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“We are.”
I crushed her lips. My hand gripped her ass, dragging her body against mine. Her hips pushed into me.
“Upstairs, now,” I growled.
She nodded. The minister had pulled the doors closed. For a second I thought about playing out my fantasy with Evie in front of the fire, but every bride deserved a honeymoon suite. Something she had said resonated with me. If this was the only time she was going to do it, she wanted to wear white. Maybe she wanted the other cliché traditions brides experienced. I could at least give her a wedding night she’d never forget.
The Magnolia Inn wasn’t a five-star resort, but it was quaint. There was a four-poster king upstairs. I had a lot of ideas for my wife tonight.
I locked her fingers through mine and pulled her behind me. Mrs. Hughes met us at the bottom of the winding staircase.
“It was a beautiful ceremony. I like the intimate ones,” Jan added. “They are truly special to witness.”
“Thank you.” Evie giggled.
“The suite has been prepared for you. “There is champagne and strawberries. All the extra touches you requested, Mr. Hartwell, have been added. Let us know if you need anything.” She smiled as we climbed to the second floor.
Evie glanced down at me. “What extra touches?”
I shrugged. “You’ll see.”
The room was at the end of the hall. The door was cracked. I could see the flicker of candles, and there were a few flower petals trailing into the hallway. It came with the package. It wasn’t like we needed any of those things, but I had never been a cheap bastard. I threw in every last option Jan gave me.
“Wait,” I ordered Evie. I scooped her in my arms. She squealed.
I kicked the door open and slammed it behind us.
“We might not do anything else traditionally in this marriage, but I can carry my wife over the threshold.”
“I’m your wife,” she whispered. “It sounds so strange.”
“Get used to it. Because you are mine.”
She tipped her lips upward and I seized them. My tongue pushed inside and she purred. I lowered her to the bed.
“Mrs. Hartwell, are you ready for your honeymoon to begin?”
She nodded.
My cock was throbbing. I didn’t know the thought of fucking my wife could make me this hard.
She reached behind her, sliding the zipper down her back. The white dress fell from her shoulders. Her tits bobbed free. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I licked my lips. Was that even something brides did?
“All of it,” I demanded. I wanted to see the rest of her. Bella’s seemed too long ago. I was anxious.
She shimmied out of the dress and it landed on the floor. Her palms slid between her hips and her white panties. Her eyes met mine as she rolled them down her thighs and off her ankles in a slow easy movement. Like she had planned this striptease for a while. The panties piled on top of the dress.
I was out of my jacket, shirt, and pants in seconds. I didn’t know what turned me on the most in this scenario. The fact that I was getting ready to fuck my wife, or the fact that I was going to fill her with my come—on purpose. I wanted to knock her up. For the first time in my life, it was something I was trying to make happen, rather than avoid like a case of the flu. The thought of getting Evie pregnant was an instant turn-on. It was her bargaining chip. I knew that, but it was fucking sexy to know I had a mission.
I crawled toward her.
“Mrs. Hartwell,” I growled into her ear.
“Yes?” she whispered.
“I just like saying it. Calling you my wife when I fuck you.”
She shivered. “Keep saying it.” Her voice was raspy.
