“Kelsey.”
“Forty-seven,” she said. “Give or take.”
I stared at the back of her dress. She was right. There were an extraordinary number of small buttons running from her shoulder blades to somewhere in the vicinity of her lower back, each one the size of something you might find in a sewing kit, and my hands were, objectively, not sewing kit hands.
“I can do this,” I said.
“I know you can,” she said encouragingly, which was not the same as it being true.
Three buttons in, I pulled one clean off the dress. It pinged off the floorboards and disappeared under the bed.
“Forget the dress,” Kelsey said. “I need you.”
She pushed me back onto the bed and I pulled her down with me and flipped up the skirt of her mini dress.
“I wish I’d gotten another bite of that wedding cake,” I said.
“It was delicious, wasn’t it,” she agreed.
“Oh look.” I glanced at the very appealing situation in front of me. “Here’s some cake. And it’s my wedding.” I leaned down and bit the cheek of her ass, gently.
Kelsey dissolved into giggles. “Your favorite flavor?”
“Not yet.” I slipped her white lace underwear off and tossed it over my shoulder.
She swung her leg over me, reached between us, and I stopped having any thoughts about cake at all.
“Mrs. Best Kingman,” I said. “You are very demanding.”
“Mr. Best Kingman,” she said. “Get to work.”
So I did.
I planted my feet and thrust up into my wife with everything I had, watching her face, which was the single best use of my attention available in any situation. She pressed her hands flat against the wall for leverage and I felt the grin pull at my mouth, which she caught.
“What,” she said.
“Nothing. You’re perfect.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me right now, I’m trying to concentrate.”
I was absolutely getting sentimental. I was also very much concentrating. There was no contradiction there.
She threw her head back and the dress was still half on and somehow that was making everything significantly better than if it hadn’t been, which I hadn’t anticipated, but marriage was apparently full of pleasant surprises. I reached around and applied some structural pressure to the remaining buttons and they scattered across the room like confetti.
“Those were decorative,” Kelsey said.
“Past tense,” I agreed, and her laugh turned into something else entirely.
I rolled her nipple between my fingers and she arched into my hands, chasing more, and then her hand went between her own thighs and I watched my wife take exactly what she needed and it was the best thing I had ever seen.
“Husband,” she said, high and breathless. “I am very close.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve got you.”
Her whole body tightened and she cried out and I felt her squeeze around me, hot and perfect, and I followed her with everything I had, exactly where I wanted to be, in our cabin on our mountain on our wedding night with the woman who had spent the last year and a half teaching me what it felt like to have somewhere specific to be.
Kelsey collapsed onto my chest.
