Page 242 of A Song for You

The truth is, I plan on touching him like this for the rest of our lives.

“And besides,” he says, his eyes fluttering open and that smirk dancing across his face, “I’m Jay Hanson. Of course I hired Chris Martin to sing to you. And to officiate our wedding. What kind of billionaire would I be if I didn’t?”

Laughter skitters into the night air, and pure joy vibrates around us.

“And this house?” I squeak. “It’s really ours?”

He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “If you like it.”

I throw my arms around him, pulling him close. “I love it,” I whisper. “Yes…yes I’ll marry you.”

And then, as the sun sets over the park, with our daughter by Jay’s side as his best person, and Sophie and Cynthia by mine, my soulmate and I say our vows. And Chris Martin, the goddamn lead singer of Coldplay, pronounces us husband and wife.

And when we hold tight to each other under the stars on the rooftop of our new home, sharing our first dance as husband and wife, he sings “Yellow.”

Fifty-Nine

Cat

A Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay

We walk our guests out through the front door and say goodbye. Sophie shoots me a saucy wink as she leaves, and Cynthia takes Chloe with her for the night.

When we’re finally alone on the sidewalk in front of our new home, Jay turns to me with blue flames dancing in his eyes. “C’mere, wife.”

Wife. Holy shit. Is there a hotter word in the English language?

When I stare up at him, still stunned stupid, he slides his hands beneath my knees and my back and cradles me against his chest. With a kiss to the temple, he strides for the door, then carries me over the threshold of our home.

“Say it again,” I whisper.

Jay licks his lips as he meets my gaze. “Wife.”

The word is uttered with such reverence. Such appreciation. So much love and unwavering devotion.

Wife.

“Need you now,” I pant as he sets me on my feet in front of the fire next to the makeshift bed and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.

We make quick work of undressing one another. The tuxedo, which stretched perfectly against his broad shoulders, is quickly forgotten, along with my yellow dress. Then his lips are on mine, and we kneel together, more desperate for one another than ever before.

There will be no long, slow worshipping of bodies. This is about connection. About sealing our vows. Becoming one.

Jay lies back and pulls me on top of him. I lift my hips, more than ready for him, and then, in one thrust, he slides home.

And in that moment, I close my eyes and memorize the feel of him.

The fullness.

The sheer perfection that is this moment with my husband.

“Husband,” I whisper, opening my eyes and gazing down at the man who will forever hold that title.

“Fuck, I’ve never wanted a name more.” He slides his hands to my hips and drags me against him, knowing precisely how to maneuver my body. To play me like an instrument. “Now ride my cock, wife.”

Together, we chase our orgasms, our bodies moving in sync. Words of love are whispered, curses are uttered.

Legs trembling, I ride my husband, relishing every spark, every hit of desire that works its way through me as he sucks one nipple while he tweaks the other between his fingers. “Oh, Jay…” I breathe, feeling the telltale tingles building in my core.