52. June
52
JUNE
A nderson brushes his lips over mine. It was almost not a kiss—it could have been a dream. But then he presses his cheek to my temple, and his voice goes thick with emotion as he says, “I can’t believe we’re finally married.”
I breathe him in, happy and satisfied with our decision to get married today. But that’s my only satisfaction at the moment. My husband is a living wall of muscle beneath his nice suit, and I want to tear every stitch of clothes from him. But he seems to need a moment for this to become real in his mind, so I stand there on the precipice of lusty madness. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
He pulls back to look me in the eyes. “Even in my wildest dreams, you wanted nothing to do with me.”
My heart swells with hurt for him. I cup his handsome face in my hands. “Then you should have dreamed bigger.”
He laughs and kisses me for real this time, his arms wrapping me against him. The heat of his body pours through me, and he nibbles down from my lips to my throat as he grabs my ass over my dress. He murmurs, “I didn’t know they were allowed to make wedding dresses this sexy.”
“Glad you like it, husband.”
He growls at that, picking me up with my legs around his waist. Thank god for the slit up the thigh, or he would have ruined my wedding dress, and I might have lost the mood over it.
No. No, I wouldn’t have. Not with Anderson West kissing me.
One day, when I’m feeling particularly brave, I’ll ask how it is that no one else tried to marry him. It still boggles my mind that he was ever single in his adult life. He’s too handsome. Too rich. Too perfect.
Maybe every wife feels that way about her husband. At least they should get to on their wedding day.
He carries me to the bedroom and sets me on the corner of the bed before he stares into my eyes while he strips down to his skin. It’s a hell of a show, and I’m tempted to make a bad joke about wishing I had some cash to throw at him. But the look on his face dissolves all humor from me. It’s intense and devoted. Absolute adoration.
When he’s completely naked, he’s hard, too, but I don’t grab for him there, no matter how much my mouth waters to taste him. Instead, I stand up and turn so he can unzip me. He kisses my neck as he does it, and I get chill bumps all over. The gown slides down my skin like a silken kiss. Anderson’s lips trail down my shoulder as he unclips my bra from behind.
I’m left in my heels and wedding panties that say “Missus” on the back. Slowly, he licks down my spine as he crouches. His fingers twirl the sides of the panties for grip before he pulls them down so slowly I hardly feel it. Once they’re around my ankles, I step from them and my heels. I turn and face my husband, naked for the first time with him.
Somehow, I’m nervous.
It makes no sense. We’ve lived together for months. I was his caretaker after he was shot, so I’ve fed and bathed the man. He’s seen me at my worst, too. It’s not like we haven’t experienced each other before in every possible configuration.
Yet, I’m still nervous.
Maybe because this time, it feels like it means more. It shouldn’t—marriage is just a piece of paper, or so they say. But in this moment when it’s just me and him and the rings on our fingers, everything feels different. More solid. Bigger.
His lips twitch with amusement, and he softly chuckles. “I shouldn’t be nervous right now, right?”
I laugh. “It’s okay. So am I.”
“Thank god,” he says with a laugh. “It’s silly, right?”
“I don’t think it is. Things are different now.”
He slowly nods. “I love you, wife.”
“I love you, too, husband.”
With that, he kisses me, and the nerves spark before frazzling away. When Anderson puts his hands on my bare lower back, it feels like being claimed. Carefully, I crawl onto the bed backward, not breaking our kiss as he follows me there. Until we lay down next to each other, every kiss is half sweet and half bite because whatever grace we’ve ever had before has been replaced by hunger and need. Feeling his nakedness pressed against mine makes me wild for more. I pull him on top of me, eager and wanton, and he climbs onto me for the same reasons.
This isn’t our usual sexy time. This is need taking over.
I slide my legs wide around him until I belt them at his waist, and he barely has time to feel if I’m wet enough before I’ve flexed my legs and pulled him into me. I can only take half of him at the moment. Too tense, I guess.
He breaks our kiss and asks, “You okay?”
“Needed more of a warm-up, I think.”
He smirks. “I can help with that.”
“Oh, can you?” I tease.
Anderson kisses down my collarbones before settling on my breasts when he pulls out. He cups my breasts, rolling my nipples with his fingers until my back arches against him. Every touch sends a spark down low, as though I weren’t already on fire for him. I can’t hold still with him working me like that, and a mewling sound escapes me. He runs his tongue where his fingers had been, cooling where I’d been hot as he blows on the slick skin. I shudder, and he looks so damn proud of himself.
I’m sure he’s about to come back up when he dives down lower until he’s seated between my thighs, his face mere inches from my pussy. “Better make sure you’re ready for me this time.” His tongue swipes up over me, and my every muscle clenches, hoping for more. He doesn’t disappoint.
He runs his thumbs along my folds, parting me open for him. Even though he’s as eager as I am, he takes his time tasting me. My hips jerk and start—I’m too lit to hold still now. This feels so good I might die. When he sucks on my clit, I’m ready to explode, and I’m sure he’ll get hurt down there from it. But then a finger enters me, and I am lost to every sensation. He drives me gasp by gasp to the edge. The tip hits my G-spot, and a lush, lazy orgasm drags through me, starting at my clit and annihilating everything in its path. Drunk with pleasure, I call out his name, and it’s all the invitation he needs.
Anderson shoots up my body, an arm hooked beneath my thigh as he glides into me. I’m still coming when he does, and the sudden intrusion of his thick cock makes it all hit differently. He groans when he feels me squeeze on him, whispering, “Fuck, baby, I love you.”
I want to say it back, but alas, I’m still gasping.
He drives into me, rolling himself deeper on every stroke. He hooks into my spot and works his hips at that angle to make me come again. It’s like he’s found the cheat code to my orgasms, and he’s determined to earn them all. One after another hits me, stealing my breath. I’m lost inside my body, with pleasure ricocheting across every inch of me.
He looks into my eyes, and I know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. I hook my hand around his neck and pull him to my lips. I need that mouth on mine the way I need air. I jut my hips up to his rhythm, meeting him on every thrust. I never want to stop. This love has taken over everything we are. The need to breathe, to think, to eat. We’re just two animals chasing pleasure. Husband and wife. Woman and man. Beast and beast.
His body starts to seize, and I know he’s close, but I don’t want it to end. This feeling is too good. It’s not even just the orgasms anymore. It’s him. Keeping him inside of me where he belongs. I want us to be linked forever. But he hisses and bucks like he can’t stop himself, and now, I want that, too. I want to feel him come inside of me. I need that.
I groan, “Come for me!”
He unleashes that last bit of control he’d held onto, thrashing into me like a madman as he comes, murmuring, “June,” like a prayer against my lips. He pours himself into me until his body goes weak. I hold him, stroking his scalp with my fingernails to enjoy the shiver that strikes him when I do it. My fingers will smell of my husband’s shampoo in the morning, and the thought makes me smile.
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