She never peels her eyes off the view as we land, and who can blame her?
Truth be told, my own gaze is too caught up in an angel to stay glued to heaven.
I’ll have to take some photos for Eli later as promised. He’ll never forgive me if I don’t.
For now, I only have eyes for Felicity.
I’m forced to look away for a short while as the plane taxis in and we disembark, gathering our luggage with the help of a friendly porter who shows us where to snag a car to take us to our hotel.
We’re quiet the entire time, clinging to each other’s hands, leaning close.
It’s like we’re still caught up in the wonder of our wedding, and now with this whole week all to ourselves, there’s nothing to do but drown in each other and this perfect celebration of our love.
As our cab pulls up to the hotel, Fliss breaks the silence, her eyes widening once more at the lights glimmering inside. About a dozen candle-flickers greet us from their lanterns.
“Alaska, this is too much. It’s too beautiful.”
“It’s what you deserve,” I tell her, taking her hand.
No lie, the hotel looks immaculate.
There’s a main service building in elegant bamboo wood. The suites are designer tiki huts floating on the water, their construction partially submerged with glowing glass-walled underwater rooms, each one perched at the end of its own dedicated pier and lit with more ivory candles.
It’s a living frigging dream.
Of course, it’s Fliss who makes that dream real.
We float through check-in, and the hotel staff show us to our cabin, lets us in, and drops our luggage with a reminder that we can call for anything, any time of day or night.
There’s complimentary champagne on ice waiting in the center of the room on a white-draped table decorated with a banner reading Congratulations.
I chuckle, stepping across the room to feel the silk banner. “So this is what the wedding package upgrade was for.”
Felicity flits into the room, twirling and bedazzled. The pretty ankle-length A-line dress she’d put on to travel swirls around her, mirroring the cinnamon tumble of her hair.
“I love it,” she breathes, her face pure sunshine. “Never in my life have I thought I’d ever have anything like this.”
“Had the same thought—with one exception,” I say, catching her waist on her next spin, pulling her into my hold. “I never thought I’d have anything like you.”
She stills, swaying against me, her hands curling against my arms.
“Paxton...”
The desire in her voice comes thick, almost like a drug. The heat in her eyes draws me in till I’m lost in her.
We haven’t even been in the room for five minutes, but I’ve been vibrating with animal need for her since the moment she said I do.
Enough waiting.
We’re about to christen this room like a married couple should.
Growling, I pin my wife against the door, lacing my fingers with hers as I seize her mouth in a slow, marauding kiss, tasting every corner of her mouth.
I want to sink my teeth in, mark her, fulfill every barbaric urge howling in my blood.
The air smells like heat and salt and ocean, but all I can smell is her, that coffee scent mingling with the very particular perfume of Felicity that welcomes me.
No matter where we are, as long as she’s with me—preferably naked, under me—I’m home.
That pretty dress never stood a chance.
It’s sheared off in a shower of kisses, and then it’s her turn.
I’m sure I rip something helping her help me out of my shirt and trousers. She jerks my pants down and lingers on her knees, eyes wide, grabbing my throbbing length.
“Fliss, fuck, be careful with that—”
Mouth? Yeah, and she knows how to use it so sinfully well I’m lost for words.
I reach out, slapping a hand against the wall, groaning as she cranes her head over my dick, engulfing me. Her fist pumps, matching the heat in her eyes, delivering this evil friction that makes my blood seethe.
It’s a damned miracle I don’t blow right down her throat when she’s working hard to make me.
I want her too bad. I want to take her married pussy for the first time, claim my wife’s marital virginity with a need that scares me.
“Up,” I rumble, a one-word command.
I can’t wait, bowing to hoist her up and tumble her over my shoulders. Then I cross the room to the bed and throw her down.
“Paxton,” she whimpers, her legs already apart, giving me a view of her wet, pink perfection. “Take me.”
With extreme delight.
Wordlessly, I throw myself between her legs and lose myself in her, plunging into that sweetness that belongs to me. I swear to fuck she’s somehow gotten tighter tonight—or maybe we’re both just that drunk on euphoria and pent-up lust.
I go strong, hammering my thrusts into her, watching her eyes sparkle and roll as she tosses her head back, hair flying everywhere.
We’re in rapture, deliriously messy, giving this honeymoon bed the only thing it should ever get—our creaking, gasping all.
And I’m damned near rasping between each needy, searching kiss that feels like I’m trying to slip inside her from both ends, to fill her with every bit of me.
I know it sounds insane.
But that’s how it goes with our kind of love—the only romance worth having—the sort that’s so intense it can’t be holed up in any asylum.
I crave owning her in so many ways—her lips, her flesh, her heart, all of them tangled up in me till there’s no more distinction between love and lust.
She’s everything.
I want to give her everything, too, and I make a head start when her first crescendo hits, her lips wide and round and her nails raking my back.
“That’s it, that’s it, lady. Come for me. Turn yourself inside out,” I snarl, mashing my forehead to hers, loving how she pants hot breath against my lips through her convulsions.
This is my universe, right here.
My dick.
My heart.
My mind.
My soul.
Plus every filthy pleasure we can find on this perfect night when it’s just us, the movements of our bodies shaming the night tide below and the blinding stars above.
I power through her coming undone, finding it harder and harder to hold back.
My balls ache to unload their screaming contents into her womb.
She arches against me, the lightest brush of her body dousing me in flames.
I stroke my hands down her arms, feeling every hypnotic inch of womanly flesh.
The curves that hold me rapt, that draw my hands to touch them with savage magnetism.
There’s a constant rough growl grinding out of me when I seize her wrists.
She’s always so sensuous.
So responsive.
When I lift her up, wrapping her legs around my waist, positioning her to take my cock deeper, I’m not alone in the divine inferno melting my brain.
She’s there with me.
Her heavy-lidded eyes watching in lusty fascination, her gasping lips begging, her body open and waiting.
She’s always been so open for me, begging me to accept her as she is.
That ring on her finger is how I promised her I wouldn’t have her any other way.
And I need her just as she is, right now, as I sink so deep it makes me shudder.