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The reception is still going strong when we leave and take the elevator up to our hotel room.
Room? I should say suite. The honeymoon suite to be exact. The only trip I will go on after my wedding. I push that thought aside. We have the rest of our lives to travel, and at some point, when he is less busy, we will do so.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Mrs. Grayson?” Royce removes his hands from spanning my waist to unzip my gown. A lighter color of lilac than Nat’s and Tiff’s, it is in the same style. Only difference is that mine has more lace and a spattering of diamanté on the front.
On second inspection, Mrs. Wallington had done a terrific job. While we took pictures, I posed this way and that, lifting my arms, pulling back my shoulders. Nothing happened. I do believe my wedding dress would have held up through the course of the evening, but I’ll never know.
Royce selfishly suggested I change.
I say selfishly due to his ulterior motive of fingering me until I came on his hand. An appetizer of things to come, he’d said after he’d licked his fingers clean.
My husband didn’t lie.
All through dinner, dancing, and the cutting of the cake, we gave each other secret touches, private pats, and engaged in a dose of hot and heavy kissing inside the unisex bathroom.
“Yes, Mr. Grayson. I had a wonderful time.”
He grunts as if the suggestion in my words punched him in the groin.
And I hope it did. In a very delicious way.
“Are you tired?” Royce asks, running a finger down my bare spine.
I’m warm yet I shiver all the same. “A bit.”
“Anything I can do?”
“You’ve done so much already.” Got me hot. Bothered. And oh, so ready.
He laughs softly as he slips the spaghetti straps from my shoulders. With his eyes taking in every inch of my skin, he peels the gown from my body, leaving it in a pool at my feet.
I step from the material, and cross my arms over my boobs, mashing them in a way that leaves little to the imagination.
Hazel pools leap in appreciation even as they devour me. “Mrs. Grayson,” Royce says huskily, “I can do so much more.”
I drop my arms, loving how his breath hitches. “Then what are you waiting for?”
He cocks a brow–an unwelcome throwback from our corporate days when he raised my blood pressure on a daily basis. “Aren’t you at least going to ask about your honeymoon?”
My forehead knits in confusion as to why my husband went from sex play to serious talk.
On our wedding night no less.
Months ago, Royce told me he couldn’t possibly take time off for a honeymoon. The autumn was the Grayson Foundation’s busiest fundraising time of the year…
I remind him of none of this. Instead, I puff out, “You said… you said we weren’t going on one.”
His sideways grin is as adorable as it is infuriating. “We aren’t…technically. Your parents will be with us. We are taking them back to New Zealand.”
My stomach does a swan dive from a hundred story building and my mouth hangs open in stunned silence.
Royce continues, his tone warming to the subject I thought was taboo. “As a matter of fact, we’ll be staying at our new house there. A stone cottage only a few miles… or should I say kilometers, from the sheep farm where your parents work. I’ve arranged it with the Foundation to go there for a month every year and–”
He stumbles back as I leap in his arms, so damn happy my heart sings.
I plant kisses all over his face… until he stills my head with his hands and we pick up right where we left off in the unisex bathroom. For the next few minutes, it is nothing but tongues, groans, and warm hands on hot skin.
When we come up for air, my first thought is, I’m so damn glad he owns his tux.
