Chapter Eighteen #2
I frown. “What do you mean by myself? I’ve managed to do okay in adulthood, Doc.”
Alie coughs.
“But I did have help with the logistics with the kids,” I amend. “And your overnight bag.”
Presley smiles in a way that makes every nerve in my body settle and spark at the same time.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles.
“Happy wedding day, Doc.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Don’t make me cry in this restaurant.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The Plaza looks like something from another life. Presley’s life, actually.
It’s all marble and gold, polished elegance. The kind of place that makes me feel underdressed, even in a suit.
Presley walks beside me through the lobby, her hand tucked into my arm, her wedding band catching the light every few steps.
I keep looking at it. And she notices.
“You’re staring again.”
“At my wife.”
She inhales softly, then looks at me like she’s trying not to smile.
“You’re going to be insufferable.”
“Going to be?”
“Right. You are insufferable.”
Then we both laugh.
I check us in, and the concierge hands over Presley’s bag, which Alie dropped off earlier today, along with the key, and offers warm congratulations that make Presley’s cheeks flush.
We don’t say much in the elevator.
I think the champagne at lunch has made her a little sleepy.
We get to the suite, and I tap the lock, but before she can walk in, I sweep her into my arms.
“What are you doing?” she yelps.
“I have to carry you over the threshold.” I kiss her on the cheek.
She tilts her head back and laughs.
The suite is ridiculous. Like, not just nice. Opulent.
Tall windows with a view of the city. Fresh flowers on the table. Champagne chilling near the seating area. And because I got Alie involved to help me plan this, a small Oreo tower.
I set Presley down, and she walks over to the table.
“Is that—”
“Our Oreo cake,” I say. “I suppose not technically a cake, but more of a tower?”
She looks at me, then at the Oreo tower. “This is … perfect.”
I shrug, like it’s no big deal, even though it is. “It’s in the pact.”
The look on her face changes, like she’s happy but maybe a little overwhelmed.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said it was the most important contract of my life.”
She crosses the room and touches the edge of the cake stand the Oreos are on, and laughs softly.
“This is amazing. Seriously.”
I pull out my phone and pull up my Garth Brooks playlist, specifically to “To Make You Feel My Love” and press play. Then I move behind her, sliding my arms around her waist.
She leans back against me without hesitation.
We stand there for a quiet minute absorbing the significance of what today means for me, for her, for the kids.
But tonight, it’s just us. No kids. No work. No grief.
Presley covers my hands with hers, and we sway to the music.
“This is really sweet,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her temple.
“You deserve sweet.”
She turns in my arms, looking up at me. “What do you think you deserve?”
I’m not really sure how to answer that. So I just go with the first thing that comes to mind. “You.”
Her eyes soften. “You have me.”
Fuck. Those three words nearly take me out.
I kiss her then, slow and careful.
And when we pull apart, she rests her forehead against mine. “I can’t believe we’re really married.”
I smile. “Yep.”
“You’re my husband.”
“That I am.”
“And then tomorrow, we’ll go home to two kids and figure out the next steps we need to take,” she pauses. “And Rhyan will be very determined to destroy this Oreo tower if we can get it home in one piece.”
“She definitely will.”
She laughs, but it fades into something tender.
“Are you scared at all?”
I think about it for a second and look at her ring, and at the woman who chose me with her eyes open.
“No,” I say. “Not tonight.”
Her hands slide up my chest.
“Good.”
I kiss her again, but this time a little more anxiously.
We stand there, kissing for what feels like hours, before I move us through the suite to the bedroom.
I sit on the edge of the oversize mahogany bed. I pull my suit jacket off and toss it to the armchair next to the bed. I watch as Presley unzips her dress from the back, pushing her breasts out.
She’s wearing cream-colored lace, perfectly molded to her body. She settles between my knees and reaches out to unbutton my shirt. Then she pushes it over my shoulders, and I pull the sleeves off. She takes it from my hand, then tosses it over my jacket in the chair.
