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“The way you fuck,” she murmurs, arching back against me.
“How we fit,” I say, holding her tight, swiveling my hips, and taking her. Just fucking taking her.
Pleasure blasts through me, a torrent of impending bliss, and I’ve got to get her there soon. But she’s already helping herself along, maneuvering her hand between her legs.
“Fucking love that you’re playing with your clit,” I praise as I ease out then drive into her.
“Feels so good with you inside me,” she murmurs then cries, “Oh god, deeper.”
I obey, fucking and filling her, and losing my mind, and I’m sure my soul, to this exquisite bliss as she shouts and screams then shudders under me, coming hard and beautifully, and I’m right there with her.
Pleasure jolts through me, hard and recklessly.
And even if this ends, I won’t regret a second of it.
I mean, when it ends.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re freshened up and curled together in bed, smiling dopily as we contemplate room service. “Do we even have time?” she asks.
The clock ticks close to eleven. “We do,” I say.
But before we can order, we’re kissing again, then fucking again, then room service is the last thing I’m thinking about as I bend my wife over the couch and fuck her for all of Vegas to see.
It’s a damn good wedding day. Especially when she says, “You convinced me of the benefits of marriage.”
“And I won’t stop convincing you.”
Yes, she’s the best kind of habit already.
We land around three-thirty and snag a Lyft, returning to our all-business mode, making plans for the week ahead, all the things we need to do for the shop, and all the things we need to do for our temporary marriage.
Like, where to live. We can’t just stay in separate homes. That nosy fucker would sniff around, figure it out, lash out again.
I drag a hand through my hair, offering up suggestions. My home in Russian Hill has two small bedrooms. She says hers in Hayes Valley is about the same. And while we’re both fairly confident the girls will approve of our decision to tie the knot, we don’t think they’ll be up for sharing a bedroom.
“It’s a little overwhelming. All these details,” she says, apologetically.
I cup her cheek, catching her face in my hand. “Worth it. And don’t worry. We will figure it out,” I say, then look out the window. We’re on Webster Street now. “And this will be worth it too,” I tell her as the car slows to a stop outside The Chocolate Connoisseur.
“Be right back,” I say, then I grab a souvenir from Vegas, march to the door, and yank it open. The store’s full of customers and I don’t give a fuck about making a scene. I head straight to the counter and ask a young man with glasses for Sebastian. “You can tell him Gage Archer is here, and I’ve got the receipts he requested.”
The employee blinks, then says, “Umm.” Maybe the boss isn’t in today. That’s entirely possible. I’m taking a chance, after all.
But Elodie’s ruthless competitor must hear me since a few seconds later, the man with the smarmy face and the asshole interior strides from the back. He sports a sharp, expensive tailored shirt and ire in his eyes.
Curiosity, too though. I knew the fucker couldn’t resist seeing me.
A wary cat, he tilts his head. “What can I do for you?”
The second he reaches the counter, I slap down the paper in my hand, then stab it with my finger. “See this? It’s our marriage license.” I point to the names. “See that? Elodie Starling. Also known as…” I raise my chin, take a long, satisfied beat as I meet his beady gaze, then I let the words roll off my tongue like chocolate. “My wife.”
He blanches, his expression nothing but pure shock. Yup. He played chicken with the wrong guy. “What? You got married?”
I lift my left hand, rub my forefinger along my gleaming gold wedding band. The gesture isn’t lost on him. “Do not underestimate me. Do not underestimate the things I will do for my woman. And, like I said yesterday, don’t come around to the store and threaten my family.” I take the marriage license and sigh deeply, full of satisfaction. Worth it. So damn worth it. “Oh, and feel free to jump in a chocolate fountain.”
30
A GIANT PRANK
