Page 227 of It Should Have Been You

Reaching down, I grab her discarded veil from the floor. “What are you doing?” she asks, a note of anticipation creeping into her voice.

I capture her wrists in one hand and tie them together with the delicate material. “Preventing my wife from tearing me apart,” I tell her, my voice hoarse with need.

Her eyes widen, and a sultry smile dances on her lips as she tests the restraint. The sight of her, bound and writhing beneath me, is enough to make me forget the crowd waiting below. The lust in her eyes mirrors my own desire, raw and unrestrained, as she revels in the position I've put her in.

I take her again, harder this time. Each thrust a promise, each gasp a testament. She's mine. Just as I am hers. And I relish in the privilege of making her mine in every way possible. Her body tightens, her moans rising in intensity, filling the room with a symphony of pleasure.

I keep my pace, moving in rhythm with her, the pleasure building. Her breath hitches, her body tensing beneath me as she reaches her climax. I follow soon after, our names echoing off the walls in shared ecstasy.

Our panting breaths are the only sounds as we come down from our highs. I gently untie her wrists, pressing kisses to the slight red marks left behind by the veil.

With a groan, I roll off her, pulling her to my side. I press a soft kiss to her temple, my thumb tracing lazy circles on her bare hip.

“We really should get downstairs,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

I pull her closer, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “In a minute.”

After all, we have a lifetime of minutes to spare.

Despite the clamoring crowd below, despite our absence from our own wedding reception, I find myself cherishing this moment of quiet intimacy, the calm in the storm. It's our first moment as husband and wife. And as I hold her in my arms, I realize, it's only the beginning of our shared journey.

I can feel her smile against my chest, her heart matching mine beat for beat.

For a moment, we lay there, tangled in the white sheets, her in the remnants of her wedding dress, me, bare and basking in the afterglow. This is the kind of tranquility I crave, an intimate hush just between us.

“But seriously, we can't keep them waiting any longer,” she breaks the silence, her voice laced with amusement and an undercurrent of mischief.

I press my lips to her forehead, pulling her tighter against me. “Maybe we should give them a reason to really celebrate.”

She swats at my chest. “You are incorrigible.”

“Only for you,” I retort with a grin, pressing a lingering kiss on her lips.

Reluctantly, I get up from the bed, offering her my hand. She takes it with a shy smile, our fingers intertwining naturally. She's beautiful, a sight to behold, her hair a wild mess, lips swollen, her skin still flush from our earlier activities.

As we prepare ourselves, stealing glances and sharing soft kisses, I know that every second with Beth is worth more than any applause waiting downstairs. This woman is my world, my universe.

We descend the stairs hand in hand, met with applause and cheers that echo throughout the hotel. Our girls are here somewhere, busy playing and oblivious to our absence. The room is filled with the people we love, but all I can see is her, the woman who stole my heart and healed it, the woman who is now my wife.

As the crowd toasts to our happiness, I pull her close, whispering into her ear. “To forever, Mrs. King.”

Bonus Epilogue

Beth

“Look, Daddy, I got the ball.” Isabel stands still, beaming up at Logan with pride. It’s very short-lived pride when a kid from the opposing team takes the opportunity to steal the ball back.

Isabel growls, sprinting away with determination.

Please don’t bite anyone.

“Go get 'em, baby!” Logan's voice echoes across the soccer field, his enthusiasm reverberating as he cheers.

Hannah rolls her eyes, a flush of embarrassment staining her cheeks. She turns to me, a pleading look in her eyes. “He's going to give himself a heart attack, Mom,” she complains, sinking into her chair.

I nudge her. “Aren't you used to this yet?”

“No.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “And he's going to stop doing that at my games now, right? I'm thirteen.”

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