“What devil are we speaking of here?” Jamie asks, running her hand along Isabella’s back as she sleeps.

“Your other half telling his friends that my friends and I are off-limits,” Georgia says, resting her hand on her hip. “The audacity.”

“I think he’s learned his lesson on saying relationships are off-limits,” Jamie says with a twinkle in her eyes as she stares up at her fiancé. “We broke the ultimate off-limits rule.”

“True that,” Silas says. “The baby mama’s sister. That’s on a whole different level.”

Cohen narrows his eyes at Silas. “A particular situation, thank you very much.”

He seems to be protective of Jamie and their relationship, but from what I’ve heard, it was hard in the beginning, so I don’t blame him.

“Are the tacos ready?” Finn asks, walking in with Noah hanging off his back.

“Just about,” Silas calls over.

I help Georgia along with Lola and Grace, who join us from the living room, set all the toppings for the tacos and quesadillas out on the massive kitchen island.

We eat. We drink. We play games.

Everyone, at least once, comments with how happy they are for Lincoln and me.

It’s a great night to start my new life.

“My first time in your bed,” I say to Lincoln, lounging against his headboard, moving my legs up and down his smooth sheets.

He was having a conversation with Archer, and out of exhaustion, I ventured to his room, undressed, and slipped into bed.

“About damn time,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “I’ve been waiting for this day for what seems like forever.”

“Oh, really?” I smile before giggling—the giggling is a result of too many margaritas since in sober life, I am not a giggler. “What were you waiting for?” Another damn giggle.

Ugh, I’m going to hate my giggling self in the morning.

He nods toward the bed. “To fuck you on those sheets. To screw you from behind and have you mask your moans with my pillow.” He licks his lips, and I can imagine they taste like margarita salt since I convinced him to drink one with me. “To hold you when we’re finished making love, and then in the morning, I’ll make your favorite breakfast—Belgian waffles and scrambled eggs.”

“What are you waiting for then?” My eyes flutter in his direction—another side effect of the damn liquor—and I slowly crawl across the bed on my hands and knees to where he’s standing at the foot.

He hisses when my face comes into line with his waist, and I tug at his belt buckle.

I waste no time unzipping his pants and taking his cock out. Draping it along my palm, I rub a finger up and down the skin as it jerks in my hand.