Chapter 35 Ruger #2
Which is going to be right now, I say.
Wrenley twists in my arms, blinking up at me with surprise. Now?
I spin her fully, tugging her close until her chest presses to mine. My hands rest firm on her waist. I’ve been good. I ate dinner. I danced. I cut the cake. I even made the rounds… twice. But I’ve missed you.
Her lips curve slowly and softly, a smile that melts every defense I’ve ever built. I swear I could live off that smile alone.
I’ve missed you too, she says, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip as her eyes roam over my face like she’s memorizing me.
I kiss her before I combust. The room erupts in whistles and hollers, voices carrying over the music. I wave them off, not even pretending to care. This isn’t for them. This moment has never been about them. It’s only her. Always her.
Okay, she breathes when we part, her cheeks pink. We can go home.
You haven’t thrown the bouquet yet, Remi pipes up.
Wrenley gasps. Oh, right. She lifts the handmade bouquet high in the air. Where are all my single ladies?
A few women gather, some giggling, some competitive, all eyes on her. Remi elbows her way to the front despite being adamant that marriage is blech.
One, two— Wrenley dips her knees, the picture of tradition. Then she turns on her heel at the last second, presses the bouquet straight into Remi’s hands, and hugs her tight.
The crowd cheers anyway. No one cares that she broke the rules because what they see isn’t a tradition ruined; it’s a tradition remade. A family born, not by law or blood, but by love and stubborn choice.
That’s us. That’s this whole town.
Five minutes later, we’re in my truck, and five minutes after that, we’re home, practically racing up the stairs to our room.
As soon as the door is closed, our mouths are fused, hungry and reverent all at once. Wrenley makes those soft, desperate sounds that turn my bones to ash and send heat rushing low. My body is already more than ready to claim my bride.
You look gorgeous, I murmur between kisses, tasting her smile. This dress is unreal.
She hums against my mouth, sly. You’re going to hate it in about thirty seconds.
Why?
Her lips curve into a wicked smile as she turns, and that’s when I see an endless row of tiny buttons running down her spine.
For a second, instinct tells me to tear the damn thing off her. But no. Not tonight. Tonight, I want to savour and earn every inch of her.
I let one fingertip trail slowly down the line of buttons, just beside them, tracing the length of her back. Goosebumps rise in my wake, and the sound she makes, half gasp, half sigh, almost undoes me.
Starting at the top, I work each button free, slow and deliberate.
With every slip of fabric, I kiss the new skin revealed.
First her nape, then her shoulder, then the soft curve where her back meets her ribs.
She tilts her head back, breathless moans spilling from her lips, and I know I could spend forever right here, worshipping her piece by piece.
By the time I undo the last button, my hands are shaking. I ease the sleeves down her arms, pushing the gown until it pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a lacy white thong.
My brain shorts out.
Fuck.
She turns to face me, bare and beautiful, her dark nipples tightening as if begging for my mouth. I dip toward her, but she presses her palm to my chest and shakes her head, teasing.
Not until you’re as naked as I am.
I chuckle, low in my throat. Deal.
Unlike her gown, I don’t give a shit about a single stitch of my clothes.
I shrug off my jacket and fling it aside, tug my tie loose until I can whip it over my head.
Wrenley’s already started on my shirt, but impatience wins.
I rip the rest open, buttons scattering across the floor.
Her eyes darken, like the destruction turns her on.
She fumbles with my belt buckle, and I help, pushing down my pants and briefs. Next, I tug her thong to the floor. We meet in the middle, desperate, as I lift her into my arms. Her legs wrap tightly around my waist, her mouth finding mine again, ravenous.
I lower her onto the bed, hovering over her, just staring. My wife is spread out beneath me, flushed and perfect.
Her hand curls around the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss. God, I love being wanted like this. Loved like this.
I don’t know if I can handle foreplay, baby, I admit against her lips, my body practically shaking with the need to be inside her.
The thought of burying myself deep, of being the last man she’ll ever know this way, makes my chest ache and my cock twitch.
My eyes catch on the band circling my finger, and my heart surges.
Her eyes burn into mine. I don’t need foreplay. I need you. Her voice is rough, wrecked already. Then she grins, just a little. Besides, isn’t consummation the other half of marriage?
I groan. God, I hope so. I reach into the nightstand. Still, I’m going to take care of you.
I tear open the condom, and precum beads at the tip of my cock. Wrenley swipes her finger across it and slips it into her mouth.
My vision blurs. Christ, Wrenley…
I roll the condom on, then drag myself slowly through her slick heat. She squirms, breath catching in a sound that makes my whole body clench.
I press the head of my cock against her entrance, then pull back just enough to see her wetness glisten on the condom. She once told me it was only like this for me. And seeing that proof now… it nearly makes me lose it.
I push in, slow, deliberate. Inch by inch, she stretches around me, and her moan splits me wide open.
I draw back, then sink in again, a little harder this time.
Please, she gasps, clutching at my shoulders.
Please what? My voice roughens around the word.
Her head tips back, eyes blazing. Please fuck me.