“We have one wedding night. I want to do this right.” Tank leans in, letting me feel the heat of his body and the thick ridges of muscles that tease and seduce. I’m lost in lust for this man.
I reach for his shirt and pull the starchy fabric from his dress blues, muttering, “Too much chatter.” We’ll christen a few things tonight, and I cross my fingers the dry cleaner he uses is discreet. I sure as hell won’t be worried about his uniform tonight as I stake a claim on my Marine.
“I’m all yours.” Tank arches back and unbuttons his pants and shucks them off as easily.
I pull his boxer briefs down and cup his hard erection, hot and pulsing in my hand. He presses against me and groans with a smile that stretches near to a thousand miles under my stare. His heat is like an inferno—one move and we’ll burn out of control.
“I need you,” I moan, tugging him closer.
“You have me.” Tank jerks himself a few times, squeezing the head of his cock as if to stem the feeling.
I reach again and twine my fingers with his until I’m thumbing the slit of his cock, spreading precum juices over the flared top and down the rigid sides.
“You make me feel like a king in your grasp.”
I squeeze a guttural sound from him, pleased I have power. Somehow it balances the equilibrium, the way we can make the other lose control. We’re connected.
“Then make me your queen.”
Tank kisses me with a bite. “Only if you promise to sting, Honeybee.” He shifts his knees, pushing my legs wide open until they’re straddled over his thighs. Cool air caresses my damp lips and my core tightens in anticipation. It’s so good between us it should be criminal to feel pleasure like this. I never had a chance to rebound from him, and I doubt I would have ever been fully whole in heart and mind. His hard cock is ready to flay me open and I’m shaking, empty without him. Tank doesn’t waste time probing or rubbing himself over my nether lips. No, he pushes forward in a steady thrust, filling me to the hilt without pause.
The stretch is tight. It’s always been tight, and full, and tingly between us. It reminds me of missing him, missing this fullness, resurrecting the anger, hurt, and insecurity. We’re husband and wife now, pledged to each other, but how long will he stay, despite the promises?
“Henry.” I cry his name and he thrusts again, harder this time. I moan and writhe on the bed, fisting sheets, feeling him deeper than ever before. It’s like he can’t get far enough inside to claim me. I love the burning stretch of those initial strokes. I’m stuck under his ministrations like a bee pinned to the wall. For a second I worry that being on the pill isn’t enough to keep him from getting me pregnant, the way he rolls his hips, digging me into the mattress. It’d be my luck his super sperm impregnated me when I was least prepared.
Tank reaches for my hands, pulling them up and over my head and directing them to hold onto the headboard. His free hand reaches in the space between us, thumbing my clit in hard circles designed to make me crazy for him. He’s ruined me for other men. Happily. Passionately. Irrevocably.
“Beatrice, don’t give up on us, on this.” He shudders, releasing a steady jet of cum inside me. Claiming me.
Sweat cools to our skin as he cradles me in his arms where I nuzzle against him, biting back tears.
“We’re married now. Isn’t that forever?” Even as I say it I question it, suddenly worried that anything could happen to him in this life.
“It’s always.”
He places a lingering kiss on my forehead. I don’t care that his body feels like a furnace. I don’t want to let go, ever. I think about our impulsive vows and question my sanity. Did I make the right choice? Are we doing the right thing? We’re so young and unsettled. I don’t have any way to support myself or a degree to fall back on. Tank will pursue his career and I might get left behind.
While he’s been rocking inside of me in gentle waves, I’ve been musing how to get an annulment—which is about as unlikely as a snowstorm in summer, with the way he’s had sex with me like it’s his air to breathe. I’ve won the husband lottery, but I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t really want an annulment; what I want is more time with him.
Caressing the back of my head, he says, “Bea, don’t get lost in there.”
He means my head, and he’s right. A few minutes pass and his body relaxes in sleep, holding onto me. I rub my chin against his shoulder and whisper, “Please don’t leave me again.”
6
Tank
“I don’t want to go.” I reach under the covers to peel off my wife’s silky panties. She must have slipped them on sometime during the night. I pause for a moment to savor that idea: my wife.
Mrs. Beatrice Brennan Andrews.
I have a reason to come home more compelling than a home-cooked meal. Heck, I don’t even know if Bea can cook—don’t care one way or the other. She will be all the substance I need.
My fingers find the hollow divots of her hip bones and slip under the lace, giving it a firm tug. It rips in my grip with a satisfying tear that echoes in the hotel bedroom. This is my favorite new sound, next to Bea’s gasp as she attempts to scoot away from me.
“Tank,” she whines, but doesn’t sound at all serious. I’ve woken her up in the middle of the night no less than half a dozen times, because another thirteen weeks is obscenely too long to go without my Honeybee. Life feels too precious in this moment, and I’m stealing every single one I can because it might just be my last.
“Morning, baby.” My voice is gruff against her as I maneuver myself into a better position.