Page 93 of Wedding or Not

His body is hot and growing hotter, and every muscle I can feel is tense. But that’s how I feel too. My body is tightening, preparing, already rocking rhythmically against his thrusts, instinctively working up toward the release I desperately need.

Our lovemaking isn’t fun or creative or lingering the way it was on our honeymoon. It’s breathless and urgent and nakedly needy.

It’s us—stripped bare of everything that’s always been masking us, hiding us.

We move together with a rough sort of rhythm, accelerating until the entire bed is squeaking loud.

Then a climax breaks inside me. My spasming inner muscles squeeze around his erection as my body shudders with pleasure.

It’s too much for Wes. He lets out a loud, hoarse sound as he comes too, ejaculating inside me in hard spurts that match the jerks of his hips.

He collapses on top of me after he’s finished, and I wrap my arms and my legs around him.

I squeeze him. Don’t want to let him go.

“Baby,” he murmurs thickly, his face against the crook of my neck.

And it’s enough.

I’m with him again.

For real.

All the way.

CHAPTER 32

We get home midmorning the next day.

I feel better. About everything. Things have felt more natural with Wes than they have since our honeymoon.

Maybe everything still isn’t resolved, but it’s better than it was.

And despite his reticence, I know now he wants me as much as I want him.

It’s probably because I’m finally sure after so much confusion that what happens next happens.

It’s the intense relief of certainty, plus the utter exhaustion. The kind where it feels like you can barely lift your head.

Maybe a different person could handle the tumultuous emotions, coupled with that kind of bone-deep fatigue, but I’m just me, and I can’t.

If there’s a mess to be made of a situation, I’ll make it for sure.

It starts in the car as Wes pulls through the front gates of Blossom Park.

It’s a bleak kind of déjà vu. Like a fuzzy memory of the same moment repeating.

Only it’s not because it actually did happen before. More than once. Exactly like this.

Wes uses the drive to gather all his thoughts together, and he makes himself get them said before we get out of the car at the end of the trip.

That’s what’s happened today.

I can see it on his face. Sense it in the way he shifts his body even before he puts the SUV into park.

By the time he unhooks his seat belt, my belly has become a churning weight in my gut, and all the peace and hope I’ve talked myself into has blown away like a stray plastic bag in the wind.

Just as flimsy. Just as out of place.