“That’s it, sunshine. Strangle my cock with that perfect pussy. Milk me fucking dry. I want my cum dripping out of you the whole ride home. I want your panties soaked. Want the scent of you to saturate the fabric of your seat so it always smells like your cunt and my cum. Then I’m going to fill you up again.”
And with that, I burst into flames, my orgasm so intense, I have to bury my face in the crook of Griffin’s neck to muffle my screams. He hugs me tighter as he slams into me again and again, catching fire and burning with me, moaning my name. Warmth floods me as his cock twitches and pulses inside of me. He fills me. Brands me. Claims me.
We cling to each other, a sweaty tangle of limbs and hearts that have been forged into something beautiful and terrifying and life changing, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that whatever happens now, there’s no turning back.
thirty-five
GRIFFIN
With my nakedwife curled up against my chest, our bedroom filled with the scent of sex and my balls utterly empty, I couldn’t be happier. Well, I guess I could be happier if everyone already knew we’re married, but we’ll get there. She’s done fighting this, thank the hockey gods. Now all we need to do is figure out when we can host a party to tell everyone and what last name we’re going to use.
She thinks I’m kidding about taking her last name, but I’m not. If that’s what would make my wife happy, that’s what we’ll do. Or maybe we could hyphenate them. Griffin Graves-Wright doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as Griffin Wright, but it’s not terrible.
“What are you thinking about?” Mira draws little hearts and circles on my bare, sweaty chest while she rests her head on my shoulder.
“A couple of things.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
I kiss her forehead. “Like when we can plan the party to tell everyone we’re married. Think we could pull that off nextweekend? The weekend after that, we have an away series, then we’ll be in Michigan for your meeting with the University of Michigan.”
As Mira’s soft chuckle vibrates through my body, my tired dick stirs. Relentless fucker. I ignore him, because as much as I’d love to sink into my wife again, this is more important. This is our future we’re talking about, and the sooner we can get this figured out, the sooner I can tell the world that Mira Graves is all mine and I am hers.
“I think next weekend is a little too quick. We’ll have to figure out food…”
“I’ll find a caterer.” With enough money, I’m sure I could find someone willing to work on a quick turnaround.
“We need to put together a guest list. I don’t want it to be some huge thing, but we need to make sure all the important people are free and able to come. I need a cute dress, and I was thinking…” Mira nibbles on her lower lip as her words taper off.
“You were thinking what, sunshine?”
“Well, if we’re going to tell everyone we’re married, maybe we should get some nicer wedding bands?”
Ah, shit. I should have already thought of that. Of course, she’ll want to wear something nicer than a gold-plated ring that looks like it came from a toy dispenser at the mall where you put in a dollar and it pops out a jewelry-filled egg. She’ll want something pretty. She deserves something pretty. And expensive.
She deserves a huge-ass diamond that can be seen from space, so every thirsty fucker on the planet knows her heart belongs to me.
Grinning, my heart feeling like it may explode right out of my chest in a spray of blood and gooey love, I pull Mira’s lips to mine in a searing kiss. “Let’s go right now.”
“It’s one in the morning,” she says, giggling. “They’ll all be closed.”
“That’s stupid.”
She giggles again. “Yep.”
“Fine. We’ll go tomorrow morning. I don’t have to be at the arena until three.” I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. Kissing each slender digit, I let my lips linger on her ring finger.
“Okay. What else were you thinking about?”
“Just trying to figure out what would sound best if you didn’t want to change your last name to Wright. Griffin Graves sounds cool, I guess. Alliteration is fun. Might get a little confusing on the ice, but that’s okay. Graves-Wright sounds better than Wright-Graves, because that sounds like you’re trying to find the plot where your grandma’s buried or some shit and you finally found the right grave.”
She laughs at that, and I tighten my hold on her. She’s soft and warm, and I love how loose she is when she’s happy and at ease. Like sexy Jell-O.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“No, for now, I’m Wright. Not sure Ridiculous would make a great last name. Though I suppose we don’t have to stick with either of our last names. We could make one up.”
“What?” Her voice shakes with laughter.
