Chuckling, I slide out of her and stand.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
I walk to the bathroom, wet a rag, and return to my woman.
Her eyes are closed, and her legs are still spread across the bed.
I take a second to look at her poor, abused pussy. It’s red and swollen, and I fucking love it.
“Just went to get a warm rag to clean us up,” I say, gently cleaning her before wiping myself off.
I toss the rag aside, climb into bed, and pull my wife close.
“Thank you,” she whispers, tears sliding down her temples.
“I love you, baby,” I say, kissing them away. “Thank you for letting me prove it.”
Before she can respond, there’s a knock on the door.
“Delivery,” someone calls.
“Did you order something?” I ask, getting up and grabbing a robe.
“No,” she says, pulling a sheet over herself.
“We’re in Hawaii,” I groan. “Who’s sending us shit here?”
I open the door, and the worker smiles.
“I just need you to sign here,” he says.
I sign and accept the package.
“Let me find my pants, and I’ll tip you,” I say.
But he shakes his head.
“It’s already taken care of. Have a nice honeymoon, Mr. and Mrs. Davis.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Closing the door, I remove the robe and rejoin my wife.
“Who’s it from?” she asks.
“Not sure,” I lie. “Here. It has your name on it.”
Abigail Davis. Congratulations on your marriage.
I watch patiently as she opens it, already knowing what fucker it’s from.
“It’s a book,” she says, tossing the packaging aside. “Oh! It’s from Patch.”
I sigh, but don’t rush to take it away.
I’d been waiting for that bastard to give her a book at our wedding reception, but he never did.
He waited until we were here for a reason.
