Page 101 of Wedding or Not

Women who go for cooler, more detached guys are really, really missing out.

But he’s never pushy. And he’s good at sensing when I’m not in the mood.

I’m not in the mood right now, and he knows it. He’s being affectionate and comforting. He’s not angling for sex.

“I’m okay,” I tell him, stroking his bare back, loving the feel of the tight, warm skin. “I’ll just be glad to get today over with.”

“I know. Dad’s been jittery all week too. It’s definitely not just you.”

“Oh. As silly as that sounds, that kind of makes me feel better. I thought it was just because I’m always anxious.”

“You’re not always anxious. You’re doing better, aren’t you?”

He’s not asking because he needs the answer. He’s asking to remind me of it.

“Yes,” I admit. “It’s probably because I’m so happy with you, but I’m definitely doing better. But when it comes back, it seems worse almost because I’m not always like this anymore.”

“I know. But being anxious because of circumstances is okay. Some things are big, and it’s natural to be worried about them. It’s that general anxiety over everything that we need to work on.”

“It’s nice of you to take it on yourself, but it’s my mess.”

“Hey. None of that. What’s mine is yours, including your mess. I happen to love your mess.” He nuzzles my neck, teasing my pulse with his tongue in a way that makes me giggle.

We kiss for a little while, and to my surprise, I start getting into it. Into it. So I push him over onto his back and kiss him for real until both of us are aroused.

Then I climb astride and ride him, hard and shamelessly eager. A few weeks ago, we moved into the one small cottage that was unoccupied so we could live together. It’s very nice. To be able to be as loud as we want in bed without fear of someone else hearing.

And maybe it’s the anxiety still in the background of my mind, but I want to be very loud this morning.

Wes enjoys every minute of it, urging me on with thick, hot mutters of how good I’m doing, how he loves to see me let go, how he’s the one who gets to make me feel this way, how hard I’m coming, how I shouldn’t hold anything back.

I don’t.

And neither does he when he thrusts up with animalistic fervor until he comes too.

It’s after six when we collapse together, hot and breathless and sweaty. Replete.

Relaxed.

I giggle against his shoulder, loving the feel of sprawling on top of him completely naked like this.

He’s playing idly with the flesh between my thighs and bottom. “How are you feeling now?”

“I’m feeling pretty good.”

“More relaxed?”

“Definitely more relaxed.”

“Good. That’s my job. Taking care of you in any way you need.”

I press a kiss against his jaw. “You’re pretty good at that job.”

The wedding is a huge success, and the best thing, as far as I’m concerned, is that all the compliments and excitement is for Blossom Park itself rather than me and Wes.

The social media interest in our relationship has died down until it’s nothing more than an occasional murmur. Our story has been told, as far as the online world believes. And while they might occasionally like a glimpse of our happy ending, they don’t really care about us anymore.

It’s so nice. Such a relief.