🌶️ Raw & Roasted Bonus Content 🔥

Thank You for Reading! 💕

You found it! This is the exclusive bonus content hub for Raw & Roasted. As a huge thank you for reading, we’ve put together some extra material that you won’t find anywhere else.

Below you’ll find an exclusive extended scene set on Remy and Silas’s wedding night—approximately one year after the epilogue. We hope you enjoy spending a little more time with our chef and his farmer!

✨ EXCLUSIVE BONUS SCENE ✨

The Wedding Night

An Extended Epilogue from Raw & Roasted

⚠️ Warning: Explicit Content
This scene takes place approximately one year after the epilogue, on Remy and Silas’s wedding night.

The reception was finally over.

Remy sagged against Silas’s side as the last of their guests—Elena, aggressively taking photos, and Wade, who’d had exactly three beers and become surprisingly chatty—climbed into the shuttle that would take them back to their hotels in town.

“We did it,” Remy said.

“We did.” Silas’s arm tightened around his waist. “You’re my husband now.”

“Husband.” Remy tested the word on his tongue. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Good thing we’ve got forever to practice.”

The farmhouse was quiet when they walked inside—a rare occurrence these days, with the restaurant running three nights a week and a small staff who’d become something like family. But tonight, everything was closed. No prep, no service, no responsibilities.

Just them.

“I have something planned,” Silas said, steering him toward the back door instead of the stairs.

“Please tell me it doesn’t involve the greenhouse.”

“It absolutely involves the greenhouse.”

“Silas, we’ve christened that greenhouse at least fifteen times—”

“Sixteen. But who’s counting?” Silas pushed open the door. “This is different. Trust me.”

Remy trusted him.

He always did.

The greenhouse had been transformed.

Remy stopped in the doorway, his breath catching in his throat. Someone—Silas, it had to be Silas—had strung fairy lights through the rafters, turning the glass ceiling into a canopy of stars. Candles lined the pathways between the raised beds, their flames dancing in the humid air. And in the center, where the potting table usually stood, was a bed.

An actual bed.

A massive wrought-iron frame draped in white linens, piled with pillows, looking like something out of a fantasy novel rather than a working agricultural facility.

“How did you—” Remy’s voice came out strangled. “When did you—”

“Wade helped. While we were doing photos.” Silas wrapped his arms around him from behind, chin resting on Remy’s head. “I wanted our first time as married to be special. And this is where it started. Seemed right.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.” Remy turned in his arms, looking up at the man—the husband—who had changed everything. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes.”

“Don’t be scared.” Silas kissed his forehead. “I’ve got you.”

“You always do.”

They kissed properly then, soft and slow, tasting like champagne and wedding cake and the promise of all the years to come. Remy’s hands found the buttons of Silas’s dress shirt—white, for once, instead of flannel, and it had been driving Remy crazy all day—and began to work them open.

“Eager,” Silas murmured against his mouth.

“I’ve been waiting twelve hours. I’m beyond eager.”

“Only twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours since I woke up. Longer since you touched me.” Remy got the shirt open, splayed his hands across that broad chest. “You said we shouldn’t do anything before the wedding. ‘Save it for the wedding night,’ you said. Very traditional of you.”

“I wanted it to mean something.”

“It always means something.” Remy pushed the shirt off Silas’s shoulders, watching it fall to the ground. “But tonight—yeah. Tonight’s different.”

Silas’s hands found the zipper at the back of Remy’s suit jacket—a deep emerald green that Elena had insisted brought out his eyes—and drew it down slowly. The jacket fell away. Then the vest. Then the crisp white shirt beneath, until Remy was standing in nothing but his dress pants and his ring.

His wedding ring.

The band Silas had given him a year ago still sat on his finger, but now it was joined by a second—a thinner band, platinum this time, engraved on the inside with the date and a single word: Forever.

Silas lifted his hand, pressed a kiss to both rings.

“Mine,” he said.

“Yours.” Remy pulled him toward the bed. “Now prove it.”

