Page 88 of Falling

He bites the side of his cheek to keep from doing it again.

“You can’t withhold it from me now!”

“Never,” he says, laughing in spite of himself. “I’ll never withhold anything from you.”

His abs jerk as I run my fingers down his skin. He’s thick and long and hard as steel, and I get distracted watching it jolt against his stomach.

“What are you thinking right now?” he asks.

“That I like watching it jolt against your stomach. And how hard you are, how I didn’t think you could possibly fit inside me, but you do itso well.”

“What do you callitin your mind?” He grips himself and if I wasn’t already hungry for him, that would do it. “So far I’ve only heard you sayitorthat thing.”

He chuckles and then rolls his eyes when I bite my lip and smile at the sound.

“That’s pretty much what I call it in my head too,” I admit. “All the real words were schooled out of me by my mother. It feels wrong to call this a—”

“What?” he prods.

“A willy,” I whisper.

A loud laugh bursts out of him, making me jump and he tickles me, both of us cracking up.

He points down. “You cannot callall of thisa willy,” he says, still laughing. “No. Think of something else.”

“That’s what I grew up hearing. Penis would’ve never flown.”

He wrinkles his nose, grumbling. “I don’t need to hear penis either.”

“What do youneedto hear?” I lean in closer, my hand finally touching his hot, velvety skin.

He sucks in a breath when my hand slides up and down the length of him.

“What doyoucall it?” I ask.

He lifts a shoulder. “Dick. But I think I’d like to hearyousay cock…at least once.” He reaches over and slips a finger inside me. “Mm-hmm, I think you like the sound of that too.”

My cheeks feel hot. I know it’s ridiculous that I’m this way about saying certain words, even when I don’t mind hearing them. Atall.

“If you hate it, you can go back to sayingitorthatthing…as long as it’s said in a tone of reverence,” he says.

I burst out laughing and am moaning in the next second when he slides in another finger.

“Cock,” I whisper. I clear my throat and say it again, louder.

He gets even harder in my hand, and his jaw twitchesbefore he nods and then leans over to lick my nipple and blow on it.

“Yes, I was right,” he says, looking up from my chest. “I do like to hear you say thatvery much.”

We spend the day in bed and take our time driving back to Landmark Mountain that evening.

“So, we’re keeping Operation Elopement a secret until next month?” he asks, as we enter the city limits.

We’ve just decided that we want something to ourselves. Not that it matters what people think, but we don’t want anyone telling us it’s too soon either. We want to stay in our little bubble for a bit longer.

We’ve talked over a lot of options, but I think our favorite is to have a small ceremony at our house—still feels surreal to say that,our house—with our families during the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. I’m not sure if my parents will make the trip or not, but I’m sure Uncle Pierre will be there. Maybe even Kess.

“Yes, that seems perfect. I don’t think anyone will be surprised that we’re keeping it intimate, and they never have to know we’re already married, if you think that’ll upset anyone.”

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