I crawl over her, settling between her thighs. The head of my cock nudges her entrance, hot and slick. I look down at her, feeling something raw and possessive surge through me.
“Tell me you want this,” I growl, voice strained. “Tell me you want your husband inside you.”
“I want you,” she breathes, wrapping her legs around my waist and pulling me closer. “I want my husband. Now.”
I thrust into her in one deep stroke, burying myself to the hilt. She’s wet and tight, made for me. We both groan as I bottom out inside her. I stay still for a moment, letting her adjust, then start to move with slow, deep rolls of my hips that make her gasp with every thrust.
“Fuck, Sloane,” I rasp, burying my face in her neck. “You feel so good. So tight around my cock. My wife. Mine.”
She moans, nails raking down my back. “Harder, please, I need more.”
I give it to her. I fuck her harder, deeper, the bed creaking beneath us as I drive into her again and again. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, mixed with her breathless moans and my low growls. I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her hip as I angle my thrusts to hit a spot inside her that makes her cry out.
“Look at me,” I command, voice rough. “Want to see my wife when she comes on my cock.”
Her eyes lock on mine, wild and dark with pleasure. I feel her tightening around me, her body trembling on the edge.
“Come for me, Sloane,” I growl. “Come for your husband.”
She shatters with a sharp cry, her walls clenching around me so tightly that it drags me over the edge with her. I bury myself deep and come hard, pulsing inside her as pleasure crashes through me in powerful waves.
We stay locked together, breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. I release her wrists and stroke her hair, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur. “My beautiful wife.”
She smiles up at me, lazy and sated, fingers tracing my jaw. “My grumpy, sweet, very well-endowed husband.”
I laugh, the sound rumbling through my chest, and roll us so she’s draped over me. We stay like that for a long time, talking softly, touching lazily, stealing kisses between words. The moonshine has worn off, but the joy hasn’t. If anything, it feels clearer now.
Later, I take her again, slower this time, face to face, eyes locked as I move deep inside her. We make love like we have all the time in the world, every thrust a promise, every moan a vow.
When we finally fall asleep tangled together, her head on my chest and my arm wrapped securely around her, I press one last kiss to her hair and whisper the truth I already know in my bones.
She is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and even though I know it’s crazy, I’m in love with this woman I’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.
Chapter Five
Sloane
Morning light filters into the cabin through the big pine-framed windows, soft and golden, painting the wooden beams overhead in warm tones. I blink awake slowly, my body deliciously heavy and satisfied in a way I have never felt before. The scent of fresh pine and woodsmoke clings to the sheets, mixed with the deeper, masculine scent that is unmistakably Forrest. For one perfect heartbeat, everything feels dreamy and right.
Then my eyes land on the simple gold band circling my left ring finger. Reality crashes over me like cold mountain water.
I sit up so fast the quilt slips down to my waist, exposing bare skin still flushed and marked from last night’s passion. The marriage certificate rests on the nightstand beside a half-empty glass of water, the ink bold and official under Judge Harlan Whitaker’s signature. Sloane Kane. The name stares back at me in black and white, bold and undeniable.
My heart races, a wild mix of panic and lingering desire twisting together in my chest. Last night had felt like the best kind of reckless adventure. The moonshine, laughter, dancing, that heated first kiss against the brick wall on Main Street, the impulsive walk into the courthouse, and then the wild, scorching hours in this very bed where Forrest had claimed me again and again. But now, in the clear light of morning, the weight of what we had done settles over me. I’m married. To a man I met yesterday because I bumped his truck in a parking lot.
Beside me, Forrest stirs. His massive frame shifts under the sheets, one thickly muscled arm reaching out instinctively until his hand finds my hip. He pulls me closer without opening his eyes at first, a low, contented rumble vibrating in his chest.
“Morning, wife,” he murmurs in that deep, warm voice, the words rolling out like they are the most natural thing in the world.
Wife. The single word sends a fresh shiver racing down my spine, equal parts terrifying and thrilling. Heat pools low in my belly even as my mind spins with a thousand questions.
Forrest’s hazel eyes finally open, soft and sleepy and so genuinely happy that my panic stutters for a moment. He props himself up on one elbow, the sheet sliding down to reveal the broad, powerful expanse of his chest dusted with dark hair. His thick beard is slightly rumpled from sleep, and his hair sticks up in places, making the giant man look almost boyish.
“You look beautiful in the morning light,” he says simply, reaching up to tuck a strand of my dark hair behind my ear.His calloused fingers brush my cheek with surprising gentleness. “Even prettier than you did last night when you were moaning my name and begging for more.”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “Forrest, we actually got married. Like, legally married. With witnesses and rings and everything. Mabel handed me flowers. Ryder cheered us on. I remember the judge smiling at us like we were the cutest thing he’d ever seen. And then we came back here and…”
