And right now, she’s sitting barefoot in my truck, her heels tossed on the floorboard, my ring catching moonlight on her finger, and laughing at me because I apparently “kidnapped her from her own wedding.”
“People are going to talk, Beau.”
“Baby, the whole county already talks about us.” I squeeze her thigh through the slit of her dress. Warm, soft skin under my palm. “Might as well give ‘em something good.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. That full, gorgeous smile that punched a hole through my chest the first time I saw it. The one that made me think,there she is. There’s my whole life standing in front of me in tight jeans, sweating and talking about bull semen.
I pull up to the house and kill the engine. I don’t move. Just sit there looking at her. Moonlight painting her brown skin gold. Her braids falling softly around bare shoulders. Her dark eyes, bright and a little glassy from champagne and happy tears.
She turns to me. “What?”
“Just looking at my wife.”
Her breath catches. Something shifts in her face. Goes soft. “Say it again.”
“My wife.” I lean over and take her mouth. Slow at first. Then deeper, my tongue sliding against hers until she moans and grabs my shirt. I pull back before I fuck her right here in the cab. Again. “Inside. Now.”
I come around, open her door, and scoop her up before her feet hit the ground. She yelps, grabbing my shoulders.
“Beau! Put me down, I’m too heavy for…”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll spank you on the porch. Again.” She snaps her mouth shut, but I feel her laughing against my neck. I carry her across the threshold and kick the door shut behind us. My boots echo through the house. Our house. Ours.
I asked Mack to set up the bedroom before the ceremony. Candles. Fresh sheets. The dark ones she likes, the ones that smell like us after she’s spent the night. He gave me shit for it. Called me a romance novel hero. I told him to fuck off and light the candles.
When I carry Ina through the bedroom door, she goes still in my arms. Her eyes sweep the room. The warm glow. The bed. Everything.
“You did this?” she whispers.
“Had help. But yeah.” I set her down at the foot of the bed. Her bare feet on the hardwood. Her eyes, already filling.
“Beau Redding,” she breathes, pressing her hand to her chest. “You giant, beautiful, impossible man.”
I step close. Cup the back of her neck. Press my mouth to her forehead. Her temple. The corner of her lips.
“Been waiting for this all night,” I murmur against her skin. “Watching you in this dress. Watching you laugh. Dance. Watching every motherfucker in that room look at you and knowing you’re going home with me. That I’m the one who gets to peel this off you.”
She shivers. I find the zipper at the back of her dress and pull. Slow. The fabric parts under my fingers and I trace the line of her spine, feeling goosebumps rise under my touch. She arches into me.
“Turn around, baby.”
She does. And I slide the dress off her shoulders. Down her arms. Past her hips. It pools at her feet in a white puddle, and I step back.
Jesus Christ.
My wife is standing in front of me in white lace panties, my ring, and nothing else. Her tits are full and heavy, dark nipples already tight and begging for my mouth, hips wide, belly soft. Her thighs, thick and strong and made to wrap around my head. Every goddamn inch of her, lush and real and mine.
She shifts. Crosses her arms over her chest. “Stop staring at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to eat me alive.”
I close the distance in one stride and pull her arms down, pinning her wrists gently at her sides. “Don’t hide from me. Not tonight. Not ever.” My eyes drag over her, slow, memorizing every curve like it’s the first time. Because it is. First time looking at my wife’s body. “You’re fucking perfect, Ina.”
“I’m a mess. My makeup’s probably…”
“Perfect,” I repeat, leaning down to drag my tongue across her collarbone. She gasps. “Every. Fucking. Inch.”
