For now, there’s my fiancé’s lips pressing again and again to mine. There’s his, “I love you, Colt,” like a promise whispered strong and true. There’s the way my heart skips and mellows, as it does any time he’s near. And there’s my own vow, my hand pressing Noah’s palm to the front of my throat. Reins, freely given to the one person I trust never to lead me astray. Noah fucking King. Soon, my husband. But always, forevermore, the man who toppled me brim over boot in love.
