It’s almost as if he isn’t mad or freaked out at all. It’s almost as if he’s enjoying this. Like he ... likes it?
“Wifey—get on all fours and I’ll make you come. Then we can figure out what to do.”
Wifey. I groan. “Stop.”
“Stop looking like a honeymoon snack and I will.”
God help me, I laugh.
It bubbles in my chest despite the throbbing in my head and the existential crisis brewing in my brain. Not to mention, all this talk about being bent over and screwed from behind has me getting wet.
I roll over to my front, bending my elbows and presenting him with my ass.
He smooths his hands over the globes of my cheeks, humming contently to himself. Runs his palms over them, fingers flirting dangerously with my crack as he props himself up, kneels behind me, and lines the head of his cock with my entrance.
I swear I feel come dripping out of myself from the last time he fucked me, but the damage is already done. We’ve already had unprotected sex several times, and, for whatever reason, it seems to make us both hotter for one another.
The risk.
“All I want to do is fuck this sweet pussy, I swear to God, Annabelle ...” he vows, pumping his hips.
I think I love you ...
I think I love you ...
I bow my head as he rails me, eyes locked on that ring on my finger.
Chapter 18
Maverick
I’m not even a little mad about waking up married.
Confused? Sure.
Foggy on the logistics? Definitely.
But mad? Not even a little.
Is that fucked up or no?
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the gold band on my finger like it’s the best party favor I’ve ever accidentally taken home. I twist it around once. Twice. It catches the sunlight and winks back at me.
Huh. I kind of like it?
I mean—I’m not dumb.I know this isn’t legally binding. There was no paperwork. No witness signatures or sober judgment. Not even a real wedding license involved.
Still. I can’t help the giddy twist in my gut every time I look at that ring.
“Okay,” Annabelle blurts, holding her phone like a weapon. “I googled it. Apparently, in Washington State, verbal consent and a ceremony can technically be recognized if there are at least two witnesses? But I have no idea if that’s true or not? Or—”
“Babe.”
She freezes mid-rant. “What?”
I stand slowly, walking toward her until there’s barely an inch between us. Her eyes are wide and still a little wild. My hands find her waist without thinking.
“I don’t care,” I say quietly. Not right now, anyway.
