Chapter 30 #3
We strip fast and clumsy, laughing, our hands getting in each other's way.
I shove my dress and panties down in one impatient push.
He gets his belt buckle tangled for a heartbeat, the grumpy nerd briefly beating the cowboy, and I laugh so hard I flop backward onto the quilt.
When he finally kicks free, his cock is jutting heavy and flushed and shiny at the tip, and he crawls over me with a grin that's pure devastation, all of it aimed at me.
"Hi," he says, ridiculous and enormous above me.
"Hello yourself," I say back, grinning. "Put that in me before I start writing vows about your inability to operate leather goods."
He kisses me right through the laugh, then keeps going lower, my throat, my breastbone, the soft give of my belly, the insides of my knees, until I'm squirming and cussing at him with real affection.
He takes his time heading south like the scenic route is the whole point.
By the time his mouth finds me I'm soaking, happy-wet, just-got-engaged-again wet, and he hums into my pussy like he's been starving for exactly this since the field.
"You taste like wine and winning," he mutters, and then he quits talking and gets serious. Broad, flat licks, then quick flicks of his tongue, then two fingers pushing into me while he sucks my clit, curling up against the spot that makes my hips leave the mattress.
I grab the old quilt in both fists and let myself be loud.
Properly loud, noise that would have scandalized my grandmother and tickled her in equal measure.
He adds another finger, careful, and I nearly kick him in the head.
He laughs right against my cunt and doesn't stop until I come the first time with my heels jammed in his back and his name hollered at the newly patched ceiling, loud enough to rattle the new windows in their frames.
He wipes his mouth on my inner thigh, smug and soft, and I drag him up by the ears before he can get poetic about it.
"In," I order. "Now. I want you while I'm still shaking. I want this ring digging into your shoulder when I hang on. I want to feel engaged in the most literal way possible."
"Bossy," he says, lining his cock up with me, eyes dark and delighted. "I missed bossy. I missed you ordering me around in our own bed like the bees taught you middle management."
He drives in with one long, glorious shove that makes both of us moan without an ounce of shame.
The stretch is perfect. The depth feels like pulling into the driveway with the porch light on.
I lock my ankles at the small of his back and haul him deeper, and he laughs into my mouth, breathless, already moving, shedding the awkward nerd and finding the cowboy.
It's happy and loud and filthy, the way two people fuck when they've survived their own worst chapters and come out the other side still stupid about each other.
He pounds me into my grandmother's quilt with deep, rolling strokes that make the headboard slam our business to every empty room in the house.
I meet him thrust for thrust, nails in his shoulders, ring flashing when I grab his hair.
Sweat slicks the ink on his chest. Hair glues itself to my lips and he brushes it away with a tenderness that doesn't match the pace of his hips at all, and the contrast makes me clamp down on him until he swears like the ranch hands taught him.
"Talk," I demand. "I want the wrecked version. The one who starts saying ma'am when his brain crashes."
"You're soaking my cock," he tells me, plain and ruined, forehead against mine, still slamming into me hard enough to earn every penny that mattress cost. "Hot and tight and taking all of me like you were built for this bed and this night and me.
I've been half-hard since you said yes in that field.
I've been all the way hard since my mother took the baby and winked at me like she knew exactly what she was funding.
Fuck, Molly, would you look at yourself.
My wife, again and still and louder. Let the empty hallway hear who you choose. "
"I belong to myself," I gasp. "You're on the lease."
"Then renew me." He hooks my thigh up higher and catches the place inside me that knocks a cry loose that I don't bother to swallow. "There. That's the spot. You flutter every time I hit it. Do it again. Use me. Ruin me for polite company."
When the last one hits me it's sprawling and loud and a little hysterical, pleasure cresting so hard the edges of my vision go white, and the squeeze of it drags him over with my name snarled into my neck as he empties himself deep inside me, shaking, his fingers pressing bruises into my hips.
We collapse in a sweaty, tangled heap. He half-crushes me, remembers his manners, and rolls us so I'm sprawled across his chest instead, sticky and gleeful and still buzzing.
The window is cracked to the mountain dark.
Cool night slides over the sweat on my back.
My ring has left a faint pink dent on his shoulder where I held on through the last wave.
I kiss the mark like a seal on a letter.
And somewhere in the dark, warm hours of the night, we pick a date.
"Early July," I say. "The Pink Moment will be perfect."
He smiles into my hair. "Whatever you want."
"You, her, this house and those bees," I say. "Even the hard days, as long as we get to face them together."
He pulls me closer. His heart beats steady under my ear.