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“Yours.”
“Fucking right it is.” He rammed forward, insisting I feel every inch of his hard cock and then we were both coming.
I sometimes wondered if he reflected on the things he said in those fevered moments of passion. But as soon as he finished, his mask of well-bred composure slid back into place.
He kissed me softly. “I love you, Rayne.”
“I love you too.”
He withdrew, kissing my breasts, my belly, and my clit before leaving the bed. Then the shower turned on. I smirked. Hale hated leaving a mess, but he never minded making one.
I, on the other hand, was of the lazy-bum school of sex. I would loaf around in bed for at least an hour and possibly take a nap.
Or so I thought.
The sound of Elara’s voice shifted me right out of my role as newlywed-sex-goddess into mom mode. Maybe it would be nice to get away for a while.
Sliding back into my wrinkled T-shirt, I went to get Peanut.
She smiled when she saw me and held up Meep Meep.
“Did you have a nice nap, Peanut?”
“Meep Meep!” she said, showing me that the stuffed sheep hadn’t abandoned her.
I was such a sucker for those pink gums and that toothy grin. “How about we find a snack? Mommy’s starved.” She climbed into my arms.
The sight of the clothes strewn all over the table returned my anxiety faster than I would have liked. But my head was a little clearer now.
I realized it wasn’t so much the wardrobe stressing me out, it was the pressure to make the honeymoon as memorable as possible—sans unforeseeable disasters.
I loved Hale so much, and I wanted him to enjoy this trip. I felt personally responsible for his rest and pleasure over the next two months because, in my goofy head, that would communicate how much I adored and appreciated him.
But they didn’t call me Calamity Rayne for nothing, and chances were there would be some hiccups along the way.
Control Freaks & Calamities
“Rayne, where’s the travel bag?”
“Which travel bag is that, Hale?” He was driving me crazy.
I had everything sorted in the foyer. Our luggage for the honeymoon was to the left and the boxes getting shipped home on the right. Elara’s luggage was waiting to get picked up and transported into the limo taking her, the nanny, and Naomi to New Jersey.
“The black Hermes bag. It had our itinerary in it and the flight information.”
“Haven’t seen it.”
There had been several lists and emails and too many itineraries for me to count since the wedding. Once we said “I do” I decided I was done with all the lists.
Clearly, I was suffering from PTBSD—post-traumatic bride stress disorder. But vacation mode had set in and I was no longer taking on needless obligations or senseless stress.
“I need to check the times for our flights.”
“Hale, you’ve checked the schedules twenty-thousand times. You’ve rewritten them. You’ve read them out loud. And you even saved them into your notes on your phone?—”
He snapped. “Right!”
Annnnd, I lost him.
