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Our eyes meet across the distance and I whimper at the beautiful strain on his face. I never knew I could have this effect on a man. I never knew I had this much power. I get high off of it, cupping his balls and taking his cock until it breaches my throat.
His eyes flutter and he hisses. “My Dream Girl…” he whispers into the air as he stares down at me with affection in his eyes. “Look at you…” he rasps. “Look at you with my cock in your pretty mouth. Prettier than a fucking dream…”
Those words only encourage me to take him deep and hard and fast. I struggle with his length and the thickness of his shaft but I’m determined to give him the pleasure he deserves. And he looks so fucking happy, watching me, his eyes drunk and wild and hazy with need.
Harry tenses all over. “I’m about to…” His warning shoots into the air like a bullet.
Instead of backing away, I bob my head faster, taking his cock as deep as I can take it. He shouts my name up to the ceiling and he rewards me with ropes of warm, salty release, filling my mouth until it drips down my chin.
His chest rises and falls violently as he recovers, sprawled out in the sheets.
“Come here, Dream Girl.” He reaches blindly for me, hauling me into his arms.
My gut clenches.Dream Girl…He calls me that a lot. At first, I thought it was just his charming way of flirting. But the fact that he’s still calling me that, even after getting down and dirty? Shit. More and more, I’m starting to think that he means it.
I wipe my chin with the back of my hand and melt into his hold. His chest is hot and dotted with beads of sweat. I don’t care—I snuggle against him, tucking my body into his and he pulls the blankets around us.
Harry lifts my chin and kisses me with a reverence that says so much more than just lust. It says adoration. It says admiration. It says awe.
I feel my buzz retreating into the quiet shadows of the room. The events of the night try to replay inside my head—our quiet confessions at the bar, the spontaneous quickie wedding, the naked shenanigans that had us shouting each other’s names.
My reasoning mind makes one last attempt to flicker on again.
But it’s too fucking late. I’m too far gone. I’m in too deep.
If I let logic inside, I’ll completely lose my shit and run out of this house, screaming.
So, I hold onto my happy fog. I tell myself that I’m drunk. So drunk. So, so drunk. Let’s blame it on the alcohol. Yes, it’s the alcohol’s fault.
Harry takes my hand and observes my wedding ring, with a drunken twinkle in his eyes. He brushes his lips across the little diamond. “Mine…” he whispers contentedly, sinking deeper into the sheets as he begins to drift off.
I pull the plug on the flickering street lamp, forcing my brain to go completely dark, allowing myself to melt into a blissful sleep. I pull my willful blindness over me like a veil.
But the morning is coming. When the sun comes up, where am I going to hide then?
19
HARRY
I’ve been standing here.
In my half-lit bedroom.
At the foot of the mattress.
For at least five minutes.
Blinking-my-bleary-sleep-heavy-disbelieving-eyes-at-the-absolutely-perfect-creature-tangled-in-my-velvety-black-sheets-and-at-the-absolutely-ridiculous-fake-diamond-on-her-ring-finger.
I’m hyperventilating.
Oh my fucking god. I have a wife today.
A gorgeous, smart, sexy, breathtaking wife. And the minute she wakes up, she’s going to kill me. Or divorce the fuck out of me. I’m not sure which one’s worse.
My head hurts so bad.
This should be the best damn morning of my life. Only minutes ago, I woke up next to the woman of my dreams. With her hand on my chest and her leg flung over mine, her cheek squished up against my cheek as we shared the same pillow.
