Page 130 of Love Me Tomorrow

The bathroom door swings open and while I don’t do anything so unmanly as shriek, I definitely shoot an inch off the toilet lid and slam the phone down on the sink counter. “Hey.”

Wearing nothing but a pair of my mesh shorts that she stole after we had sex this evening, and a T-shirt, Savannah looks from me to the phone to the toilet. Her hair is a wild, tangled mess, just the way I like it. “Were you video-calling Pablo again?”

“Me?” I point to myself, as though insulted she’d suggest such a thing. “I was scrolling through Sports 24/7 highlights.”

She raises a brow. “One call to Lizzie and I’ll know the truth.”

Heaving a sigh, I plant an elbow on the counter. Is this what love in marriage is like while you’re on your belated honeymoon in Iceland? Bantering while sitting on a toilet that you’re not even using? Because if so, I want it for the rest of my life with the woman staring down at me like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or hop in my lap. “I missed them,” I finally confess.

Folding her arms over her chest, she cocks her hip out. “You’re not talking about anyone but Ben and Pablo, are you?”

I shrug. “The rest of them, we’re still feelin’ it out. Testing the waters.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous enough to fuck?” I wag my brows playfully, and then I’m off my feet in a heartbeat. Arms looped around her upper thighs, I storm into the bedroom to the sounds of her shrieking “Oh, my God, Owen!” as I drop her on the soft mattress and crawl on top of her.

I pin one of her hands beside her head, then grab the other to move to the back of my neck. Her eyes flash good-humor and so much damn love that I feel downright blessed to be here, with her, after everything that it took to get us to this moment.Sliding scales. I wouldn’t replace a single memory because what we have, what we’llalwayshave, is so damn strong that I feel its impact every morning when I roll over in bed to link my arm around her waist.

Savannah stares up at me, her full lips curving in a beautiful smile that makes my heart pound fast. “A quickie,” she says, “or we’ll miss the show.”

My heart strings tight because of what’s to come tonight.

Two years ago, she told me that she wanted to see the Northern Lights one day. And for two years, she’s told me repeatedly how it isn’t necessary, how she’ll go anywhere else in the world that I want for our honeymoon. I know she says it because she doesn’t want me to feel as though I’m missing out on something monumental when we look up at the sky blanketed in strips of colors that never quite look the same to me as they do for everyone else.

I took her here anyway because love—at least the love that I share with Savannah—has me putting her first. Always.

Gently, I grab her left hand. Nowadays, a simple gold band is nestled next to the engagement ring I found in LA, after the reunion show, but it’s the ruby stone that steals my attention. Not because I can see it like she can, but because it’s my heart trapped on her finger and I never want her to forget how much I love her.

I kiss her knuckle, right over the stone, then set her hand back on the blankets. Leaning down, I press my mouth to hers. Our kisses have evolved over the years, some soft and relaxed when we wind down after a long day, others hurried and messy, our need for each other edging out all the pleasantries of trying to play it cool.

This one is somewhere in between: I kiss her like it’s our first time all over again. Unyielding but desperate, my tongue sweeping between her lips so I can taste her fully. She still tastes like the good girl, the debutante who wasn’t asked to dance in the ninth grade, but underlying all of that is the woman my wife is at heart: a sweetheart who enjoys being a little bad.

She moans under me, her bound hand fighting the restraint of my weight.

I grin into her mouth, then pull back to husk out, “You gonna beg for me, sweetheart? You gonna show me what you want?”

Her hips buck beneath mine. “Always so arrogant.”

I thrust upward, my cock gliding right over the heart of her. “You like it.”

“No,” she whispers, “I love it.”

Drawing back, I inch down her body. My hands skim the T-shirt up her slender frame, past the scars from her C-section that I pause to kiss once, twice. The fabric skirts up another few inches to reveal her breasts, larger now after giving birth but still gorgeous, still perfect handfuls. I drop my head to swirl my tongue around her nipple, chasing the shiver that wracks her body with a nip to the sensitive bud.

Her fingers dance over the back of my neck, then sink into my hair. “Yes, more.”

I give it to her. My fingers tweaking her other nipple, my tongue gliding over that imperfect mole that always steals my attention. I release her captive wrist, but only so I can kiss my way down her diaphragm and her belly button and then to her hip. I glance up at her face, which is partly concealed in the shadowy room. “Lift your butt, sweetheart.”

She does so eagerly, and I strip my shorts off her and toss them to the side. Spreading her knees wide, I drop back on my heels and breathe out. Fucking gorgeous. I knew she would be, from that first day I met her. Gorgeous all over.

Her fingers graze my knee, drawing my attention back up to her face. “When you look at me like that, I feel like it’s our first time all over again.”

My heart beats faster as I sink down into the sheets. “I told you it would be, that day in the hall. We’d always feel like we’re coming out of our skin, chasing a high we’ll never find with anyone else. I feel the same as I did then, but only . . . more. Loving you. Wanting you. Devouring you.”

I flick my tongue out against her clit, and a sexy moan filters through the room. I keep my palms on the inside of her thighs, forcing her to take everything that I’m giving her. I circle the sensitive flesh, teasing it with fast strokes that taper off whenever I feel her frame tense with the beginnings of a release. She’s gonna come with me inside her, not a second before.

Her frustration leaks when I pull back yet again, and with a chuckle, I climb up her body, only to still when she whispers, “All the way up, Harvey.”

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