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I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled to the surface. “You’re right,” I said, trying to control my smile. “Considering I usedyourmoney to buy your gift.”
He waved off my logic. “That doesn’t matter.”
“I love my present,” I replied with absolute honesty.
He’d bought me something that he knew I needed because he wanted me to be warm and safe. As I’d watched the emotions flash across his face—panic, embarrassment, shame—I’d braced myself for some horrendous gift that I’d have to pretend to be thankful for.
But I didn’t have to pretend. No matter what Otto believed, I thought the slippers were uncharacteristically sweet coming from him.
Getting to know Otto as we lounged around on his parents’ couch and visited with his family and went out to eat, I’d come to realize that he was protective. Smart. Kinder than people realized. Impatient and Funny. But I wouldn’t have described him as sweet until I’d opened those slippers.
“Will you cut the tags off?” I asked, wiggling my feet.
He dropped to one knee and snipped the tags quickly with his pocket knife. “I’m gettin’ you somethin’ better,” he grumbled as he stood back up and tossed the tags on the counter.
“They feel really good on my feet,” I countered, grinning.
He stared, disbelief all over his face, but I didn’t stop smiling until he chuckled a little under his breath.
“I tell you that you looked beautiful today?” he said, leaning against the counter.
“You may have said something like that,” I mused.
“Good.”
The house was silent around us.
“We’re married now.”
“We are,” I murmured.
“You know what that means.”
“What?” I asked innocently. The look in his eyes made my skin break out in goosebumps.
“No more keepin’ my hands to myself.”
“Oh that.” I waved my hand nonchalantly.
“Yeah, that.” He laughed, moving forward.
I had time to inhale one deep breath before his hand was in my hair and the other was sliding down my back and curving around my butt. As I tilted my head back to look at him all of the tension in my body melted away.
We were married. It hadn’t been in a church, and my family hadn’t witnessed it happen, but those things didn’t make it any less true. Otto Hawthorne was my husband. The shame and anxiety that had surrounded our physical relationship was no longer a factor.
There wasn’t anything shameful about being aroused by my husband. There wasn’t anything to fear.Marital relations were not only acceptable, but important.The memory of my mom, grimacing as she’d said those words, hit me out of nowhere. I shoved it away.
“There’s a fuckton of buttons on the back of this dress,” Otto muttered against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip.
“They’re just for show,” I said, squeaking as his hand tightened on my butt. “There’s a zipper.”
“Thank God.”
I closed my eyes as he kissed me and his hands went to the nape of my neck, searching for the zipper tab. It took only seconds before he was sliding it slowly down my spine, careful not to catch my hair. I was focused on his lips and the way his tongue slid against mine, making my legs go weak, but I couldn’t stop the sigh that left me as the pressure around my midsection lessened. The dress fit me, but it hadn’t been made with pregnancy in mind, and had been just a smidge too tight around my belly.
Otto pulled away, and as he took a small step backward, he peeled the dress forward off my shoulders and down. Inch by inch.
I swallowed hard and watched his face, his eyes intent on every sliver of skin exposed.
