“You really my husband,” I breathed, the words warming my mouth.
He stepped in, arms scooping my thick waist like he’d been doing it a lifetime already, and lifted, easy, like God had granted him a cheat code for this one thing. My sneakers tapped his shin and then we were laughing into each other’s necks, bumping elbows on the doorway, teeth catching on the soft parts of words.
He dropped his keys on the counter and turned, eyes catching mine with that same weight he carried at the altar. “Come here, Nova Star,” he murmured, voice smoky, threaded with command but soft at the edges, like he knew I was walking on air and glass at the same time.
I obeyed, my thick thighs brushing together with each careful step, nerves lacing my breath. The glow of the streetlamp through the blinds cut lines across his chest and thefresh ink on his arm—our oath in script still wrapped in plastic like it was holy writ.
His fingers brushed my chin up, and his thumb lingered against my cheek. “You’re shaking.”
“I know.” My voice trembled. “It’s just… tonight changed everything.”
Ro chuckled low, not mocking, but like he was studying me. “Changed nothing, Star. You been mine. Tonight, just made it loud.” He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm, his cologne mixing with the faint tang of motorcycle fuel still clinging to his skin.
I whispered back, more confession than conversation. “I’m scared.”
“Of me?” His brow furrowed, his grip firm on my jaw, searching me.
“No. Of how much I love you.” The words spilled before I could snatch them back.
His grin cut sharp and tender all at once. “That’s the only thing I want you scared of.” His thumb traced down the curve of my lips, and his eyes—God, those eyes—burned through every wall I thought I had.
I leaned into his chest, my wide hips pressing against him, his steady heartbeat anchoring my storm. The softness of my body against the hardness of his frame felt like the whole city of Lyon Crest was watching, waiting, holding its breath.
His deep voice rumbled, “Wifey,” testing the word, rolling it with his tongue like it might melt. “Say it back.”
“Husband,” I whispered against his cheek, one hand finding the tight curls at the back of his head, the other fisting his shirt like I was hanging on through an earthquake. “Roman Zore—October nineteenth—mine on purpose.”
He froze a half beat—then smiled, that dimple waking like sunrise. “Nova Rae—August twenty-third—mine on God.” Wegrew silent for a moment, reflecting on what life had done for us just now.
“Get out your head, Nova Star,” he whispered into my curls, kissing the crown of my head. “Ain’t no fear in this. Just us.”
I leaned up and we began kissing like kids who discovered oxygen and didn’t trust it to be free. Jacket zippers scraped, breath fogged the little square of glass on the window, the whole room tilting toward us like it wanted to. He carried me the three steps to the mattress and set me down carefully. I pulled him by the chain, and he came, laughing in his chest when I tugged too hard and then not laughing at all when I didn’t.
“Wait,” I whispered when the rush got fast, fingers slipping under his collar to touch skin and proof. “Hold on.”
He braked like he respected brakes. “You good?”
“I’m hearing Him loud,” I confessed, pressing my forehead to his. “Love covers a multitude of sins. Don’t mess up the covering.”
He exhaled a grin right against my lips. “Girl, I ain’t tryna sin. I’m tryna worship you. The right way.” He winked.
He kissed my collarbone with a patience that recalibrated my breathing. My fingers sank into his curls, the texture silky and soft, my thumbs drawing small promises at his nape. The fan clicked to a new speed and the blinds answered with a soft clatter. Outside, a siren rose and then remembered mercy and dropped away. The world held.
Yeah, you trust me, right?” His voice dipped low, not just a question but a vow, his eyes locked on mine so deep it felt like he was reading the prayers I never spoke out loud. He brushed a quick kiss across my lips—soft, teasing, then pulled back just enough to make me ache.
My breath hitched sharp in my throat as his fingers slid inside me, stretching me in a way that made my body jolt and my soul stumble between fear and fire.
“Answer me, Nova Star,” he pressed, his tone carrying that mix of promise and command only he could pull off and get away with me. His mouth returned to mine, hot and urgent, swallowing the whimper that slipped free as his fingers picked up pace.
His grin ghosted against my cheek, the words dripping from him smooth but raw: “Damn… you tight as hell, wifey. That’s all for me. Don’t fight it—I gotta get you ready to ride yo dick, Star.”
With his temple pressed to mine, his voice became shakin’, “I ain’t never gon’ let you fall off, baby girl.”
I began grinding against his fingers. This friction wasn’t foreign, we’d done this plenty of times, but it was what was following after this time.
“I’m good, boo.” I moaned, my voice weak but laced with need, like it was trying to convince both him and me at the same time.
My eyes fluttered shut, but I felt the mattress dip between my thighs, the weight of him settling in, heat radiating across my skin. His presence pressed down on me in a way that was both grounding and overwhelming.
