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  Say Yes: Forever

  Say Yes Series Book Five

  Amelia Mae

  Copyright © 2020 by Amelia Mae

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Aria Tan of Resplendent Media

  Proofreading by Moonlight Proofreading

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Part I

  1. Aya

  2. Shawn

  3. Aya

  4. Shawn

  5. Aya

  6. Shawn

  7. Shawn

  8. Aya

  9. Shawn

  10. Aya

  Epilogue

  Part II

  11. Ian

  12. Cora

  13. Ian

  14. Cora

  15. Ian

  16. Cora

  17. Ian

  18. Cora

  19. Cora

  Epilogue

  Part III

  20. Jane

  21. Dylan

  22. Jane

  23. Dylan

  24. Dylan

  25. Jane

  26. Jane

  27. Dylan

  28. Jane

  29. Dylan

  30. Jane

  Epilogue

  Part IV

  Untitled

  31. Nikki

  32. Jack

  33. Nikki

  34. Jack

  35. Nikki

  36. Nikki

  37. Jack

  38. Nikki

  Epilogue

  Also by Amelia Mae

  Sneak Peek

  Julia

  Untitled

  Keep in Touch!

  Part One

  Shawn and Aya

  One

  Aya

  “Do you, Shawn, take Aya to be your lawfully wedded wife…”

  I look into Shawn’s eyes. He squeezes my hand.

  “I do,” he says, without hesitation.

  He tries to sound solemn, but a goofy grin creeps across his face as he says it. His smile reaches his eyes as the pastor moves on to the next part of the vows. To have and to hold. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health. All that.

  “Do you, Aya…”

  “I do,” I say, cutting him off. “I definitely do.”

  The guests laugh and I smile back at Shawn, who is trying to keep from laughing. Looking back at him, I have no doubts about marrying Shawn today. He’s everything I could ever want in a husband. And he’s mine.

  But as I look around the church decorated with lilies, I see scores of people, some of which I haven’t encountered in years. I look down at the almost blindingly white dress with the long train that mother picked out. All the while, I can’t help but think… this isn’t how I wanted to do this.

  Every part of today was chosen by someone else. Or came to be at their request. My mother got her way with my dress. I wanted something simple, but she wanted big and puffy. I wanted an outdoor wedding, but instead, we’re getting married in a church and having a reception at a catering hall. I wanted fifty people, maximum. But she went ahead and invited her siblings, their children, their children’s children, and pretty much everyone I’ve known since childhood.

  Not to mention that Shawn has more extended family than I thought, and his stepmother insisted on inviting ‘a few people,’ which turned into about a few dozen. Combine that with our friends and coworkers, our guest list is well over two hundred.

  I hate to sound ungrateful, but this isn’t the wedding I dreamed about.

  Not even close.

  The pastor keeps talking, and I try to keep my stupid thoughts off of my face. I’m marrying Shawn. I’m marrying the love of my life. That’s more than enough. That’s everything.

  “You may now kiss the bride.”

  Shawn leans in and kisses me, wrapping his arms around me in that sweet, protective way that makes me feel warm and safe and loved. I feel his kiss with my whole body, and I feel better. But, when he pulls back, Shawn looks concerned.

  The congregation is too wrapped up in cheers and preparing for the recessional that they don’t notice Shawn whispering in my ear.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  I nod. I am okay. I’m more than okay.

  But it doesn’t stop a tear from forming in the corner of my eye.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you too,” he says. “But I’m worried something’s not right.”

  “I’m fine. Just kiss me again.”

  Shawn presses his lips to mine one more time before we head back down the aisle, smiling and waving to family and friends as we reach the back of the church.

  Then there’s the exhausting hour of professional photography with the bridal party. Then cocktail hour. Then dancing, then dinner, then more dancing, then the cutting of the cake, then the eating of the cake, then more dancing.

  And then, finally, Shawn and I are done for the night.

  I have literally never been more excited to leave a party. We get into the town car and we’re off to the honeymoon suite at a nice hotel where we’re finally alone for the first time all day.

  Dress and all, I throw myself on the enormous bed and let out a heavy sigh. My eyes are on Shawn. He undoes his tie and tosses his jacket on a chair.

  “You finally going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, unbuttoning his dress shirt.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I reply. “Everything was perfect.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. He stops undressing.

  “Well… It was someone’s version of perfect, I suppose,” I clarify.

  Shawn gets on the bed with me and turns me around so we’re face to face while he’s holding me.

