“I like you bossy,” I say, my balls so full and tight it’s nearly painful. “I like it a whole fucking lot.”
She sucks in a sharp breath as I circle my hips at the end of my next thrust, grinding against the top of her. “Oh wow, yes, that’s even better. Oh my God, Connor, let’s do this forever. Every day. Every night.”
“Yes, baby, every fucking night,” I promise, my control already slipping as she bucks into me, urging me to grind harder, faster.
I hold on for as long as I can, but soon we’ve found an urgent rhythm that makes it almost impossible to breathe as we cling to each other, taking each other with a shameless ease that solidifies my certainty that we were meant to be. She was meant to be my girl, my lover, my other half, and coming inside her is about to be the best thing that’s happened to me in longer than I can remember.
She cries out as her pussy locks around me. I kiss her hard, promising with every stroke of my tongue that I’m going to make her gush for me like this for the rest of our lives.
“I love you, Wendy Ann, I love you so much,” I gasp as I take her faster, and she clings to me, her body still gripping my cock like a fist.
I come with a ragged cry, burying myself deep as I give her everything—my come, my heart, my passion, my soul. It’s all hers.
“Always.”
I don’t realize I’ve said the word aloud until a croak from the other room echoes, “Always! Always be your baby!” The squawk is followed by a few bars of Mariah Carey’s classic warbled in the parrot’s melodic alto.
“Apparently his repertoire expands beyond the 80s,” I say as I pull back, gazing down at Wendy Ann as we both burst out laughing.
We laugh and kiss and grab a quick couples’ shower in the bathroom. Then we order room service, feed Sharkbait, and kiss some more. We eat and plan an adventure for tomorrow—our only full day in Vegas—before rebooking my flight to Boston for the following Monday, with a seat for her right beside me. I still have three weeks before classes start, and we both agree a little time in Bad Dog to ease our families into the transition is a good idea.
“And I have to pack up my apartment and see if I can get out of my lease a little early,” she says.
“And I should come clean with my parents instead of running away,” I agree, popping another French fry into her open mouth. Even burgers and fries taste better with her. “I’m suddenly feeling strong enough to face a confrontation.”
“It’s your sexy and devoted wife,” she says. “Because you know she’s got your back.”
“I do know that,” I agree, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I love you. I truly do.”
“Me, too,” she whispers, cupping my cheek with a tenderness that destroys me and mends all my broken pieces, all at the same time. “Should we get naked again, do you think?”
“We absolutely should,” I say. “Just let me tuck Sharkbait back in for the night.”
The parrot, who was enjoying a wander around the hotel room, doesn’t put up a fight when I collect him from the top of the television. He just hops onto his perch with a sleepy-sounding, “Built this city on rock ‘n roll.”
“We sure did,” I assure him as I pull the cover back over his cage.
Then Wendy Ann and I head out to the balcony to make love with the lights of the city dancing all around us, but my wife still shines brighter.
Brighter than every single one.
By the time we make it back to Bad Dog on Monday, the cat is out of the bag. Wendy Ann told her sister Mel, who told everyone in town, and we deboard the plane to find a makeshift party in the baggage claim area, complete with a wedding cake in the shape of an airplane.
Shockingly, our mothers seem thrilled about our wildly impulsive marriage, and are already planning a post-nuptial wedding shower for December, when we’ve promised to be home for Christmas. Wendy Ann’s sister, Mel, is a little sad that we’re moving to Boston, but Wendy Ann vows to keep in touch via Zoom, so she doesn’t miss a moment of her nephews growing up, and we make plans to have dinner the next time Aaron, Mel’s husband, plays a hockey game in our area.
We eat wedding cake right there by the baggage claim, then Christian McGuire puts on some music, and we dance around the carousel until security finally tells us that we have to move along. We adjourn to one of the McGuire family’s favorite pubs, the one where Drew apparently met his wife, Tatum, and celebrate until Wendy Ann and I are both too tired to do anything but stumble in my front door and straight into bed.
Thankfully, Starling offered to watch Sharkbait for us for the night, though we won’t be turning him over to the shelter, after all. After just two days together in Vegas, we’ve grown attached to our song-quoting buddy. He’ll be coming with us to Boston, along with Wendy Ann’s shockingly large collection of test tubes and several fancy appliances my mother purchased for our new home.
By the time we finish packing our storage cube and it’s winging its way to Boston, we’re even more certain that we’ve made the right choice. Marriage is sweet and getting sweeter with every passing day. By the time we come home for Christmas, we’re more in love than I believed was possible before I ran into Wendy Ann on the steamy dock last July.
And by the time my brilliant wife tells me we’re pregnant the following summer, I’m so gone on her, I almost start crying with happiness. But in the end, I don’t. I hold it together and hold her so tight, whispering into her hair, “I love you, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“And you’ll never have to find out,” she promises.
We welcome our daughter, Scarlet, in February, and she is perfect, with her mother’s nose and my blond hair and a universe of curiosity in her big blue eyes. And as time rolls on, I almost forget that all of this perfection is the result of one wild, impulsive night.
It isn’t until we’re back in our Vegas wedding clothes ten years later, standing in front of our friends and family this time, that I remember, and thank all the stars in the sky that my very sane, rational wife once took a crazy chance on me.
On us.
The End
