3. Cord
Cord
I am owned by a goddess. That was my first thought when I saw Mira Moore for the first time.
It was more than how she looked in that little white slip.
It was the fire in her eyes and the way she carried herself.
Like a woman done apologizing to the world for not being enough and instead demanding that the world accept her as she is. Hot as fuck.
Every bit of my blood went straight to my cock as soon as I saw her.
I wanted nothing more than to grab her and hold on to her for the rest of my life.
It’s not every day that a cowboy walks in on his soulmate already dressing for the wedding.
A man can’t get luckier than that. Then I learned she wanted me to interrupt her wedding, and I knew it was perfect. She is perfect.
The tuxedo was about two sizes too small, and the wedding bands were simple, lacking any ornate detail. But still it was the perfect wedding in my eyes because she was there. My bride. My Mira.
After our wedding kiss, I saw it on her face. The pure lust, the need and the desire but also fear. It’s little wonder she’s afraid of making a mistake after that dickhead she was about to marry. He may have tripped over a few things in the parking lot on his way to leave. Pity when that happens.
“Let’s get the bride and groom together for the photos,” the wedding planner announces. She’s a little too loud and a little too enthusiastic.
“We don’t have to do those,” Mira says softly, for my ears only.
“This should look real,” I remind her and instantly hate myself for saying it.
This isn’t fake in my mind. It’s every bit the real deal, and I don’t want her thinking for a moment that I’m not in this for the long haul.
I met my soulmate and married her twenty minutes later.
How many people are lucky enough to say that?
“Of course,” she answers and squares her shoulders. There she is, my perfect goddess. The warrior who won’t let this world push her around. She might doubt her strength, but I see her spine of steel.
The next hour passes by in a blur of poses. I take advantage of every opportunity to put my hands all over my new bride, inhaling her intoxicating scent and memorizing the curves of her body.
When it’s time for our first dance as man and wife, I pull her close, loving the way she fits her head against my body. We were made for this, to wrap around each other. I’m certain of it.
While I’m busy marveling over how perfectly we fit together, she whispers the words that break my heart, “I know that you saved my pride out there, and I appreciate that. We can quietly get an annulment after this. No one even has to know you were ever married.”
Fuck that. I don’t plan on letting her go and more than that, I want the whole world to know we’re married. But I don’t want to tip my hand and risk making her run away scared, so I keep quiet.
She sighs softly and puts her head on my chest. “Only a few more hours to go.”
I’m not letting my miracle slip away. Not now. Not ever. But I don’t tell her that. Instead, I spin her around the dance floor, holding her close for every love song until it’s time to cut the cake.
The rest of the wedding festivities pass quickly. It’s obvious to me that while everyone here is for the bride, most of them aren’t close to her. If anything, it seems like most of the guests in attendance are from her company and business network.
It’s only when she’s yawning that I finally insist it’s time for our honeymoon to start. She’s exhausted and clearly needs to rest.
“We have a honeymoon suite booked upstairs,” she whispers. “Come up with me then slip out a back exit later when most of the guests are in their rooms.”
I nod like I’m going along with that when I have no intention of following through. This is our first night as man and wife. I’m staying by her side no matter what.
After a round of hugs and well wishes, I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the elevator while the crowd around us hoots. Contentment washes over me. There’s something about holding her that soothes me.
“Good idea,” she murmurs when the doors slide closed, and we’re alone. “That looked very real. They ate it up.”
I don’t tell her that I don’t give a damn about our audience. There’s only one person in this entire building whose opinion I actually care about and that person is in my arms right now.
“You can stop now,” she says when the elevator dings and the doors slide open.
“They could be watching,” I answer because I know it’s the one thing I can say that will let me keep holding her for a moment longer. I’m running out of time. I have to convince her to stay married so I can get her to fall in love with me.
She doesn’t protest, just lets me carry her to our room. When we’re inside, I set her on her feet. She wobbles for a second, and I remember she barely ate. She picked at her food all night.
Before I have a chance to say anything, she crosses the expansive floor to the bar and grabs the bottle of champagne on ice. She sighs softly, “Thank God.”
She uncorks it and guzzles half of it then turns her attention to me. I think she’s going to offer me something to drink, but she says, “Help me get naked.”
