She doesn’t turn. Her voice is low, controlled. “I’ve been thinking.”
My heart sinks.
“I just don’t know if I can do this.”
“Charlie?” I step forward, my whole chest tightening.
She turns her head slightly, giving me a sidelong look. Her expression is unreadable. “How can I marry a man who refused to sleep with me last night?”
I blink. And then bark out a surprised laugh. “Darlin’, it’s tradition. We weren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding.”
“And yet,” she says, turning fully toward me, “here you are.”
My breath catches.
The robe slides down her shoulders and pools at her feet in one fluid motion, revealing white lace that clings to her curves in all the ways that drive me crazy. Her breasts—fuller now with the pregnancy—are barely contained by the delicate cups, and her belly is a soft, perfect roundness that makes something primal twist in my chest.
“Charlie,” I rasp. “You look… Jesus, you look so good.”
“I know I do,” she says, stepping toward me. Her voice is thick with confidence and desire.
She moves right into my space, her perfume teasing my senses, her eyes daring me. “But I’m not walking down that aisle until you fuck me, Sam Stone.”
My jaw clenches.
This woman.Mywoman.
She’s been insatiable this past month. The doctor said it was normal. Hormones. Heightened drive. But I know the truth. It’s just who she is. Fierce. Wanting. Mine.
I swallow hard, every part of me lighting up like dry brush catching flame.
“Then lock the damn door, darlin’,” I murmur, pulling her in. “Because I’m about to make you my wife the best way I know how.”
Her smile is wicked, eyes dark with need as she reaches behind me and twists the lock with a sharp click. The sound echoes like a starting gun.
I barely have time to draw breath before she’s on me, her hands gripping the collar of my shirt, mouth brushing mine in a kiss that’s more a challenge than a greeting.
I accept it. Hell, I meet it with everything I’ve got.
My hands find her waist, fingers sinking into the lace and heat of her skin beneath. I walk her back until her thighs hit the edge of the bed, then I lift her, lay her down like something precious and climb over her with a growl that’s been caged too long.
She arches up into me, wrapping her legs around my waist and tugging me closer.
“Don’t you dare take your time,” she breathes against my jaw. “We’ve got twenty minutes until the hairdresser comes back.”
I smirk, kissing my way down her throat, across the curve of her breast. “Then I’ll give you a memory to carry down the aisle.”
Her head falls back with a gasp as I slide one hand between her thighs, finding her already wet and aching. “Sam?—”
“I’ve got you, baby,” I whisper, voice thick and reverent.
And I do. Always have. Always will.
Because this was never just a wedding. It’s a wildfire, a homecoming, a promise sealed in sweat and gasps and breathless laughter. And before she walks down that aisle, I’ll remind her of exactly who she belongs to and how good forever is going to feel.
Her gasp turns into a moan when I hook a finger under the lace and rip her panties, the sound splitting the silence like a promise broken on purpose. The fabric gives way like it was made to, revealing skin I already worship but crave like I’ve never tasted it before.
Charlotte’s eyes go wide, her mouth parting but before she can say a word, I cover it with mine.
