Then she went in again with slow, deliberate strokes.
Apparently, that was his breaking point.
With something halfway between a groan and a caveman grunt, he flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the bed like he was afraid she'd run away mid-kiss (she wouldn't, but it was flattering). Then his hungry mouth was on hers, all-consuming, and way less polite than usual.
"You didn't let me finish what I started," she panted, somewhere between indignation and trying not to melt.
He grinned like the smug genius he was. "You love it. Admit it."
"Absolutely not," she said, promptly arching into him as his hand slid between her legs with remarkable accuracy.
"It's going to happen," he murmured, way too sure of himself.
"You're going to kill me. Death by orgasm. The obituary will scar my family forever," she said, all drama.
"Lucky for you," he murmured, "I'm great at resuscitation."
She gasped—in the sexy way, not the scared way—as he worked her with maddening focus. She arched again, nails digging into his shoulders like she was holding on for dear life.
Which, let's be honest, she kind of was. And when her climax hit, it did so like she did everything else: graceful, loud, and totally committed.
Only then did he reach for the condom, tearing it open with his teeth.
His words from earlier hung between them, thick in the air, as he rolled it on. And then he was inside her, driving deep, making good on every word he'd whispered before.
The weekend had been a blur of tangled sheets, ordering in, and the kind of lazy exhaustion that came from being thoroughly worshipped and in love.
"Okay, but seriously," Piper murmured against his collarbone, her lips still swollen from kissing, "just because the wedding is over doesn't mean I'm suddenly free. I still have other clients, you know."
"The funeral guys." Zach chuckled, his hands sliding down to grip her hips as she shifted above him.
"Yes, they are one of my clients." She kissed his pec because she could.
He arched a brow. "What if I hired you? Then you'd have to stay."
Piper stilled, her fingers pausing mid-trace along his chest. She lifted her head, her expression a mix of amusement and something sharper. "That's oddly offensive."
He grinned, unrepentant. "Or romantic. You decide."
She rolled her eyes but didn't pull away, and that was answer enough.
Piper started the morning well-caffeinated, thoroughly orgasmed, and willing to consider believing in fairy tales.
The wedding was over. It had gone off without a hitch—unless you counted Tess trying to micromanage the band or the fact that a horse contributed an unexpected intestinal evacuation to the aisle décor.
But no last-minute cancellations.
No ominous signs.
No epic disasters involving electrical fires, allergic reactions, or emotional implosions.
Anna and Drake were all googly eyes and loving touch the entire time.
Things were… fine.
She walked into Montgomery Events feeling like she was ready for more. That she'd earned a new title and all that came with it.
Her hair was scraped into a low bun that broadcast, "competent and hydrated," and not only because she had two electrolyte packets pulsing through her bloodstream. She made it to her desk, the organized mess slowly giving way to simply… organized.