  “Come on, Aya…”

  “I mean… ugh,” I start. “I’ll sound like such a spoiled brat.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Fine. Everything was beautiful…”

  “But…”

  “But it didn’t feel like us,” I confess. “I know I should feel on top of the world right now. We’re married. I’m just wrestling with the wedding. You know… the church and the big dress and all that… But I guess it made a lot of people happy that we got married that way.”

  Shawn pulls me closer, and I let out a breath against his chest. Just being around him calms me down when I feel anxiety start to set in. I’m always glad that I can tell him how I’m feeling, even when it seems petty.

  “How would you have done it?” he asks. “The wedding, I mean.”

  “I don’t even know.”

  “Come on,” he goads. “You never pictured your wedding day as a kid.”

  “I did. When I was a kid, I imagined the big, fairy princess dress and a huge cake and a million people there. But it changed as I got older and didn’t want to be Cinderella when I grew up. But now, I don’t know,” I muse. “I just know I wanted something smaller. And less… Just less.”

  “Hm…”

  Shawn looks like he’s lost in thought.

  “Well, what about you?” I ask. “This is as much about you as it is about me. Did you picture your dream wedding as a kid?”

  “Dream wedding? No,” he answers. “Dream girl… yes.”

  I laugh.

  “But, I don’t know… Maybe I would have liked something outside,” he muses.

  “Yeah. I want that too.”

  “Something in the spring. So we wouldn’t have to wear heavy clothes,” he says.

  I picture myself in something light and flowing that I cou
ld have moved in easily and danced the way I wanted to.

  “Aya,” Shawn says gently. “Tell me what would make you happy.”

  “You make me happy.”

  It’s the truth. At the end of it all, Shawn and I became husband and wife. The wedding is just one day. The fact that he and I are married was worth handing over the wedding planning reigns to my mother.

  “You make me happy too,” he says. “But I want you to tell me exactly what you wanted today to feel like.”

  Shawn starts unzipping the back of my gown and helps me wiggle out of it. It’s quite a chore. When I’m at last free of the white taffeta, I feel a little more free.

  “I wanted something small. Something intimate,” I admit. “Outside. In the springtime.”

  He smiles as I incorporate his input.

  “I wanted a pink dress,” I say softly. “Like, blush pink. My mom wasn’t having it.”

  “Okay, so… small, intimate, outside, pink dress…”

  “I wanted our friends there,” I say.

  “Our friends were there.”

  “Yeah, but they were at their own tables and there were so many people that we barely got to spend time with anyone.”

  “True,” he concedes.

  “And I wanted the party to go on all night,” I say. “Not just some abrupt end because the catering hall was shutting down.”

  Shawn looks like he’s making a mental checklist.

  “Why are you asking me this? It’s too late now. The wedding’s over.”

  “Aya, I want you to have everything you want. Including the perfect wedding.”

  I look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

  “Shawn, a wedding is a wedding. I have you. I have everything I want.”

  Two

  Shawn

  I kind of hate the expression ‘happy wife, happy life.’

  I mean… I don’t hate it exactly. Make your partner happy and your life will be happy too. That part of it is beautiful.

  But most men who throw around this saying tend to mean that they’ll sacrifice their own happiness to avoid an argument with their wife. First of all, no one should have to sacrifice their happiness in the relationship. And secondly, these guys tend to sound like their wives are either on the cusp of a temper tantrum or that they’re really passionate about something frivolous.

  But I want to do anything I can to make my wife happy. Because watching Aya, on our wedding night, look like she’s trying to be happy when she’s clearly not is killing me. Her happiness is my happiness and her sadness is too.

  “I have you. I have everything I want,” she says again.

  While I’m lost in my own head, Aya escapes from my arms and pushes me to my back before straddling my hips.

  “Know what would make me happy now?” she teases, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth.

  I have a pretty good feeling.

  “You losing the rest of that suit.”

  Aya undoes the rest of my shirt buttons and helps me out of it. She’s onto my pants before I know which end is up. She gets out of her dress and she’s wearing little white lacy panties and a strapless bra. Her hair is starting to come down from its complicated updo. In this moment, she looks more like the fiery, tenacious Aya that I know and love.

  With our combined efforts, my slacks and boxers hit the floor along with her underwear and I scoop her up, easing her down on her back so I can be on top. I’m trying to go slowly, savoring every moment, really making love to Aya for the first time as her husband. But my girl isn’t having it.

  She’s grabbing and clawing and kissing me like her life depends on it.

  “Is that how you want it, sweetheart?” I say, my voice dropping low. “You want it rough? You don’t want me to be nice?”

  “I’ve had enough nice,” she husks out. “Fuck me.”

  That breathy demand sends a dangerous rush of want through my body.

