Chapter 19 #2
She ducked her head and he leaned in close so only she could hear.
“You missed a spot, Chef.”
He muttered, brushing a thumb at the smudge on her jaw. She nipped at his finger. Laughter bubbled out loud enough to rattle nerves and set the old cowboys sniffling again. The officiant closed her book with a snap. Chairs scraped back. People cheered as though willing joy into the rafters.
Kyla pressed her forehead to Titus’s, clinging for a second longer. She found her old armor lying in the sawdust, unwanted. This was hers. The promise, the choice, the clarity.
For once she had nothing to hide, no urge to flee. She grinned at him, raw and unguarded, and stepped into a future she finally wanted.
The old barn glowed warmer now. Music rolled off rough beams. Couples circled in a blur of pressed cotton and pale flowers.
Kyla let Titus pull her into the cleared space. His palm low at her waist. For one whole song the rest of the world might as well have packed up and gone home.
The band strummed slow and easy. Some old waltz that pressed memory into every step. The silk of her dress stretched under his hand. Bare skin sparked where callused fingers edged under the seam.
Kyla let herself sway. Boots sliding over worn floor. Pulse beating a hard, grateful rhythm along her ribs. The scent of hay drifted in again, mellow now. Memories trading sharpness for something rounder.
She glanced up at Titus. Close like this, the sweat at his temples caught the lights. Eyelashes stuck together. His focus never left her face.
Not once.
Not for all the half-drunken toasts spinning past on the edge of their private bubble. Each circle carried her deeper into quiet. It was them and the music and a handful of unspoken things twisting beneath her tongue.
She laced her arms around his neck. His hand splayed wider, settling just above the curve of her ass. That touch, more certain now, drove out the last ache of old hesitations.
City Kyla who frowned at being looked at too long. Big Timber Kyla who sometimes forgot she could claim space and expect hands that cherished more than they clung.
She dipped her cheek to his jaw, hiding her mouth behind the bristle of his stubble. The next revolution of the dance slowed. His mouth drifted to her hairline.
As the music trailed off guests shuffled out into the velvet dark. Chairs left askew. The last laughter floated up to the barn beams. The air inside cooled.
Voices dissolved into small echoes and the scrape of boots fading down the gravel. Kyla caught Titus’s gaze. One last silent promise exchanged before the barn settled quiet around them.
Titus pulled her back in. Forehead to hers. Breath still uneven. No one called from outside. No one came looking. Just the two of them finally alone where everything had started.
He kissed her once more, slow and deep, then took her hand. They slipped out the side door of the barn into the cold March night. Gravel crunched under their boots as they crossed the short stretch to the house.
The wind carried the last faint scent of hay and dying firepit smoke, but inside the kitchen the air felt warmer, familiar, thick with the smell of the cedar beams and the faint trace of coffee from that morning. He did not bother with lights.
Only the low glow from the hallway lamp reached them as he led her up the stairs, her dress whispering against the wood treads with each step.
Their bedroom door stood open. The big bed waited, covers already turned down from earlier in the day when she had laughed and said they might need it sooner than anyone thought.
Titus kicked the door shut behind them with his heel. The latch clicked soft and final. He turned to her in the half-dark, hands already reaching for the zipper at the back of her dress.
“Get on the bed,” he said, voice low and rough. “I want you spread out where I can take my time.”
Kyla let the dress slide down her body and pool at her feet.
Cream silk puddled around her boots. She stepped out of it, naked except for the thin band on her finger and the faint red marks his hands had already left on her hips from the barn.
She looked at him with that same dare in her eyes, black curls loose and wild around her shoulders.
“Then stop talking and show me, husband.”
The word hit him low in the gut.
Husband.
He closed the distance quickly, lifted her, and laid her back on the bed. The mattress dipped under their weight. He stripped off his open shirt and shoved his pants down, kicking them aside.
His cock stood hard again already, aching from how she had looked at him in the barn and how she looked at him now, legs parting just enough to invite him closer.
He crawled over her, mouth finding her throat first, then lower. He sucked one nipple into his mouth while his hand slid between her thighs.
She was slick, wet and warm and ready. His fingers circled her clit slow and firm, teasing until her hips lifted off the bed chasing his touch.
“Fuck, Kyla,” he murmured against her breast. “I love how you get so wet for me. I love that you are my wife now. I cannot wait to wake up every morning and do this to you.”
She arched under him, nails scraping down his back. “Then do it. Make me feel it again.”
He moved lower, spreading her thighs wider with his shoulders. He licked a long slow stripe up her center, tasting the mix of her and him from earlier. She gasped and her hands fisted in his hair.
He sucked her clit into his mouth, tongue flicking steady while two fingers pushed inside her, curling just right. Her thighs started to tremble against his ears. He kept the rhythm relentless, sucking harder when her moans turned sharp and broken.
“Come on my tongue,” he growled against her. “Let me taste my wife coming. I love you so damn much. I waited months for this and I am never getting enough.”
She came hard, back bowing off the bed, thighs clamping around his head while her walls pulsed around his fingers. He licked her through every wave, gentling only when she started to shake.
Before she could catch her breath, he rose up, lined his cock up with her entrance, and pushed in slow and deep. Her wet heat took every inch until he was buried to the hilt. He stayed there a moment, forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in.
“Look at me,” he said. “I want to see your face while I fuck you in our bed on our wedding night.”
He started to move, long deep strokes that built steadily. Skin slapped against skin. Sweat slicked between them. He hooked one of her legs over his hip, changing the angle so he hit deeper. One hand slid between them again, fingers finding her clit and circling in time with his thrusts.
“God, I love you,” he rasped, voice strained. “I love that you chose me. I love that tomorrow and every day after you are mine to wake up next to. You feel so fucking good but it is more than that. You are everything I never knew I needed.”
Kyla met every thrust, hips rolling up to take him harder. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
“Do not stop,” she gasped. “Harder, Titus. Show your wife how much you mean it.”
He snapped his hips faster, pounding into her slick heat. The bed creaked under them. Her moans filled the room, raw and loud now that no one else could hear. He pinched her clit lightly then soothed it with firmer circles. Her walls started to flutter and clench around his cock.
“Come for me again,” he demanded, voice rough with need. “Come on my cock while I am buried inside my wife. Let me feel you.”
She broke with a sharp cry, thighs shaking violently, inner muscles locking down on him in strong waves. The feel dragged him over the edge with her.
He thrust deep one final time and spilled inside her, groaning her name against her neck, hips stuttering as pleasure ripped through him.
They stayed locked together, panting, sweat cooling on their skin. He eased to the side but kept her pulled close, one arm heavy across her waist. Her leg draped over his. Their breathing slowed together in the quiet room.
Titus brushed damp curls back from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“My wife,” he said, simple and certain. “Right here where we belong.”
Kyla smiled against his chest, fingers tracing lazy circles over his heart. For now, there were no more words needed.
Just the two of them, sated and tangled in their own bed on their wedding night, the rest of forever waiting quiet and close.
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