Don't Kiss the Bride

“All comfy now? Or do we need ten more pillows?” he asks with his thumb hovering over the play button on the remote.

I smile. “I’m good.”

“The things I do for you,” he jokes when the movie opens with its romantic, foreshadowing scenes.

“Shush,” I say, secretly loving everything he does. “And it’s okay if you cry at the end. I won’t think less of your masculinity.”

He scoffs, but grins. “I ain’t gonna cry over a movie, Sparkles.”

“We’ll see.”

Right around the middle of the movie, I slip into a sleepy, warm, relaxed state. I feel cozy and safe in my pretty room, under the soft blanket, with Jude and our two fur babies. I inch closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder, quietly inhaling the scent of his cologne. When we’re close like this, everything in my world feels better, and I can’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else.

“I like being close to you,” I whisper.

“I like being close to you, too,” he whispers back, gently putting his arm around me and pulling me closer.

“You always make me feel better. You’re a good husband,” I tease. But actually, it’s true. If I ever wanted to get married for real, I’d want to be married to someone like him.

“You’re a pretty good wife,” he teases back.

I turn toward him slightly, tilting my face up toward his, and he kisses my cheek.

“I can’t kiss you,” he says, in a voice so low I can barely hear him over the movie.

My happiness wilts. “Why?”

He stares at the movie, where Noah and Allie are bickering adorably. The muscles in his jaw twitch. I wait for what seems like forever for him to turn his attention back to me.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he finally says.

Avoiding my eyes, he brushes a few stray hairs from my forehead.

“Hurt me how?” I ask.

“Your mouth, baby,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt your mouth.”

The tone of his voice hints at reasons that go much deeper than that.

I move my tongue over my lower lip, enticed by how his darkening eyes fixate on my mouth.

“Then kiss me somewhere else,” I say softly, curling my fingers into the thin fabric of his shirt.

Inhaling deeply, he finally rests his eyes on mine, and he holds my gaze for a long time—maybe waiting for me to falter and look away.

I don’t.

“Is that what you want?” His lips touch my nose, then wait, hovering just a breath away.

I nod as we breathe against each other. “Yes.”

My answer is a subtle invitation. If he chooses to accept it, then any touching or kissing from this point forward won’t be an oops or an accident.

It’ll be a conscious choice. A decision we made together right here on my bed.

Fisting my hair, he gently pulls my head back, angling my neck up toward him. My eyes fall closed as he presses his lips to my throat and holds them there, warm and soft, before lightly sucking. My breath catches when he slowly drags his mouth up to briefly touch mine—whisper soft and gentle—before lifting up and bringing his lips back down to the base of my throat. Open-mouthed, teeth grazing. Grabbing his shirt, I pull him closer. His grip tightens in my hair as we meld together under the blanket.

My body hums as he ravishes my neck then moves to my collarbone, breathing heavily against me. My head is spinning—either from the surgery or the fervor he’s igniting in me—maybe both. All I know is I don’t want it to ever stop.

Holding the back of his neck, I attempt to pull him up to my mouth, desperate to have his lips on mine. Screw the pain.

I don’t care.

I want him.

“No,” he says, pulling back and staring at me with mischief and lust in his eyes. “Behave or I’ll stop.”

His words only make me want him even more.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper.

He slowly lifts my T-shirt, his gaze still riveted on mine. My shallow breaths match his, as inch by inch, he pushes the material up until it’s bunched under my neck. His eyes lower, lingering over my naked breasts. His fingers tighten around my waist, telling me he likes—wants—what he sees.

“I’ve been dying to kiss you again…to be close to you again.” His ragged breath against my flesh sends goosebumps over my chest and arms. “It’s all I fucking think about.”

Slowly, he moves his lips over my breasts, trailing his tongue in lazy, taunting circles around one, then the other, back and forth, until I feel like I might scream. The scruff of his stubble grazes over my sensitive skin in the wake of his tongue. I had no idea the alternation of soft and coarse could be so crazy tantalizing.

A short gasp escapes me when his mouth finally sinks over my nipple and his teeth gently tug it to meet his flicking tongue.