They tumbled onto the white sheets in a tangle of limbs and laughter, still half-dressed, drunk on happiness as much as champagne. Silas rolled them until Remy was beneath him, caged in by those massive arms, surrounded by the smell of green things growing and the man he loved.

“I had a whole plan,” Silas said. “Candles. Music. Slow seduction.”

“Forget the plan.”

“Remy—”

“I’ve waited twelve hours. I’ve waited through vows and photos and a five-course dinner and your very long, very embarrassing toast—”

“It wasn’t that embarrassing—”

“You cried, Silas. Twice.”

“Because I was happy—”

“I don’t want slow.” Remy arched up, grinding against Silas’s still-clothed erection. “I don’t want seduction. I want my husband to fuck me until I forget my own name.”

Something shifted in Silas’s expression. The softness giving way to something darker. Something hungry.

“You sure about that?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Silas moved fast then—faster than a man his size should be able to move. He stripped Remy’s remaining clothes off with an efficiency that bordered on ruthless, leaving him bare against the white sheets, his cock already hard and leaking against his stomach.

“Stay there,” Silas ordered. “Don’t move.”

Remy didn’t move.

Silas stood at the edge of the bed, taking his time with his own pants, his belt, drawing out the reveal with maddening deliberation. By the time he was finally naked—all eight inches of him hard and ready—Remy was practically vibrating with need.

“Please—”

“Patience.” Silas crawled onto the bed, settling between Remy’s spread thighs. “We have all night. First time as husbands. I’m going to make it count.”

He reached for something under the pillows—of course he’d thought ahead, of course there was lube waiting—and slicked his fingers with methodical care.

“You were wearing that suit all day,” Silas said, pressing one finger against Remy’s entrance. “Looking like a goddamn fantasy. Every time I looked at you, all I could think about was getting you out of it.”

“Could have saved time and married me naked.”

“Don’t tempt me for the vow renewal.”

The first finger slid in, and Remy gasped. It had been a week—a week of Silas’s “traditional” abstinence, a week of building anticipation—and his body felt almost virginal again. Too tight. Too sensitive. Every nerve ending screaming for more.

“That’s it,” Silas murmured. “Open up for me. Just like our first time, remember? Right here, on this spot. You were so nervous. So desperate. Didn’t know yet how good I was going to make you feel.”

“Knew it would be—ah—knew it would be good—”

“Did you?” A second finger joined the first. “Did you know I was going to ruin you for anyone else? That you’d never want another cock as long as you lived?”

“Yes.” Remy’s hips rocked into the pressure. “Knew it the second you lifted me onto that table. Knew I was done for.”

“And now you’re stuck with me forever.” Three fingers now, stretching him wide. “Legally and everything.”

“Worst decision of my life.”

“Liar.”

Silas curled his fingers, finding that spot with the accuracy of long practice, and Remy cried out. His hands fisted in the sheets, his back arching off the bed, pleasure sparking through him like electricity.

“Best decision,” he gasped. “Best decision, best choice, best—fuck, Silas, please—”

“Please what?”

“You know what.”

“Say it anyway.”

“Please fuck me.” The words came out raw, desperate. “Please, husband. Need you inside me. Need to feel you—”

Silas withdrew his fingers.

Positioned himself.

And pushed inside.

It never got old.

No matter how many times they did this—and they’d done it a lot, in a lot of positions, in a lot of places around the farm—the first moment of penetration always stole Remy’s breath. The stretch. The fullness. The overwhelming sensation of being claimed, body and soul, by this man who loved him beyond reason.

“So tight,” Silas groaned, sinking deeper. “How are you still so tight?”

“Saved it for you—”

“Damn right you did.” Silas bottomed out, hips flush against Remy’s ass. “This is mine. You’re mine. From now until forever.”

“Yours.” Remy wrapped his legs around Silas’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer. “Move. Please. Need you to move.”

Silas moved.

Not gentle. Not slow. This wasn’t their tender bathtub lovemaking or their lazy Sunday morning sex. This was claiming—primal and possessive, Silas’s hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm, driving into Remy with the force of a man staking his territory.

“All mine,” Silas growled. “My husband. My chef. My everything.”

