"You are..." He shakes his head, apparently at a loss for words. "Jesus Christ." His hands settle on my waist. "You wore this all day?
I reach for his tie, pulling him closer by it. "Your turn."
I make a show of undressing him slowly—tie, shirt buttons one at a time, belt buckle. When I finally push his pants down and wrap my hand around his cock, he groans.
"Tease," he accuses, but his hips rock into my touch.
"Just giving you what you gave me," I say innocently, stroking him base to tip.
"Didn't you say you imagined this moment?"
"Imagined a lot more than a hand job," he growls, backing me toward the bed.
"Tell me." I let him push me down onto the mattress, looking up at him. "What else did you imagine?"
He kneels between my legs, hooking his fingers in my panties and dragging them down. "I imagined tasting you as my wife for the first time."
Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, tongue flat against my clit in one long lick that he knows will make me arch off the bed. He takes his time, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention, reading my body's responses carefully.
"Logan," I gasp, fingers threading through his hair. "Oh god."
He slides one finger, then two inside me, and turns his hand over, while his tongue works my clit, and the dual sensation is overwhelming. I'm already close, wound tight from a day of anticipation and longing glances.
"That's it," he murmurs against me. "Let go, baby."
I come hard, crying out, my thighs lifting me off the bed. He works me through it, softening his touch as I come down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs.
When he moves up my body, he kisses me and I taste myself on his lips. He positions himself at my entrance, no need to adjust him, as I wrap my legs around his waist.
"Ready, Mrs. McCoy?" His eyes are both tender and playful.
"So ready, Mr. McCoy."
He pushes inside in one long slow deep motion.
He makes each thrust deep and purposeful. I meet him, our bodies finding that perfect synchronization we've learned. He knows exactly how to press down to work my still-sensitive clit.
"Come with me, Reese” his voice tight with his own approaching climax.
The pressure builds fast, and when I come again, he follows, both of us crying out. He collapses beside me, and pulls me up on his chest.
We start to laugh.
"Best wedding ever," I murmur.
"We did good," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my hair. "Now let's see if we can break the bed before morning."
Epilogue - Reese
Thanksgiving morning light paints our kitchen in a honey-gold. I pull a mug from the dishwasher that’s still warm from last night’s washing and hold it while I wait for the coffee to finish.
The coffee maker gurgles and hisses, filling the kitchen with that rich aroma. I hear Logan's deep voice from the bedroom, followed by Tyler's high-pitched giggles. It sounds like he’s being tickled.
Our penthouse has transformed in the months since I moved in. What was once a bachelor pad of sleek surfaces and minimalist décor is now a mix of that and the beautiful chaos of family life. Tyler's dinosaurs are proudly curated on the coffee table. Finger paintings adorn the refrigerator door, secured with alphabet magnets. My collection of throw pillows has multiplied like rabbits, much to Logan's comical dismay.
As I look out over the lake with my coffee, my hand caresses my abdomen again, a habit I've developed over the last 72 hours since two pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test. Three tests, actually. And a doctor visit. I wanted to be sure before telling Logan. Wanted to plan the perfect moment.
And what better moment than Thanksgiving? We're hosting 15 people from the team and Jessica, who is bringing her new boyfriend.
