“Jesus,” I breathe, taking in her white silk corset and panty set. She steps out of the material, and my eyes go straight to her toned legs and fuck-me heels. I’ve got to be the luckiest motherfucker in the world. I want to send a thank-you note to David for being a dumbass and letting this perfect woman go, but he doesn’t deserve shit.
Dusting her hair to the side, I press an open-mouthed kiss to the top of her shoulder, inhaling the vanilla and raspberry.
“I think I’m a bit underdressed compared to you,” she says coyly, turning around and running her hands up my chest, then pushing my tux off my shoulders. Next, she unbuttons my shirt, kissing her way down my chest and torso. She bends down when she gets to my pants, squatting so she’s eye level with my groin. The corset she’s wearing plumps up her already full breasts, and I find myself running a finger across the swells of them.
She pushes my pants and boxers down and grips my shaft, stroking it up and down. It’s already semi-hard from looking at her, so it doesn’t take long for it to get as hard as granite. As much as I love her hands and mouth on me, the only way I’m coming with Layla as my wife is inside her.
“Come here, my beautiful wife.” I pull her over to the bed, and she climbs onto it, giving me a show of her ass in the air, her heels still on her feet, and her tiny white lace underwear barely covering anything. When she stops and peeks over her shoulder through her lashes, I slap her ass playfully, making her moan.
“I’ve made a decision,” she says, staying on her hands and knees.
I grip her hips and dip my head, giving the globe of her ass a kiss. “What’s that?” I ask, massaging each round cheek.
“I want you to fuck my ass tonight.”
Her words halt me in place. For most couples, a woman requesting that is simply kinky, but for Layla to ask is huge because the one and only time she’s been taken there was when she was raped by her ex-husband.
I want to ask if she’s sure, tell her there’s no rush, we don’t ever have to do it, but I know replacing the bad memories with the good is important to her, and if this is what she wants from me—her husband—I’ll give it to her. I’ll give her any-fucking-thing she wants if it makes her happy.
“You will, right?” she asks, her voice now shaky since I haven’t said a word. “You said you would…”
I lean in and grip her chin, capturing her plump bottom lip with my teeth. “Baby, I’ll fuck your ass so good that every horrible memory of that piece of shit will be wiped out.” I kiss her hard, swallowing down the moan she releases.
“I brought lube,” she says shyly. “In the luggage. I looked it up, and it said if you use it, it will hurt less.”
My eyes stay trained on her for a few seconds, worried she’s scared and doing this prematurely, but when she looks at me, I see the conviction in her gaze. She trusts me and knows I’ll make sure anything we do together will be good for her.
“Go lie down on your stomach,” I murmur, releasing my hold on her chin. She does as I say while I go to her luggage and pull out the lube she bought, along with the baby oil she uses when she gets out of the shower. I discard the last of my clothes, leaving me in only my boxer briefs, then pad back over to join her on the bed.
“You looked so damn perfect today,” I tell her, straddling her legs and unclipping her corset that buttons down her back. “Walking down the aisle…standing at the altar… promising to love me for the rest of your life.” I pull the straps off her arms, and she lifts slightly so I can remove the material from her.
I drop a kiss between her shoulder blades. “I swear I thought of a dozen love songs just watching you today, holding you, kissing you.” I trail kisses down her spine, stopping at the sexy as fuck dimples just above her ass.
“The guys will think you’ve gone soft,” she says with a laugh.
“They already know I have. You’ve heard our upcoming album.” Damn near half the songs are about the way I love Layla.
I pull the silky material down her thighs and drop it onto the ground. “I can’t help it, though. Every word, every lyric, is written with you in mind.”
I squeeze some oil into my palm and rub my hands together to warm it up a bit. Layla is still on her stomach, her arms now above her head. Her face is to the side, her hair fanned out over her shoulder, and her eyes are closed. She looks like a damn angel. I’ll never understand how anyone could ever want to hurt her, especially someone who claimed to love her. But I vow to make sure she’s treated like she deserves every day for the rest of her life.