Chapter Thirty-Three-Remy
Pure joy is rushing through my veins like a bullet train and it’s all for one reason.
She’s jealous.
My gorgeous little wife is jealous and that means something else. it means she cares.
She has to.
You don’t get jealous unless you’re in deep, and knowing she is hurting because of me, well, that doesn’t make me happy. But her jealousy lets me know I’m not alone in my gut deep obsession for her.
If I’m lucky she’ll tell me she loves me soon. And I can’t fucking wait.
Because from the moment I saw this woman at Junior’s wedding, all grown up and sexy as hell, I knew she was destined to be mine.
I just never expected her to care for me. But now I know different. Now I want it all.
Her jealousy, her joy, her desire, and her love.
I want that. I want it so fucking much.
Now, I know the kitchen counter isn’t the ideal place to fuck my pregnant wife, but fuck if I can wait to get her upstairs.
I need her now.
Need her like oxygen, like blood in my veins.
“Remy,” Andy moans into my mouth, nails raking my shoulders as her body arches into mine.
I want to devour her. My tongue is in her throat. And I know I want to fuck her there too. Soon.
I lick into her deep. She’s moaning against me.
Then she bites my lip, sharp enough to sting.
“Ouch. What was that for?” I grunt, half-shocked, half-turned on.
Hell, I am all turned on if I’m being honest. My cock is thumping, leaking precum inside my boxers, and all for her.
Her hazel eyes glitter, wild and wet.
“Because I needed you to stop kissing me long enough for me to tell you something.”
I freeze, chest heaving. “Tell me what?”
“I love you, too,” she whispers, voice trembling but steady enough to gut me.
Fuck. It’s like Cupid’s arrow goes straight through my black, fucked-up heart.
“Yeah? You love me too?” My voice is hoarse, desperate.
She nods, tears spilling over her flushed cheeks.
And I’m gone. Just gone.
This woman loves me.
With all my hard edges, with all my sins, with all the baggage I drag behind me like chains—she loves me.
“Thank fucking God,” I rasp, clutching her face in both hands and devouring her mouth.
I kiss her like I want to eat her alive, like I’ll never get another chance.
“Fuck, I need you, Baby. Right now.”
“Me too,” she whimpers, pupils blown wide.
“Good,” I growl, my control snapping like brittle glass. “Turn around. Hands on the counter.”
She obeys, fast, her hair spilling forward like a halo while her belly presses against the edge.
Such a good wife.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice reverent even though my cock is hard enough to split granite. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
“Hurry,” she begs, hips swaying in invitation.
I lift her dress and groan at the sight of her—pale, thick thighs sheathed in knee-high boots, black cotton panties already damp with want.
“Jesus Christ.” I hook the fabric aside and slide my fingers between her folds.
She’s dripping.
Hot, slick, perfect.
“Already wet for me. Like my good girl,” I groan, strumming her clit with my thumb as I fumble open my pants one-handed.
“Remy,” she gasps, trembling under my touch.
I don’t make her wait.
I can’t.
I line up and push, driving my cock deep, stretching her walls around me until I’m buried to the hilt.
Her body clenches down like she was made for me, milking me, owning me, searing me with her heat.
“Fuck, you’re so perfect, Wife,” I grit out, pressing kisses down the slope of her neck, her shoulder, anywhere I can reach.
She turns her head, lips finding mine, and I drink her moans as I start to move.
My hips snap into hers, driving a rhythm that’s all our own—hungry, frantic, full of everything we’ve been holding back.
Her hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white, body shuddering as my cock pistons into her.
“Remy,” she sobs, and the sound undoes me.
I grind against her clit with my fingers with every thrust, circling my hips, making sure she feels me everywhere.
“Come for me, Andy,” I growl into her ear. “Show me you love me. Show me this is ours.”
She breaks with a scream, walls clenching so tight around me it’s almost unbearable.
And I lose it too—growling, biting down on her shoulder, pumping her full until I’m sure I’ll never be empty again.
I hold her through it, chest plastered to her back, my hand covering her belly where our child grows.
“My Wife,” I pant, kissing her temple. “My love. Mine. Always mine.”
And this time, I know she believes me.
And it is better than anything I have ever felt.