Page 47 of George’s Big Day

We went down five, came to a landing, walked across it, went up seven, and then there was a turn I would have missed if he hadn’t gone through first.

“What the hell?”

“This place was around during prohibition. Did you know that?”

“No, that wasn’t in the—shit,” I almost yelled, stumbling over a lip in the floor, going from polished hardwood to unfinished barnwood.

I was even more startled when he rounded on me and shoved me back against a door that closed not with a click, but with a thump, as though pushed back into place without a lock or a knob.

“What’s happening?” I asked, seeing him slip a loop of rope—what the hell?—over a hook. “What’re we—Kurt?”

But I got nothing else out before his lips met mine and his hands were yanking my shirt up, no longer neatly tucked as he went to work on my buttons.

I was going to ask about our wedding night. Didn’t he want to wait? But the way he was mauling my mouth, I was thinking that delaying was not at all on his mind, and once he had my shirt open, his hands sliding over my skin, it suddenly didn’t seem so important.

There was a bed, I’d seen that much when we walked in, and so I broke the kiss and stepped back. He took hold of my waist to keep me still.

“Stay here,” he husked, taking a step forward when I took one back.

“Talk to me about the sheets on that thing,” I inquired, holding his gaze, not looking away, taking another step toward the bed with him moving with me, fluidly, like a dance.

“They’re clean, everything’s clean,” he promised, and I saw how big his pupils were, how flushed he was, and how often he licked his lips. “Noah told me no one knows the room is even here besides him and Dante. They found it when they were renovating.”

“Why did Noah tell you about the room?”

“So that if we needed to be alone, really alone, we could be.”

“There’s our room.”

“No,” he whispered as the back of my thighs hit the bed. “People would knock on the door, want to say something, tell us something, but for right now, it can just be us.”

“And why is that important?” I asked, staring into the gunmetal eyes I loved that had darkened now with desire.

“Because I need you.”

As though I would ever argue with him. “Then I’m all yours.”

Hands on my shoulders, he sat me down on the bed and knelt to unlace my dress shoes. I watched as he looked up, smiled at me, and then went to work on my belt, and then the button on my pants before slowly unzipping my fly.

“Could we hurry this along before I die?”

He chuckled as he shoved me back, and I arched a bit off the bed to make it easier for him to pull both pants and briefs down to my knees.

“Why don’t you get naked and ride—oh,” I moaned as he licked slowly over the swollen head of my cock.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I rasped as he licked a long line up the side and then laved the head again before taking me down the back of his throat.

I yelled his name.

“That’s it,” he murmured, taking hold of my length, tonguing the base, before taking a quick bite of my thigh. “Want me more.”

I was going to tell him it wasn’t possible, but he engulfed my cock again, sucking hard, his hand tightening at the same time, and I couldn’t think of anything but his mouth on me.

It was good. The man I was marrying was gifted, but I wanted all of him.

When I fisted my hand in his hair and pulled, he lifted slowly, and I watched as my shaft slipped slowly, inch by inch, from between his lips.