Doesn’t he, though?
His hand roams my breast, and the other moves down, skating across my belly until he finds my clit. With his thumb adding the perfect pressure, he thrusts deeply, fiercely.
The slowness is delectable—but when I rock my hips back, urging him on faster, it’s devastating.
With these rings glittering on my fingers and the rest of our lives coming closer with every thrust, every kiss, every breathless moan, I know how deeply Brady healed me.
He fixed me in ways I never knew I needed.
Everyone at Pawsome Hearts keeps teasing me about the changes the last few months.
I smile more. I make small talk with strangers, and it doesn’t feel like a chore. I’m evensingingalong to the radio after close, when we all pitch in to clean the kennels.
They remind me I’ve defrosted.
And the very hot, heroic beast driving into me is the only reason why.
My hand covers Brady’s over my breast, just so I can touch him.
His tempo picks up. He holds me closer, pinning us together with his grip.
Greedily possessive, yes.
But safe. Wanted.
Inseparable.
“So fucking good tonight, Lena,” he growls in my ear. The cool breeze skittering over me is the only reason I’m not melting.
I know how risky this is, but my body doesn’t care. Technically, some restless crewman could walk out for a cigarette or just some fresh air and look up at our balcony, but when you’re on a boat with a billionaire and his new wife on their wedding night, I guess you know the rules.
Don’t see it, don’t say it.
The waves rock gently under us, adding an extra thrill.
There’s nothing gentle as his hips quicken, his cock pounding fire through my nerves.
Another moan falls out of me.
The love, the happiness, the certain forever, and the pleasure that ignites me like a match.
Absolutely no complaints.
A month ago, I would’ve sworn we have the best sex life. But something about tonight feels different.
Maybe it’s the ring on my finger or the giddy afterglow of walking down the aisle and dancing until my feet hurt.
But yes, married sex feels better than I would’ve believed.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp.
“Not on your life.” He kisses my shoulder, then the other. “Hell, I think you’ll condition me to get hard every time I see your hair like this.”
I give back a gasping, breathless laugh. “I don’t think it’ll happen very often.”
“Shame. I’d better savor this, then.” He plunges in faster, losing control with every thrust, breaking me down.
Then time blurs for the hundredth time today.
