Chapter 19
AMELIA
Of all the things Gage has ever grumbled about, shampoo is by far my favorite.
We’re still in the shower after he declared his love all over again, and he’s glaring at my pink bottle of shampoo, grumbling, “It smells like fucking coconut and sugar.”
I bite back a smile. There’s something both absurd and endearing about seeing my burn-the-world husband naked and shooting daggers at a shampoo bottle. “Don’t be angry at it. You’re the one who didn’t bring your own.”
His eyes cut to mine. “I thought you packed it for me.”
“I figured that since you’re a grown man, you were capable of packing your own toiletries.”
A dark grumble echoes off the tiles as he flips the bottle over, reading the label like it’s pissed him off. “Christ, what is all this shit they put in here?”
I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself, watching him as I dry off. His scowl only deepens as he works the shampoo through his hair, muscles flexing with every rough swipe.
“You’ll smell good,” I say, still trying not to laugh at him.
“That’s the fucking problem,” he mutters, rinsing it out with a savage flick of his head. “I’ll smell like you all weekend.”
I only just refrain from rolling my eyes at his mini tantrum. “God forbid.”
He gives me that look that says he’ll deal with me as soon as he’s finished with my shampoo. “Trust me, Princess, if all I can smell is you, and I can’t be buried in your pussy, we’re gonna have a problem.”
Holy filthy husband.
And here I was thinking he was complaining because he didn’t want to smell like a woman, while what he’s actually concerned about is losing his mind because all he can smell is his wife while having to keep his dick to himself.
Gage has no idea what he does to me. How utterly, wildly, loved he makes me feel.
My phone sounds with a text from the bedroom, so I wrap the towel around me and pad out of the bathroom to check it.
Tim
Confirming whether Gage used that Lawn Mower yet. If not, DO NOT let him shave his balls tonight. We can’t risk razor rash. The last thing we need is your husband waddling down the aisle like he’s smuggling an injury. You’re welcome.
A laugh bursts out of me. God, I love my brother. He interrogated Gage weeks ago over his manscaping routine and then sent him a body hair trimmer called The Lawn Mower. That was after Gage said he’d burn it if Tim sent him one.
He didn’t burn it. He simply shook his head and stashed it in a bathroom drawer for when his current trimmer dies.
I tap out a text to Tim.
Me
Can confirm his balls are fully operational and wedding ready. No risk of razor rash or wedding waddle. Maybe worry about your own balls instead.
Tim
Thank fuck. Limp dick energy is not welcome at this wedding. Groom ball injuries ruin wedding photos. My balls are thriving, by the way. Did a sugar scrub this morning. They’re resting like kings.
I inwardly roll my eyes and drop my phone onto the bed before heading back into the bathroom.
Gage has finished showering and is standing in front of the vanity, towel slung low around his hips, reaching for the toothpaste.
“Tim just texted,” I say, moving next to him. “He wanted to ensure you weren’t thinking of shaving your balls tonight.”
He snorts, shaking his head as he glances at me. “Your brother has an unhealthy obsession with my grooming habits.”
I grab my toothbrush. “I think he’s just deeply invested in wedding ball safety.”
His mouth twitches in that almost-smile that makes my chest do fluttery things.
“Your brother is deeply invested in many things. He spent at least fifteen minutes this afternoon having an existential crisis about luxury skincare with me, Ethan, and Hayden. There was a lot of ranting about how it’s ruining the world, which is apparently ruining his life too, because it’s his savior and he feels guilty about that. ”
I grin. That’s totally Tim. “Last week, he spiraled about whether buying a particular $300 serum made him morally bankrupt, and whether the brand harvests Himalayan dew drops with underpaid goats at dawn.”
Another twitch of his lips. “Yeah, he ranked every skincare brand by moral bankruptcy today.”
“Oh, god. How did Ethan and Hayden react to that?”
“They were entertained.” He passes me the toothpaste. “But they drew the line at doing a face mask with him.”
“I would have loved to be a part of that conversation.” I laugh. “Especially seeing Hayden keep a straight face.” Out of all Gage’s brothers, he’s the one who could listen to Tim spiral about underpaid Himalayan goats without blinking and then tell him to just wash his face with soap and move on.
We fall quiet while brushing our teeth and I think about how much Gage and his brothers tolerate from Tim.
