“Need some help with that?” she asks, her voice suddenly full of suggestion.
“In a few minutes,” I respond, tossing her a grin over my shoulder. “My wife needs a minute to recover and has requested a snack.”
“Okay, husband,” she says, lightly emphasizing the word. “Thank you.”
The last is softer, full of sincerity, and I pause with my hand on the handle of the fridge and look at her. “You’re welcome.”
I assemble something that’s like a charcuterie board—cheese, salami, nuts, and fruit—and pull out the chocolate cream pie I bought on a whim yesterday. It’s been sitting in the fridge, and I’m a little surprised Hailey didn’t touch it. But when I think about it, I guess not. She thought I’d be kicking her out as it was, but was still hoping to convince me to let her stay. That’s why she’s been making herself scarce since I got back. Partly, yes, she’s been doing what she said in the name of setting herself up to survive on her own, but also she’s been trying to stay out of my way.
I also get out two champagne flutes and a bottle of moscato. We’d tasted a variety of champagnes and other bubbly wines to pick what to have for our toast at the reception, and this was Hailey’s favorite, so I got some to keep on hand for her.
Her eyes widen, and a small smile claims her lips when she sees all my treats. “What’s all this?”
“It feels like this is something to celebrate, doesn’t it?” I pour the wine and hand her a glass, holding mine aloft. “To us,” I say quietly. “To no more second-guessing where we stand with each other. To being married for real. And to healing and growing and living a full life that Hunter would be proud of.”
Her eyes get glassy again, but she blinks away her tears and clinks her glass against mine. “To us,” she echoes, voice hoarse. “To living. And loving.”
We drink our wine, our gazes locked, and even though I was going to wait until after our snack, I can’t keep myself from her lips when she sets her glass down.
And it seems that she feels the same way.
She grips the collar of my shirt when I kiss her, yanking on it in a bid to pull herself closer to me and me closer to her. My hands roam every inch of her back, sliding down to her ass and giving it a squeeze. She fills my hands perfectly, and I love that about her.
God, it feels good not to hold back those thoughts, not to stifle them or pretend I didn’t thinklove. To not have to pretend that I don’t know what I’m feeling.
When she showed up on my doorstep in that T-shirt and cutoff shorts, I thought she was hot.
But like I told her, watching her perform and interact with people and families in the park, dancing with the little kids while she played—that was what tipped me out of pure lust paired with nostalgia and fond memories from when we were kids into falling for the woman she is now. And since she got here? I was lost to her almost immediately.
I back her toward my bedroom, starting to tug at her clothes. By the time we get to my room, we’re both naked and giggling—she is, at least, but I’m grinning—a trail of clothes following us from the kitchen to the bed. And when I get her on my bed, Iworshipher.
I want her to know what it feels like to be so thoroughly and completely loved that she won’t feel the lack of anything else, if only for just these few moments where we’re together like this. I know I can’t replace or make up for a lifetime of neglect and abandonment by the people who were supposed to love her most.
But I’ll do my damnedest to try.
Taking my sweet time, I kiss my way down her body, her hands caressing my head and face, running through my hair as I move down her chest, pausing to lavish attention on her breasts, caressing her thighs and sides and hips with my hands as I do, noticing how she parts her thighs in invitation. I don’t take herup on it, though. Not yet. I want her panting and practically begging with need before I touch her there.
Moving on, I kiss along her rib cage, pausing now and then to draw circles with my tongue, alternating tiny nips with my teeth that make her gasp with soothing kisses.
When I get to her belly button, her stomach freezes as she holds her breath, so I don’t stay there long. “Breathe, Hailey,” I whisper against her skin. She lets out a soft chuckle, but does as I say. “Good girl.”
“You are too much,” she murmurs, and I just smile, continuing my mission to worship every inch of her.
When I’ve satisfied myself that she’s been thoroughly worshiped with my mouth and is as aching and needy as I am, I slide into the space between her thighs, running my hands up her soft skin, stopping just short of the apex.
She draws in a deep breath, her stomach shuddering as she lets out a shaky exhale, her eyes locked with mine as I slowly lower my head, my tongue finally parting her in a long, slow lick.
“Jesus!” she hisses.
“Just Jason,” I murmur, thumbing her open and setting myself to my work. I’ve always been known as a dedicated player, and I like to think I bring the same work ethic to loving my wife the way she deserves.
And from her moans and cries of pleasure, I think Hailey would agree with me.
She tenses up, her legs pressing into me. I know she’s getting close, so I don’t vary what I’m doing in the slightest, not wanting to ruin her orgasm. With a cry, I feel her pulsing against my tongue, and I can’t help feeling smug and satisfied at how easily I got her there.
When she seems to melt into a puddle, I pull away, wiping my mouth with my hand before stretching out beside her. Shenuzzles into my chest, hiding her face, and I wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head.
After a moment, she lifts her face to mine for a kiss, and I notice her cheeks are wet again. “You can talk to me. If you need to.” I whisper. “Or want to.”
