I jolt up from the bed. “Don’t even speak that into existence.”
“What’s wrong with a tattoo?” he protests. “You like mine.”
“Because it’s meaningful and thought out.” I tuck my hand under the small opening of his collar, running my fingertips over the tattoo I know is there underneath his clothing. “She’ll probably get something she’ll end up regretting in twenty years. Like the words ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ or an infinity symbol.”
“Have a little more faith in her, Teen,” he whispers, yanking me back down and hovering over me. He covers my lips in a debilitating kiss, running his hands over my hips possessively.
“Okay,” I gasp between kisses. “Whatever you say.”
I feel him chuckle, his nose traveling over the shell of my ear. “Have you seen the view yet?” he murmurs.
“You’re worried about the view?Right now?”
“You don’t want to miss it.” He abruptly stands from the bed, urging me to follow. We mosey toward the french doors leading to the balcony, and the view takes my breath away.
“Are you serious?” I squeal, grinning like a love-sick fool in Everett’s direction.
Just below us are the streets of Paris. Cobblestone pathways line the beautiful streets where lovers skitter through, drunk on love. Just like me. Steep-hipped rooftops and arched windowpanes bring the nineteenth-century Parisian architecture to life, showcasing its original beauty. And the Eiffel Tower, standing in all its glory right outside our balcony. “Everett! It’s beautiful!”
“It’s going to look even more stunning at night.”
I turn around to face him, crushing his lips to mine. He kisses me back, gripping the iron guardrail behind me and caging me between his arms. I start to untuck his shirt, furiously undoing the buttons and running my hands over his stomach.
“Mrs. Hayes,” he protests weakly. “People can see us.”
“I don’t care.”
It doesn’t take much to convince Everett to go about our very public display of affection. He glides his hands over my bare thigh, lifting my skirt just as I hook my knee over his hip. His lips travel down my neck, nipping at my collarbone in teasing nibbles, and I feel his hand grip my ass.
“Are you sure, babe?”
“You’re going to say no totheMrs. Hayes?”
He chuckles. “Never,” he answers. “Whatever my wife wants, she gets.”
Everett
NOW
My wife.
It feels surreal. Teeny’s shimmering platinum wedding band, cool and assuring, grazing over my day-old stubble as she runs her palm over my jaw. Even as she wraps her legs around me, letting her feet hook over the small of my back, her hands travel at a slow, delicious pace. They move with confidence, never stopping to hesitate or ask for permission. And it’s like a dream. One that I’ve been playing on repeat for twenty years. And now, it’s a reality. This is my real life. Teeny is my wife, and I get to touch her and kiss her and hold her and tell her I love her every single day.
My stomach dips when Teeny’s hand tucks into my unzipped pants, and I grunt a harsh groan into her mouth.
“Mrs. Hayes.”
“You know, I think I’m getting used to it.” I feel her smile against my cheek, and that instantly fades into a breathy moan when I slip her panties off and let them pool at her feet.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
My legs start to feel like Jell-O the instant Teeny’s fingers trace over my most sensitive areas, and suddenly, I feel like a ravenous animal. My own fingers do their own exploring, teasing and stroking her until all I’m left with is a squirmy, very impatient wife.
My pants start to lose their give and loosen around my hips. Teeny yelps when I swing her around and trudge back into the room, my pants hanging dangerously low around my thighs and slipping further and further down. I shouldn’t be surprised when they start to tangle at my ankles, making me stumble and fall onto our bed in a heap of mirth and giggles.
“Oh!” Teeny exclaims and giggles. “You okay?”
I nod.