Since we married, we’ve made an effort to bring our families together.
Everyone gets on well, and it’s been easy.
But it’s not an understatement to say that Tim has thrown himself into getting to know Gage and his family—a little too well at times.
The Black brothers have taken it all in stride, which makes my heart squeeze. They all make me feel so loved.
I turn to face Gage after we finish with our teeth and reach for his waist, settling my hand there. “Thank you for surviving him today,” I say softly.
His eyes hold mine, love simmering there, quiet and certain. “I’m not surviving him, Amelia. I’m loving every part of you. Even the part that comes with theatrics, loud opinions, and unfiltered commentary on my ‘zaddy energy.’”
I snort out an actual laugh. “He did not.”
“He did. Multiple times. He also told me I need to, and I quote, ‘emotionally divest from my corporate aesthetic and lean into my hot dad era.’”
I seriously wish I’d witnessed all of this because watching my husband handle my over-the-top brother is one of my favorite things to do.
My smile turns sexy. “Well . . . he’s not wrong. You are a hot dad.”
The look he gives me is pure Gage: calm on the surface, but his eyes are full of that focused, claiming intent that says I’m the only thing that exists in his world right now.
Not wanting to encourage his filthy ideas, I remove my hand from his waist and turn back to the mirror. “Don’t give me that look,” I say as I reach for my green clay mask.
“What look?”
“The eye-fucking look.”
He watches as I begin smearing the mask over my cheek. Then, he moves behind me, crowding me against the vanity. “You’re doing a face mask tonight?” There’s a note of disbelief in his voice.
I glance at him in the mirror and try to ignore the fact his eyes are all over my collar. “Yes. I want my skin to look good tomorrow.”
His hands slide around my waist, and he bends to kiss my neck, his lips lingering for a long moment before he murmurs, “I had plans for your mouth that didn’t involve your face being covered in green goop.”
Even though I’m absolutely not encouraging his plans, I tilt my head to allow him better access. Because filthy husband who wants me. “Anyone would think you were a deprived husband rather than one who has already had sex three times today.”
His mouth brushes my ear. “Three times and you think I’m done with you?” One of his hands glides down over my towel to my pussy. “Princess, I’m never done.”
A shiver runs down my spine so intense it makes my knees feel unsteady.
Heat pools low in my belly, pulsing between my thighs with that heavy, aching need only he creates.
My breath catches and my nipples tighten.
God, I want him. My body is already arching back into his, desperate for his hands, his mouth, his everything.
But I’m also tired after a long day.
I turn in his arms and press a hand to his chest, pushing him back just enough to breathe. “I thought we were doing that thing where the bride and groom don’t see each other the night before the wedding. I’d planned on a cup of tea, a candle, a face mask, and my book.”
“Is that what you thought?” His voice is dry, but his eyes are dancing with amusement. “That I’d willingly spend a night away from you?”
“It’s bad luck for us to be together tonight,” I tease, knowing full well we never planned anything of the sort.
His hands find my ass and pull me against him. “That’s a load of shit.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe we should play it safe.”
“We’re already married, Amelia,” he reminds me, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that never fails to affect me. “This is just the show for our families.”
“Still,” I keep teasing, biting my bottom lip. “I’m not sure I want to tempt fate.”
His eyes darken. “The only thing you’re tempting right now is me.”
There’s something about being loved by a man who always wants me. Who never hides his desire. Who looks at me like there’s no way he could live without me.
It’s addictive.
And usually, I want what he wants.
But not tonight.
I lean in to press a kiss to his lips. “Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to get fucked face-first into the mattress with this mask on my face, because I know that’s what you’re thinking about, but I’m exhausted.
And I really want to do my full skincare routine the night before I walk down the aisle to declare my love to you all over again.
Especially since the day I actually married you I wasn’t given time to look my best.”
“Fuck, I swear that mouth of yours gets filthier by the day.”
“That’s because I have a filthy husband who’s teaching me his ways.”
After one last kiss, he cradles my jaw and rubs his thumb slowly over my bottom lip. “I’ll make you tea tonight. But after the wedding, the only thing I’m putting you to bed with is my cock.”
I watch him go, heart full and legs still shaking. Because somehow I married a man who says things like that . . . and then makes me tea.