“Don't thank me,” he says, tipping up my chin. “There's a price to pay for this kind of loyalty. I want babies—at least three like Colin and Kyra. And you having a choice about saying you belong to me on official paper? That’s off the table, angel. I'm taking you to the first courthouse we see in Iowa.”

I couldn’t be more thrilled about his announcement, but I have to point out, “I don't think that's how marriage papers work since women aren’t chattel.”

He glowers down at me after his very long day, and I rush to add, “But, yes. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I meant everything I said in that hotel room.”

He looks at me, and finally, his expression softens. “I know you did, angel. Or we wouldn't be here. Now strip.”

Five minutes later, my head is pushed into the pillow, and he’s taking me from behind with rough strokes while promising all sorts of punishments for what I did here today.

Occasionally he stops to whisper growl in my ear, “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

What we have…it's crazy. It's not right. It's wicked laced through with bad, bad, bad.

But I whisper back, “I love you so fucking much, too.”

My punishment for crossing Waylon is life. The rest of my years will be spent in Angel Pond with him administering the life sentence I deserve.

And I am very okay with my punishment. I thank everyone and every event that brought us together.

Then I moan and ask for more, more, more.

I want everything.

With him.

EPILOGUE

ALMOST TWO YEARS LATER

“I hate you,” I tell Waylon, my voice laced through with venom. “I hate you so much!”

“Don't say that, angel.”

“You sick bastard….” I gasp out. “Why would you do this to me?”

Waylon's voice becomes a little growly when he answers, “We had a discussion about this, angel. Several. You agreed.”

He’s right…tears of regret pool in my eyes as I rue the day I agreed to become his wife—to make a life with him in Angel Pond. “I will never forgive you for this. Don't you ever try to touch me again.”

Waylon lets out an aggrieved sigh.

“You forgetting the rule about not saying things you don't mean?” he asks with a stern warning in his voice.

“Oh, I mean it alright,” I assure him. “I’m never letting you do this to me again.”

“What happened to promising to love me forever? And wanting to have my babies?”

“Three months straight of morning sickness! That's what!” I glare down at my phone. It’s sitting on the bathroom floor, and Waylon’s looking up at me on FaceTime. “How did I forget how bad this was the first time—”

I cut off to make another breakfast deposit to the porcelain god.