This gown doesn’t float; it sculpts. It makes every princess—Disney or otherwise—look underdressed. I decide it only comes off when we’re back in our honeymoon suite. I’m already the luckiest woman alive. I don’t care if Pres sees me like this before the ceremony. And, it’s Vegas, so no one will look twice at a bride walking down the street. Well, maybe they will, because this is the mostbeautiful dress ever. Anyway, I don’t care. It’s not coming off.
We slip into the limousine Liam rented and head for the Marriage License Bureau on Clark Avenue, just the two of us. The rest of the party is staying at the hotel to get ready. We’ll be back for the final touches after we sign the paperwork, and head for the chapel all together. I’m last for hair and makeup, so I’ll be fresh for the, ahem, altar.
“Are you sure?” Pres asks for the hundredth time, which is wild, because usually I’m the one who needs steadying.
“About marrying you or doing it in Vegas?” I grin.
“Don’t give this old man a heart attack, Trouble.” His laugh is tight. “I promised you the world. Giving you your dream wedding would be a good start.”
I turn him toward me and hold his face, my thumbs firm in his beard. “Pres, before you, I didn’t make space for dreams. Life boiled down to work. Paying the bills my family dropped at my doorstep. I simply marched forward, head down, career-focused.” He tries to smile, but instead, the muscles in his jaw jump. I brush my nose against his, then tip his chin down so he’s looking right at me. “Then I met the man who loves hard, who earns his daughter’s pride every day, who waited me out without faltering.”
His big smile reassures me all over again.
“What started as a wild, off-limits crush became real. I denied it until denial started sounding like a lie. I tried to treat this as temporary. But you kept treating me like the only possible choice.” I lean in until our foreheads touch. “You, Dr. Preston, make me dream in real time.” I tighten my fingers on his jaw and whisper fiercely, “This is what I want.”
The green in his eyes softens, and I know he feels my certainty. It doesn’t stop me, though. “I never planned on loving a child this much, and now the simple thought of going a day without Lily in my life gives me crippling anxiety. She’s become part of me. If someone ever asks if I have kids, I’ll say I have the best one.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, then snaps back to my eyes, shining.
“I never, ever dreamed of marriage,” I admit. “Then you dropped to one knee and planted that in my mind. Two minutes later, I’m in Vegas getting a license in the most beautiful dress I never would’ve let myself want. But hey, apparently Prince Charming exists, and he’s inconveniently hot.” I kick my feet under a cloud of white fabric and throw my legs over his lap.
“Don’t you get it?” I say, smiling. “You’re the dream, Pres.”
The limo hums beneath us. I kiss the corner of his mouth, then press my lips to his ear. “Yes,” I say, because he needs to hear it. “Yes to Vegas. Yes to now.”
He exhales like I opened a valve. Then, he says, “I need to tell you something before we step out.”
“You can tell me anything, fiancé,” I say, giving him what I think is a sexy wink.
“I called my lawyer.” His voice drops, steady. “When we get home, we’ll sign a postnuptial. What’s mine becomes ours. No more using my card to buy things for our home and pretending it’s a company card. It’ll be our name on the card. From our joint account. And your name on the deed. I want you untouchable. You will never worry about money again.”
I sit up straighter. “Pres, that’s…” I swallow, searching for a word better than mad or irrational. “A lot.”
“I’m in, Mia. I’m all in.”
“I want to talk to the lawyer too. We do this right. Not high on Vegas or hormones.”
His eyes glint. “That’s my wife.”
“Oh God, I love the sound of that. Say it again,” I breathe, shifting, letting the dress flood his lap.
He swallows. “My wife.”
His hand finds the slit of my skirt and parts it. My legs follow. He reaches my panties—fine, my high-waisted Spanx—and pulls them aside. A single finger strokes up and down my entrance. “This dress is a hazard. An invitation I’d never be rude enough to refuse. Say yes, Trouble.”
“Yes.” I guide his wrist deeper. “Fuck me in the back of the limo. Make it rough, Pres. Give me”—I glance at the partition currently keeping this moment private—“and the driver, the rides of our lives.”
“Fuck.” He huffs, palming his hard length over his pants with his free hand. “I’ve gotten myself a slutty little wife, haven't I?”
I answer him with an open-mouthed kiss and a sound I don’t bother to hide while two of his fingers keep working me where I’m already slick for him. “I’m going to wrinkle this dress beyond saving, baby,” he says, low and wicked. “And I won’t be even a little sorry for it.”
He yanks his belt, the buckle clapping leather. Button and zipper come next, and he’s free. For the rest of my life, the sight of his hard length will steal my voice.
“Kneel. Get my cock wet. There’s no time to stretch that pussy, and you’re getting what you asked for. Rough.”
I hike up my skirt, drop onto my knees, and the white of my dress swallows me whole. I take him in my hand and drag my tongue along his length, slow enough to make his breath go ragged. Then I stop.
“I need your help, Doctor.”