When she sinks to her knees on the thick rug between my legs, I freeze.
Her hands grasp my thighs, and she runs her hands up till she reaches the button and zipper of my pants. She slowly opens them and tugs on the waistband of my boxers just enough to reveal my rock-hard dick.
“I want you in my mouth. And then I want you to go down on me because I can’t stand living in the fantasy anymore. I want the real thing. You think you can do that?”
I look down at her, my large hands framing her face, my thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbones. “I’ll feast on your pretty pussy all night long. Till you beg me to stop because you’re too sensitive to take any more.” I put my thumbs on her bottom lip. “Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes, please.”
She takes my pants in her hands, and I lift my hips enough for her to pull them over my ass and down my legs.
“Slow,” she whispers, her voice a soft command that cuts through the silence of the suite. “I want to savor every drop of you.”
I nod and have to fight the urge to pick her up and throw her on the bed.
When she wraps her hand around my shaft, it’s almost like she’s studying a work of art. Her mouth is slightly open, her eyes dark with need. And she looks like she wants to swallow me whole.
Her mouth on my cock is warm, a sharp contrast to the cool air in the room. She takes her time licking up, then down, exploring me with reverence.
I lean back on my elbows and revel in the soft silk of her tongue. The way she’s taking me in her mouth. Every slide of her tongue, every intake of breath, is a deliberate act.
She moves with a liquid grace, her hands roaming up to my chest, her palms flat. The sensation is a concentrated heat that makes the rest of the world disappear around us.
I push myself up so I can reach down and tangle my fingers in her golden hair, letting the strands fall over my hands. I don’t push. I just hold on, anchored by the wet heat of her mouth.
“Presley,” I rasp. “Take me deeper.”
She does, and chokes, making her eyes water and saliva pool out the sides of her mouth. She’s looking up at me, her eyes a heady mixture of power and obsession.
I can’t hold onto my control anymore, and I thrust my cock in and out of her mouth. She’s letting me set the pace, but I can still feel her tongue putting pressure on the underside of my shaft.
When she grabs on to my thighs, digging her fingers into the muscle like she’s trying to hold on, I can’t fight it any longer.
“I’m gonna come,” I pant. “And when I do, I want you to hold it in your mouth until I tell you to swallow.”
She moans around my cock, and the vibration of it sets me off.
I hold her head in my hands as I fill her mouth. My head tips back, and I close my eyes, and I swear I’ve never come this hard.
When I look down at her, she’s watching me, mascara running down her cheeks, and her spit, mixed with my cum, drips down her chin to her neck.
I pull my dick out slowly. “Keep it in, wife.”
She shivers. Her hands rub my thighs, and I can tell she’s turned on.
I move my hands from her head to cup her face. Then I wipe away some of the mascara and continue a path from her mouth, down her chin, and settle my thumbs on either side of her throat, stroking softly.
“I want to feel you swallow my cum.”
She nods slightly.
“Now.”
Her head drops back just enough to keep my cum from spilling out of her mouth. And then she drinks me in, and I feel her throat move under my thumbs.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe. “My wife.”
When she’s done, her hand comes up to her mouth, and she wipes the corners of her mouth with her fingers.
She looks wrecked in the most beautiful way.
“My turn.”
I stand and lift her from the floor, my hands finding the lace covering her ass. I carry her two steps to the center of the bed, pull down the comforter, and lay her against the high-thread-count sheets that feel like water against our skin.
I stand and take hold of the lace at her hips and rip it off her body.
“Saint! Do you know how much those cost?”
“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more.”
It’s my turn to kneel before her. I grab her behind the knees and pull her closer to me, putting her pussy directly in my face. I can see how wet she is, and I can smell her sweet musk.
I open her legs wider and rest my hands on her mound to hold her in place.
And then … I feast.