My cock surges at the words, my body humming to life. I want nothing more than to take her up against the nearest hard surface. But I don’t think great sex is the way to convince her to stay married.
She frowns. “You zipped me into it, now help me unzip it.”
I cross the room and pull the zipper slowly, letting my fingertips ghost against her skin the way I did earlier when I hated the idea that I was putting her in a wedding dress for another man. Now, I get to be the one to take it off.
I glance at the scars across her body, the same ones I saw earlier. But I don’t acknowledge them. I know what it’s like when people stare and you wish they’d look anywhere but at you. Whatever horrible, awful thing happened, my girl survived. That’s all I need to know.
The dress pools at her feet, and she steps out of it in the lacy little slip that makes my mouth go dry. Does she realize her nipples are hard points? Does she realize the way she shimmies her hips makes me want to drag her onto the king-size bed?
She makes a sigh like she’s grateful for this day to be done then guzzles more of the champagne from the bottle. She pauses and looks up at me, her eyes already starting to look a little glassy. “I never drink. But it’s not been my best day. You get it, don’t you?”
I shrug. “It was pretty awesome to me.”
She puts a hand on her chest. “See, this is why I paid all that money. I knew you would be sweet. I could see it on the website.”
I open my mouth to tell her that the way I feel has nothing to do with the auction. But before I can, she crosses the room and flops onto the bed, careful not to slosh the bottle. She looks up at me with a grin. “Want some?”
I shake my head and lean against the entertainment center, watching her. “I think I’m good.”
She goes to take another sip only to realize it’s gone. My gut tightens. She said she never drinks.
“I must have been thirsty.” She giggles and goes to stand, wobbling more than she did earlier.
Empty stomach. Not a big deal. I remind myself of this, but the ten-year-old kid watching his parents get drunk doesn’t know that.
“Sit. I’ll get your next one,” I tell her.
I move to the bar area and grab a couple of water bottles, plus a pack of cheese crackers that don’t have an expiration date.
I ignore the text message on my phone letting me know I’m late on another round of bills.
No shit there. I’m drowning, but I don’t want to think about that tonight.
She scowls at me when I hand her the water. “Start with this. You can have more champagne in a minute.”
“Bossy, bossy man,” she mutters.
I clink my water bottle against hers. “Here’s to us.”
She throws back her water like it’s another glass of champagne. “You promised the good stuff after this.”
“Let’s slow down here.” I pass her one of the cheese crackers.
She eats it in two bites then proceeds to belch louder than a truck driver. She scowls at me. “Say excuse me. Have some manners.”
I mutter a half-hearted apology, amused by her antics. She’s cute in a way that makes my heart pound and my mouth go dry.
“Too hot,” she murmurs and reaches for her slip.
She yanks it over her head, pulling off her lacy white underwear next.
I probably shouldn’t look but fuck, she’s my wife.
She’s pink and beautiful down there, perfectly trimmed.
I want to know exactly what she tastes like between those thick thighs.
But I won’t touch her like that when she’s this intoxicated.
No, if we’re going to be together, I need her to be sober and right there with me as I satisfy her curvy body.
When she’s completely naked, she snuggles onto the bed and pats the space next to her.
Every muscle in my body is tense. I should walk into the main area of the honeymoon suite. There’s a lumpy couch that I could sleep on. It’s the smart choice. The logical one. The one that won’t make me spend the night in sweet torment.
“Sleep by me, husband,” she says.
I’m headed straight to hell. No, I am in hell, I decide as I join her on the bed, yanking off my dress shirt but leaving on my pants and shoes. Seems smarter that way.
She puts her head on my shoulder the moment I’m here, but I don’t move. We’re quiet for several long moments then she says, “He cheated on me.”
I swallow hard. I remember that day in the rain, coming up the stairs to the second floor. I was on leave unexpectedly, so damn excited with that engagement ring in my pocket. Then just as I stood in the hallway, fumbling with my key, I heard another man’s voice in our apartment.
I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her. “You didn’t deserve it. Not any of it.”
She snores softly, and I don’t know if she heard it. But fuck, I’m going to do whatever it takes to help her believe it.
I press a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re incredible, and I’m going to fight for our marriage. Even if I have to fight a little dirty.”