“Yes—”

“Going to fill you up. Going to leave so much of myself inside you that everyone who sees you tomorrow knows exactly what we did tonight.”

“Silas—”

“Going to breed you so deep you feel me for a week.”

The words hit Remy like they always did—straight to his cock, straight to that deep part of him that craved ownership and surrender. His hands scrabbled at Silas’s back, nails leaving marks, his whole body arching into each devastating thrust.

“I’m close—” he managed.

“Already?”

“Can’t help it—you feel too good—”

“Don’t you dare.” Silas’s hand closed around the base of Remy’s cock, squeezing just enough to stave off the orgasm. “Not until I say.”

“Please—”

“Hold it.”

Remy held it.

It was torture—the best kind, the kind he’d craved his whole life without knowing it. Silas pounded into him while keeping that iron grip on his cock, driving him higher and higher without letting him crest. The pleasure built until it was pain, until Remy was sobbing, until words stopped making sense and there was only sensation.

“So good for me,” Silas said, his own breath ragged now. “So perfect. Taking everything I give you. Never want anyone else to see you like this. Just me. Only ever me.”

“Only you—only ever—please, Silas, I can’t—”

“You can.” Another thrust, deeper than the rest. “You can, and you will, because I said so. Because you’re mine.”

“I’m yours!”

“That’s right.” Silas released his grip. “Now come.”

Remy detonated.

The orgasm ripped through him with violent force—wave after wave of shattering pleasure, his vision whiting out, his whole body clamping down on Silas as he spilled between them. He might have screamed. He might have cried. He wasn’t sure and didn’t care, because Silas was following him over, slamming home one final time and coming with a roar that echoed off the glass walls.

They collapsed together.

For a long time, neither of them moved. Remy’s heartbeat slowly returned to normal. His brain came back online, piece by piece. He became aware of the candles still flickering, the fairy lights twinkling overhead, the improbable fact that he was lying in a bed in a greenhouse on his wedding night, thoroughly debauched by his husband.

“Wow,” he said eventually.

Silas laughed into his neck. “Yeah.”

“That was—”

“Yeah.”

“We should get married more often.”

“Let’s survive the first year before we plan any renewals.” Silas rolled onto his side, gathering Remy against his chest. “You okay?”

“I’m so far past okay I can’t even see okay from here.”

“Good.” Silas pressed a kiss to his hair. “I love you, husband.”

“I love you too, husband.” Remy tilted his head up, finding Silas’s lips for a soft kiss. “Thank you. For this. For the lights and the bed and the—everything.”

“You’re worth it. You’re worth everything.” Silas pulled the blankets over both of them. “We should probably go inside eventually.”

“Eventually.”

“Don’t want you catching cold on your wedding night.”

“Can’t catch cold. I’m too warm. You’re like a furnace.”

“And you’re like a barnacle.”

“Your barnacle now. Legally.”

Silas laughed again, and Remy smiled against his chest.

Outside the glass walls, the farm slept. The restaurant stood quiet. The fields lay fallow, waiting for spring planting. Everything Remy had built—everything they’d built together—existed in perfect peace.

He’d spent so many years chasing perfection. Trying to control every variable. Terrified that if he let go for even a moment, everything would fall apart.

Now he lay in a greenhouse bed on his wedding night, completely wrecked, utterly happy, and finally—finally—at peace with the mess.

Some things, he’d learned, were better raw.

“Hey, Remy?”

“Mmm?”

“We’re going to need to move this bed before service tomorrow.”

“That’s a problem for morning-Remy.”

“Morning-Remy is going to be sore as hell.”

“Morning-Remy can deal with it.” Remy snuggled closer. “Night-Remy is sleeping now.”

“In the greenhouse.”

“On my wedding night. With my husband. Who is very warm and should stop talking.”

Silas stopped talking.

He held Remy instead, in a bed surrounded by growing things, under a ceiling of stars and fairy lights, and eventually—wrapped in each other, wrapped in forever—they both drifted off to sleep.

Outside, the peppers kept growing.

Wild and imperfect and absolutely alive.

Just like everything else at Ironroot Farm.

~ The End ~

Thank You! We Hope You Enjoyed!

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