I flatten my tongue and lick from her hole to her clit, and then I suck it into my mouth. Her back arches when I do, and then her hands are in my hair.
“Oh my God. That feels so good.”
“I’ve got you.” My voice vibrates against her pussy.
I lick, swirl, and thrust my tongue in and out of her.
Her nails are digging into my scalp, and there’s a good chance she’s drawing blood, but I’m not stopping until she comes.
When I add a finger, her hips buck, joining my rhythm.
I feel her start to clench around my finger, and her body tenses. I add another finger and continue thrusting in and out. I swirl my tongue around her clit, and then just as she starts to come, I suck her clit into my mouth again.
When the pressure from her nails on my head eases, I stop my fingers and release her clit. Then I kiss her pussy, and make my way up her body.
I hover over her, bracing my weight on my forearms. Then I lean down and kiss her, slow and deep. My hips press into hers, my dick resting on top of her pussy.
She opens her legs wider, and her wetness coats my cock.
I break the kiss, trying to catch my breath, but kiss her softly on her cheek.
“I don’t want to be gentle, Doc,” I whisper just under her ear, making her shiver. “I want to make you bite the pillow.” I kiss her neck. “Grip the sheets.” Lick. “And lose every ounce of self-control.”
“Fuck me, Saint,” she murmurs.
I grab my dick in my hand and position myself at her entrance. I watch her face as I slide in, inch by slow inch. Her eyes widen, and she exhales a shaky breath as she takes all of me in. The fit is perfect and nearly makes me dizzy.
I stay still, buried deep inside her, letting her adjust to me.
Her hands rub up and down my arms and settle on my shoulders.
I begin to move in a steady rhythm, hyperaware of the friction between our bodies. And I know she feels it, too, because I can see the flush creep up on her chest.
I find a pace that’s both torture and pleasure, pulling back to the crown, then slamming into her, hard.
“Saint, please,” she gasps, her fingers digging into the muscles of my shoulders.
I thrust into her relentlessly. “Put your hands over your head.”
She does as I told her, and I pin her wrists for a second with one hand, then thread my fingers through hers, making our wedding bands clink.
My body is already tight, screaming for release. But I’ll wait.
“You take me so good, baby.” I pant against her lips.
I release her hand and wrap my arm under her leg.
She grips the sheets on her sides like she needs something to hold on to as my pace quickens.
I feel sweat on my forehead, my chest, making our bodies slick.
She wraps her arms around my neck, and I watch her eyes start to cloud over, her breathing turning into a series of broken hitches.
She pulls me down to her, my head resting in the curve of her neck.
I can feel her clench around my cock as she starts to come.
“Saint, I’m gonna come!”
Her mouth is open against my skin. Hot and uneven. When her body starts to vibrate through the force of her orgasm, she bites down on my shoulder.
“That’s it, baby. Let go.”
Then I lose control, sinking into her as a wave of heat rolls through my body.
Once every drop spills inside her, we lie there, panting, and my heart feels like it’s hammering against my ribs.
I lift up and press a kiss to her cheek, pull out of her, and roll to the side. She immediately tucks herself into me, her head resting on my chest.
“So that’s married sex, huh?” she says, smile in her voice.
“We’re never leaving the bed if this is married sex.” I joke. Sort of.
She runs her hand over my chest right below where she bit me.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I shake my head, chuckling. “No, not at all. You do remember what I do for a living, right?”
She laughs. “I know, but I didn’t mean to bite you. It just kind of happened.”
“It was fucking hot. Feel free to bite me anytime, Doc,” I say. “I did say I wanted you to bite the pillow, but biting me was even better.”
Her head tilts up to look at me, smirking. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I’ve had many dreams in my life. Graduate college. Play in the NFL. Marry Presley Grant. All my fucking dreams have come true, and while this one may not have happened the way I hoped, she’s mine all the same.
For now.
I just have to hope, tomorrow, I don’t wake up and find it was all just that … a dream.