  “Fine. Hands and knees, sweetheart,” I command.

  Aya stretches out on her hands and knees, her hair messy. She’s wet and panting, waiting for me.

  I get into position behind her. My hands find her pert little ass and I squeeze her cheeks before sinking my teeth into one of them. She shivers and lets out a soft moan, giving herself over to what I’m about to do to her. Or what she thinks I’m about to do to her.

  Aya’s already losing her battle with self-control, and her moans are getting louder. Good. If I have things my way, this whole floor will know my name soon enough.

  I know she expects me to push inside her and take her rough from behind, but she’s all pink and wet and enticing, and I can’t help but dive in headfirst. Or… tongue first.

  When she feels my mouth on her, she lets out a long, low moan and grips the bedding in front of her. Her legs tense. Her breath gets raggedy. I hold her hips in place and go to town on her.

  “Shawn,” she gasps.

  I moan against her pussy.

  “Shawn.” She’s practically screaming. Mission accomplished.

  She lets out a string of incoherent vowel sounds as I pick up the pace, lapping at her, then sucking on her clit.

  “Ugh,” she moans. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

  “Do it,” I groan into her. “Come, sweetheart.”

  The words are no sooner out of my mouth before Aya’s shuddering, her breath is catching, and she comes all over my face. I keep my mouth on her, savoring her sweet, heady orgasm as she drops to her stomach, curling up on the mattress.

  For a minute or so, she barely moves. She rides out the aftershocks and waits for her breath to level out.

  I take a certain pride in being able to render my wife motionless. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m good with my mouth.

  “Shawn,” she finally whispers.

  “Yes.”

  “Come here.”

  Aya gets on her back and reaches up to pull me back down on top of her, like I originally intended. She kisses me, deep and slowly, easing me onto her body. She bites and sucks on my neck as I line my hard cock up to her entrance and inch my way inside her. She’s so tight and warm and perfect.

  “Fuck, Aya,” I growl as I push inside her to the hilt. “So good. So fucking good.”

  Because sex with Aya makes a wordsmith out of me.

  She just moans.

  I thrust into her once. Twice. Three times. Over and over again.

  “Shawn,” she whisper-moans as she starts to come again. “I love you, Shawn.”

  Sure, she’s sex-drunk and her brain is soup right now, but my wife telling me that she loves me is what sends me flying over the edge after her. I spill into her as she pulses around me, growling her name as my spent body collapses over hers.

  I don’t move. I don’t want to.

  I want to stay right here, inside of Aya, forever.

  Three

  Aya

  Shawn eventually wakes us up and we take a long, steamy shower. He helps me pull a million pins out of my hair and cleans me up. My legs are jelly, and I’m beyond tired, so I’m grateful that he still has his wits about him.

  In the morning, we head downstairs for breakfast with some of our out-of-town guests who’d also spent the night in this hotel. Partway through the meal, I realize that Shawn is missing.

  I abandon my bacon and eggs and politely recuse myself from a conversation with my cousin Dakota about different types of breast pumps to search for him. He didn’t sneak off to the bar or the gym. And since I have the room key, I’m pretty certain he didn’t head back upstairs.

  Finally, I find him in the business center, on one of the computers.

  “Shawn? What are you doing?” I wonder.

  He looks up from the keyboard.

  “What are you doing next weekend?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. Work probably,” she answers. “Why?”

  “I’m reserving a block of rooms at that lodge we stayed at last time we went up to the river and it was too cold to camp outside,” he says.
<
br />   “Are we going on vacation?” I ask.

  The dance studio that I work at is expanding, and I’m teaching a bunch of new classes. The band is also recording all this month, so Shawn and I aren’t going on our honeymoon until the summer.

  “We’re having our wedding. The wedding we actually wanted,” he answers. “I’ve got rooms for the eight of us.”

  “Eight and a half,” I correct him, reminding him that Cora is currently very pregnant and her unborn child will be joining us wherever we go.

  “Eight and a half,” he repeats. “Anyone else you want to invite?”

  I consider inviting my mother along for this. But thankfully, I think she’s wedding-ed out.

  “Maybe Julia,” I answer, suggesting the band manager’s assistant, who has become a close friend to all of us lately. “But I don’t want her to feel like the odd girl out.”

  “Julia’s actually leaving to tour with My Hero,” Shawn informs me. “Since we’re not touring this year, Christian thought it would be a better use of her time to work with them.”

  “She’s got her work cut out for her.”

  Shawn nods in agreement.

  “So I guess it’s just the lot of us,” he says.

  “I guess so.”

  Shawn makes the reservation and pulls me into his lap, even though we’re in public.