“Pointless”.
The same song we heard on the way to the beach.
My eyes well with tears. I have no idea what the future holds, but right here, right now, Dom is everything I never knew I needed.
‘No more crying, remember?’ He murmurs into my ear. “Songbird”, the melody we walked into. That’s what he meant.
‘I didn’t plan on falling for you, but how could I not?Apparently, you know me better than I know myself. You shower me with love and attention. Wipe my tears. Hold my hand. Offered me warmth, love, and protection.’
‘I always will,’ he says.
His irises flare as his face dips to catch my lips. It’s not sexual this time. It’s tender. Appreciative. Loving.
He pulls back all too soon. ‘Do you believe in fate now?’
‘Maybe.’ It does seem like too much of a coincidence that it was his bar I ran into. Him who saved me.
My heart swells in my chest. Thank god for the day my father traded me off to Rory Kavanagh, because if it weren’t for that, I’d never have run into this big, beautiful man. Ironic that this is where it started, and this is where we ended up, mere months later.
He leads me around the dancefloor, surprisingly graceful for a man of his size. When the band reaches the chorus, our eyes meet, and he mouths the words to me. Mama K and Sheila clutch each other at the side of the dancefloor. Sheila is dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Mama K palms her chest, then gives us a thumbs up. And I simply smile.
The rest of our reception passes by in a whir of dancing, drinking, and more introductions. I haven’t got a hope of remembering anyone’s name because I can barely remember my own when my husband’s hands are permanently attached to my body. I keep watching the clock, checking how much longer until we can go to bed. And spoiler alert—I’m not tired.
Finally, at two a.m., we make our excuses, promising Mama K we’ll call her from our honeymoon. I still have no idea where we’re going, but if it’s with him, I’ll go anywhere. He hasn’t let me down yet.
We practically jog up the stairs to the honeymoon suite,fingers interlaced again. My heart races in my ribcage at the enormity of what we’re about to do.
Dom opens the door, holding it ajar with his foot, then sweeps me up into his arms, carrying me the same way he did the first day we met. I squeal out of surprise, taking the opportunity to palm the muscular planes of his pecs.
He strides across the room and places me gently on the bed. Our eyes meet. His are sin filled and suggestive. ‘Mrs Kincaid,’ he murmurs.
‘Mr Kincaid.’ I glance at the ring gleaming on his left hand. It looks good there. Especially because it makes him mine.
‘Would you like a drink?’ His eyes scan the room, landing on a bottle of Beckett’s Black Label champagne chilling in a chrome bucket filled with ice. Someone has left heart shaped chocolates and a huge bouquet of flowers beside them.
‘Do I need one?’ I whisper, eyeing his crotch. I can’t deny, I am slightly nervous. It’s supposed to hurt, right?
‘It might help you relax,’ he decides, crossing the room. He tugs off his bow tie, tosses it to the coffee table, then undoes the top few buttons of his shirt. Saliva floods my tongue. He pops the bottle and brings it over to the bed, placing it on the bedside table beside two crystal flutes.
‘Did you enjoy today?’ He asks as he fills the glasses.
‘It was everything any bride would have wished for,’ I bite my lip.
‘I’m not asking about any bride.’ His eyes snap to mine. ‘I’m asking ifmybride enjoyed it.’
I nod, then rock up to a sitting position to accept the drink he offers to me. ‘It was perfect.’ And it was.
His lips lift into a wicked grin. ‘You’re about to enjoy it awhole lot more.’ He wets his lips. ‘If you’re certain, that is?’ Concern creases the corner of his eyes.
‘Certain?’ I take a sip of champagne and arch an eyebrow. ‘I was certain six hours ago.’ I place my glass down on the bedside table and reach around my back for the zipper, lowering it all the way until it falls to my waist and my breasts spill free.
He hisses, drinking me in. ‘I will never tire of staring at your perfect tits.’ He shakes his head in awe and his Adam’s apple bobs. I love the way he reacts to my body. It feels so utterly empowering to know this big, bad, dangerous husband of mine is wild for my body.
‘Shall I take it off?’ I sweep a hand over the skirt part. ‘Sir?’ I add, and his pupils darken.
‘Good girl.’ He lowers himself to sit on the bed beside me. ‘But no. I want the dress and stilettos on for the first time.’ He gently pushes me flat onto the pillows, then bunches up the material around my waist. His fingers drift between my legs as his eyes bore into mine. They flare when they reach my centre. I am soaked for him. Again.
‘So help me, woman, I may tie you to this bed and never leave.’
