Nimway said, “Fine.”
Just fine and it was enough for him to kiss her, passion flaring even faster than before. How was it his clothes didn’t catch on fire?
He held her tucked tight to him, hands firm on her ass, grinding her against him. She hummed into his mouth. Moaned her acceptance. Her need.
But when he would have taken her right there in the hall, she put a stop to it. “Not until you put a ring on it.”
Words to make any man run. It should have sent ice through his veins. Ignited his self-preservation. How many times had he mocked those who willingly chose a ball and chain?
Madness, yet he did nothing to stop it. Rather, he kept them both aroused with her on his lap as she sent some texts that ordered her crew to work without her. A few phone calls and emails later—and him hard enough it actually hurt—she’d arranged everything. They didn’t have to wait the usual time period. Nimway apparently knew a guy who knew a gal who could process a license for them within hours.
With copies of their identification and paperwork, they zipped downtown in front of a judge and repeated their vows. A good thing no one gave him a quiz right after to ask any of the details. He only had eyes for her.
His bride.
Then, suddenly, his wife.
They were married before lunchtime. The very speed of his reckless decision had him dazed. But that didn’t stop him from accepting the key to a lavish suite at Chateau Laurier, rented to them with a crazy surcharge for early entry.
They could have asked for more, and he would have paid. Anything to ease the pressure inside.
Nimway had the keycard and led the way, that sweet ass swinging. He loped for her and swung his bride—who wore a pair of white jeans, a fluffy cream sweater, and big hooped earrings—into his arms, startling her.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying my bride. Isn’t it tradition?”
“It’s supposed to be over the threshold.”
Rather than reply, he kissed her. Properly this time, given the one in front of the judge resulted in cleared threats and a demand they move along.
It was torture to have her clinging to his back on the way to the hotel, snug against his back as he drove his bike. If the hotel had been any farther, he might have found an alley.
To think she’d imagined she could ask to marry him and not expect him to touch her. She was that freshly frosted cake that begged a finger to take a swipe. Something that just couldn’t be resisted.
He kept her in his arms as they entered the elevator, her weight as if nothing. She clung to him, making them one being, one desire. A good thing they arrived quickly, or someone might have seen the doors open on something that was far from PG-13.
Somehow avoiding bumping into the walls, he navigated to their room without dropping her. As a bonus he also didn’t smack her off a hard edge or lose contact with her lips.
She was the one to slap the keycard against the lock as she turned the handle. Only once fully in the room, with the door shut, a do-not-disturb hung on the handle, did he set her on her feet.
“Carrying me over the threshold. How traditional,” she teased.
“Says the woman who appears to be wearing old pearls and a new sweater. All that’s missing is the blue.”
She nipped his jaw as she whispered, “What color do you think my panties are?” Then lower and huskier, “Husband.”
Fuck me. It hadn’t been real thus far for him. Not when he filled out paperwork. Nor in front of the judge either. But she’d called him husband. Wore the ring they’d bought on a whim at the first jewelry store they entered, white gold band with a topaz stone.
On her ring finger.
Too late to turn back. Nor did he want to.
My wife.
His mind went numb, but his hands knew what to do as they stripped her. The clothes came off. No hesitation. Just pure frantic need on both their parts.
Hands skimmed skin. Lips locked, and when they parted, tongues played. Stumbling, they somehow managed to find the bed. Nimway landed on her back, him atop her, framing her. His erection dangled heavily between his legs. He wanted nothing more than to fuck her.
To drive into her until she screamed his name.
Yet, he paused because he could smell her arousal.
Actually scent her sexy musk. His mouth craved a taste. A touch at the apex of her thighs and his fingers met her honeyed wetness. He licked his fingers.
“Mmm,” he hummed as he met her heavily lidded gaze.
Her swollen lips parted. “More.” An invitation that came with a wiggle of her hips.
Hell yeah, more. Using just the tip of his cock, he rubbed her clit, watched the fat head of it stroking, making her squirm. He could see the petals of her sex, her pubes kept short but more than a landing strip, which he liked.
He slapped his cock off her clit a few times. She bucked, and her back arched, drawing attention to her tits. The berry-like nipples beckoned.
Bracing himself on his forearms, he kept his cock positioned to rub and friction her clit so he could he lean down and capture a tip in his mouth.
She uttered a long moan.
Nice.
With the flat edge of his teeth, he lightly grazed the tightening nipple. It shriveled, and he sucked it.
Nimway panted, her hands fisting into the coverlet of the bed, arching and pushing the globe farther into his mouth, and he eagerly sucked.
Tugged.
Pulled with his mouth as she cried out. He swirled his tongue around the taut nub. Bit down while his erection teased her. He almost lost it when her legs lifted to wrap around him, locking him between her thighs, trapping his dick between their bodies.
“Fuck me, husband,” she taunted. “Fuck your wife.”
The words only served to thicken him further. He angled until the top of his engorged head parted her nether lips.
Her legs tightened around him, drawing him deep, sheathing him fully. Completely. Perfectly. Stefan uttered a moan and then a groan as her slick muscles tightened around his shaft. She squeezed him, and he almost lost it. He pulled back then pushed as deep as he could to sheathe himself. Nimway tilted her hips and quivered.
Stefan pulled out, right to the tip, and then thrust deep. She grunted.
He thrust again. Finding that same sweet spot.
Over and over he pounded it as she cried out and clawed at his back. Urged him harder. Faster.
He couldn’t help but obey, grinding against her, making her keen in pleasure, the sound intensifying until, with a choked scream, she came. And he came with her.
He realized only too late they’d not used protection. Nor had they discussed what would happen after the ceremony.
But he did know one thing. He’d married this woman and consummated, making her his legit wife. Until death do us part.
It felt right.
As he kissed her, he hardened inside and started moving again.
She squeaked. “Already?”
Yes. And while it took a bit more work to bring her to the edge, it was soul-shuddering good when she came, screaming his name, nails dug into his back.
Two orgasms down, they lounged in bed, eating from the room service tray they’d ordered. A shower led to round three and them lying in the bed, naked, with their limbs entwined.
They’d yet to talk, as if neither wanted to ruin this idyllic moment, but they couldn’t remain silent forever. Maybe, though, they could have one fantasy day before dealing with reality.
Just as he debated running them a bath, his phone rang and rang.