up to the side of her breast. There’s a tiny
scar left by her childhood bout with chicken pox. I trace it, and
kiss the silky white mark. Her fingers sweep the falling hair
from my eyes as mine continue their journey. I reach the tiny
freckles at the side of her cheek and place kisses along her jaw.
My eyes meet hers again. “You are beautiful.”
“Carter.”
We share an unhurried kiss. It will not be the last we share
this afternoon. Nothing about this moment feels urgent. I take
pleasure from the times passion dictates her touch and mine.
When desperation grips us both and we frantically hurtle
toward physical release. I believe there are times meant for
teasing, for fucking, and moments when tenderness commands
the stage. Today, we drift together on the latter. My lips
wander over her throat. I suck on her pulse point until she
whimpers. Just enough pressure to leave a reminder. I long to
taste all she offers. I trail a fingertip over her stomach to her
breasts and circle her nipples. Her back arches, seeking more
contact. I lick behind her ear and whisper.
She groans.
My lips taste hers and her hands move to my hips. The
wind lashes at the window and I glimpse the turbulent waters
outside. Churning and peaking, crashing into each other and
falling together as they travel toward the rocks. My body
glides along the length of Brooklyn’s. Our breasts touch like
the whitecaps in the water below. We both gasp. I feel her legs
part and slip one of mine between them. My need swells like
the waves I can see in the distance. I take a deep breath and
rest my head in the crook of her neck as our bodies grind
together.
“Carter,” she whispers.
I hum.
“I want to feel you inside me.”
My heart quickens at her words. I lower my lips to taste
her nipples. She mutters expletives mixed with the sound of
my name. I keep my body pressed to hers. My fingertip travels
over her hip and inward to her thigh. I tease her, just enough to
make her back arch into me. I slip inside her slowly. One
finger. Two. I lift my head and watch in rapt fascination as her
lips part. Her muscles clench deliberately, taking me deeper. I
plunge into her and put my forehead against hers. Her hips
buck and her legs jerk. I refuse to quicken my pace. I
withdraw from her, teasing again, and slowly thrust deeper.
Again. And again. Her nails rake over my back, not enough to
draw blood. Enough to convey her desire. I cracked the
window slightly open and I can taste a hint of the salty air
from the sea spraying in the wind. I circle her nipples with my
tongue. Her fingers find their way into the waves of my hair,
holding me to her breast. Her body rises into mine and
shudders. I brace myself and plunge into her forcefully. A low
keening sound slips from the back of her throat. She convulses
beneath me, riding the last wave of her orgasm until it
dwindles to faint tremors.
A breeze washes over our heated bodies. I’m still inside
her. Not moving. We gaze at each other. Her lips touch mine. I
close my eyes and press into her again softly. She moves with
me, a flutter of ecstasy lingering. My skin prickles with
excitement. I release her with a tender kiss.
“Perfect,” she mutters.
“What’s perfect?”
“Us.”
I offer her a smile. “Let me hold you.”
Brooklyn slides into my embrace. Her fingertip draws lazy
circles on my arm. I wonder what she’s thinking. I don’t have
to wait long for the answer.
“Do you remember I told you once I didn’t know
everything I wanted in life?”
“I seem to recall that, yes.”
“It’s still true.”
“I don’t think anyone ever gets that answer. Not if they are
looking at tomorrow.”
“Maybe not,” Brooklyn says. “I know I want to have a
baby with you.”
I shift to face her and smile.
“And I know I want us to make this place as special for
that baby as it is for you. As it already is for me.”
“You don’t need to convince me,” I say.
“Good. What about being Mrs. Brady?”
Brooklyn loves to tease me. “Brooklyn, do you want me to
be Mrs. Brady?”
“No. I’d rather the mailbox says Riordan.”
My surprise must be obvious because she continues.
“When our son or daughter brings a friend home, I’d kind
of like them to call me Mrs. Riordan. I mean, if that’s okay
with you.”
“You know it is,” I reply. “But I think they could easily
call you—“
Brooklyn puts her hand on my chest and presses gently to
stop me. “I never called my friends’ parents by their first
names. Not until I was in college. Even then, it felt wrong.”
Another thing we have in common.
“Carter? Would you be okay with our child calling another
parent or teacher by their first name?”
I shrug. “Probably not. Not unless the person wanted that.”
“But otherwise?”
“No.”
“Then the mailbox should say Riordan.”
I laugh. “You’ve given this some thought.”
She blushes.
“I love that you’ve thought about it.”
“Maybe it’s silly,” Brooklyn says. “Making love with you
today—I don’t know, Carter. I feel closer to you than I ever
imagined possible. It makes me think about our future. All the
things I want to do together.”
“Me too.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
Brooklyn settles against me again.
“I just hope our kids’ friends don’t mistake me for
Grandma,” I say.
“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be sure to keep you in shape.”
I giggle and close my eyes. If today is any sign of her
plans for fitness, my heart might not make it. I’ll take my
chances.
Epilogue
FOUR MONTHS LATER
