I pressed one more kiss to the lowest curve of her belly. Then I hooked my fingers in the white lace underwear and dragged them down her legs and dropped them off the side of the bed.
I looked at her. All of her. Laid out on the white quilt in nothing, round and bare and flushed, my ring on her finger.
"You are," I said, "the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
She opened her mouth.
"Don't argue with me," I said.
She closed it.
I pushed her knees apart and settled between them and put my mouth on her.
Not teasing. Not working up to it. I buried my face in her pussy and got to work—tongue flat and broad, tasting her, feeling her clench immediately at the contact. Her thighs came up around my head and I let her, my hands spreading under her hips to tilt her closer. She was already soaked. Had been wound up for hours, all through the ceremony and the dancing and the buttons, and I could taste exactly how much.
"Oh god—" Her hand found my hair.
I groaned against her. Felt her shiver at the vibration. Pressed closer—deeper—my tongue working into her and then pulling back to circle her clit, relentless, reading every hitch of her breath and every roll of her hips. She was moving against my mouth already, chasing it, her whole body pulling toward what I was doing.
"Right there—" Breathless. "Please—don't stop?—"
I didn't stop.
I slid two fingers inside her and felt her clench—immediate and desperate—and groaned again because she was so wet, so warm, her body pulling me in. I worked them slow while my mouth stayed on her clit, curling into her, finding the spot that made her thighs shake against the sides of my head.
"Gage—" My name, wrecked. "I'm going to—I'm already?—"
I pressed deeper. Sucked her clit and fucked her with my fingers and felt her tip over the edge—clenching hard, her hips jerking up against my mouth, my name breaking apart in herthroat. I worked her through every second of it, not letting up until she was pulling at my hair with both hands and shaking.
I lifted my head.
Looked at her.
Hair everywhere, chest heaving, eyes dark and glassy, her belly round between us.
My wife.
"Again," I said.
"I just?—"
"I know." I pressed my mouth to the inside of her thigh. "Again."
She was still shaking when I sat back on my heels and reached for my belt.
She heard it. The clink of the buckle, the slide of leather, and her eyes dropped down from the ceiling and found me—found my hands—and went darker.
I didn't hurry.
I worked the belt loose one-handed, slow, while my other hand slid back between her thighs. She was soaked, swollen, still clenching from the first one, and when my fingers pushed inside her she made a sound that I felt in my back teeth.
"Thereyou are," I said.
"Gage—"
"You hear that?" I worked my fingers slow. Deep. Felt her clench around me and did it again. The belt buckle clinked as I pulled it free. "You hear me getting my cock out for you?"
She whimpered.
