She may think it’s just another night, but I know better. Tonight, there will be no waiting and no mercy. I don’t worship softly. Peace will only come after we’ve fucked ourselves into submission—and we’ll have to tear each other apart to get there.
When her hair is dry, I brush the silky strands for any remaining tangles. My focus falls on my plain white shirt sitting on the counter where I left it next to the glass of bourbon. Then I hold it in front of her. “Put this on.”
She cocks her head to the side, furrowing her brow quizzically, but draws it over her head. When she looks in the mirror, she holds her arms out at her sides and laughs. She’s practically swimming in white cotton.
“This thing fits me like a dress,” she comments.
I grin.
Without saying a word, I grasp under her thighs, pick her up, and pin her against the bathroom wall. “You’re mine now.”
She presses her forehead to mine, encircling her arms around my neck. “I like the sound of that.”
My mouth crashes against hers—she parts her lips, demanding more. Her legs wrap around me as if they’ve done it a thousand times before. I knead her thighs with my palms, digging my fingers into the curves just under her ass.
Her soft body is pliable in my arms. The way her warm skin feels against mine overwhelms me with a sense of nostalgia, like home. She pauses our kiss by pressing her forehead against mine, catching her breath. “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”
I shake my head and swallow. “I won’t.”
She relaxes into me like I’ve finally granted her the right to breathe.
As I carry her into the bedroom, my cock hardens, and her thighs start to tremble before I even place her onto the downy mattress and climb on top of her.
And then I kiss her.
It reminds me of the first one we shared. Slow and aching. She parts her lips for me, like she’s welcoming me home. Sealing my mouth over hers like a vow, I will honor and cherish this woman until the stars burn out.
Drawing back, I am in awe at my wife’s beauty. Her heavy-lidded eyes blink up at me, lips swollen and craving more. I catalog this moment, searing it into my memory. The clean scent of iris and orange, the way my body so easily eclipses her small frame, her touch ghosting up my spine, her shallow inhales, her seductive expression . . . curious and soft, but also deprived and wanting—how I’ve wanted her for years.
She looks every bit the bride she is, laid out on ivory sheets, my white shirt riding halfway up her stomach, her soft, bare thighs on display and caged around my waist.
Her gaze searches mine. “You’re staring.”
“I’ve waited too long not to,” I rasp. “I’ll look as long as I please.”
Her face warms.
“I finally have you,” I add.
Her skating fingertips pause on my back, and she lightly jabs my shoulder blade. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had me before tonight.”
No, I didn’t. Not like this. Not legally. She’s always been mine, but now there’s paperwork to prove it.
My straining cock is poised at her entrance.
“You haven’t asked if I’m on birth control,” she observes.
I chuckle. “I know your burrito order. Do you think I don’t know if you’re on birth control or not?”What she doesn’t know is that I don’t care.
She blinks up at me, somehow surprised.
“Do you want this?”
She studies me with eyes deep as an ocean. “Of course I do.”
Her answer sends me over the edge; my wife just said I do on our wedding day. The context is irrelevant, I’m not about to get distracted by facts.
Leaning on one elbow, I cradle the back of her neck, squeezing thrice, a gesture to remind her how far we go back, how it’s all led to this.
