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“Say it.”
Thrust.
My vision popped. My body lay limp against his, but I’d never felt so safe in my life.
“Yours,” I burst out.
“Oh—fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering. I felt him pump his cum into me as his teeth sank into where my shoulder met my neck. His hips worked in short thrusts as he shuddered and there was a distant, ongoing growl in the back of his throat.
Silence fell. His hand eased up on my neck and my breathing slowed.
He unclenched his teeth and kissed the side of my neck.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “When I say that to you again, you really will be my girl. My wife, my woman.”
The thought was dizzying. He pulled his cock from me and stood back and made a noise of surprise. I whipped around and stared at the bedspread in horror. I was kneeling on a soaked patch and all down my thigh was creamy arousal. Smirking, he cracked me across the ass with the palm of his hand.
“Enjoy yourself?”
I blushed to the roots of my hair. His eyes narrowed.
“That’s a good thing,” he said. “Sex is for pleasure, not duty, not for anyone else in the world and their opinions. I fuck you because I love you and it feels good. Is that enough?”
A wave of intense relief flooded me. Deep in my chest was the peace I’d craved for so long. It flickered and wavered, but it was the beginning of something good.
I nodded, chewing my lip. “I love you too,” I whispered. “And it’s enough.”
He bent and cupped my chin. When he kissed me, I tasted myself on his mouth.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now, put on something pretty and let’s go get married.”
We had to stop at the store on the way out of town. None of my clothes were clean and Olivia was too small for me to borrow her things. There was still a classy, little boutique open. It was disgustingly expensive and I balked at the price tags, but my brand new fiancé just put his card down. Then he spun me around and pushed me towards the intimate section. Blushing, I picked out a satin lingerie set made of creamy silk.
It was my wedding night after all.
Heart pounding, I fumbled through the racks trying to find something I wouldn’t regret getting married in. It couldn’t be white—that would look deliberate, but I didn’t want to get married in black. My fingers slowed and I squeezed my eyes shut until my vision swirled.
“Wear red,” he said quietly.
He reached out and pulled a little red dress off the rack. It was tight with built in cups and off the shoulder straps. The short, floaty skirt would hit the middle of my thigh and leave my legs bare.
“You look beautiful in red,” he said.
My stomach fluttered as I held it up to my body and gazed at my reflection. Behind me, he was watching me with his lips parted. A smile curved over my mouth.
“What are you looking at?” I asked lightly.
“My wife,” he said distractedly. “Go put those clothes on while I pay. I’m not waiting any longer to marry you.”
All my fear melted away in that moment. Somehow, despite seeing my worst side right from the get-go, despite all the guilt and shame I’d carried inside, despite the tears and arguments, this man loved me.
My hands shook as I pulled on my lingerie.
He wanted to spend the rest of his life as my husband. Heat crept up my cheeks and a thrill like I’d never felt before rose in my chest. I wasn’t sure when I’d first loved him, but if I had to guess, it was that moment he’d walked into the door and gunned down several men for me. Right then and there I should have guessed that I wasn’t just a casual acquaintance to him.
I stepped out of the dressing room in my dainty, red heels. He was sitting on the bench and when he saw me, his brows shot up. His chest heaved. He swirled his finger, urging me to spin, and I obeyed. Giggling and burning up with excitement.
He rose, catching my hand, and pulling me into his chest. His hand cradled my chin, turning my face up.
