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When we kiss, it’s like the whole world seems to shake. I’m quaking. Vibrating.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and prepare for takeoff.”
Oh, well maybe it was just the jets. But I know one thing, I’ll be quaking and vibrating for days on end as soon as we get somewhere private. Speaking of…
“What do we do now? Get off the plane and go home?”
“Fuck no, baby. We’re going to Fiji.”
There’s no way in hell I’m making it all the way to Fiji without consummating this marriage. Marriage.
God. I’m fucking married. And I couldn’t be happier.
I give Evan a sly smile. “Meet me in the restroom after takeoff?”
Whoever said married life is boring? Our adventures are only just beginning.
Four
Evan
I fucking love my wife.
We crash through the doors of the cabana, barely able to take our hands off of each other. Emilia’s arms and neck are tangled in her dress as she tries to lift it up over her head, and I’m stumbling out of my fucking pants, tripping over my own goddamn feet.
But when we fall, we fall into each other.
Then, thank fuck, we fall into the bed.
Our marriage was consummated in an airplane bathroom, then with a blowjob and a bottle of tequila on our way here to our honeymoon suite.
The cab driver gave me a real fucking look when Em announced that she was going to baptize her mouth with my cum, but hey—she had a bottle of Jose Cuervo in one hand and my cock in the other.
I wasn’t about to argue with her.
“C’mere,” I slur, rolling on top of her.
Her body shifts beneath mine. She spreads her thighs for me and I slip between them, kicking off the last clinging vestiges of clothing from my lower half.
When I go to kiss her, I have to untangle her from her dress to do it. Prettiest little white sundre
ss you can imagine. If she didn’t have it stuck over her head, I’d have ripped it off of her.
Instead, I toss it across the room.
Won’t be needing that anymore.
My plans for our honeymoon are simple: fucking Emilia, fucking Emilia, wining, dining and fucking Emilia. If I can keep her naked for most of that time, all the better.
It crosses my mind that I should’ve slipped a baggage handler a couple hundred bucks to accidentally lose Em’s bags.
I guess locking her in our suite so I can have my way with her is going to have to suffice.
The bed is draped with a white linen canopy overhead. I’m dazzled by the gold of Em’s hair, the way it’s splayed out on the crisp white sheets.
The whole room is lit up with candlelight, and I can hear the crystal blue waters of the ocean splashing just outside along the shore of our private stretch of beach.
“I fucking love you,” I tell her. It simultaneously feels like the billionth time and the first, all at once.
