Page 115 of Buckled in Barbwire

“We’re taking a walk.” And then Brody whisks me away from the group.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private.” His gaze is locked straight ahead.

Our pace is brisk, impatience tugging me along. My heels make rapid clicks against the wood floor. It’s old and original, much like the rest of this building. The owners of Two Spotted Cows and a Gray Duck wanted to restore as much natural charm as possible. Sunlight streams into the restaurant through large bay windows to showcase theirsuccess in that endeavor. Stained glass and brick walls speak of days long gone, but it’s still modern to fit the posh vibe.

The chatter of our guests fades as we turn a corner and disappear behind an ornate cast iron divider. This leads to the foyer where we met Kate and Pat before thoroughly devouring our tasting menu. There’s a much more intimate dining space at the end of the corridor on our left. That’s precisely where my husband is taking us.

“Wait.” Laughter sputters from me in a disbelieving trail. “You actually want to—?”

“Yes. Badly. It’s all I can think about, which is really inconvenient while we’re surrounded by family and friends.” Shadows swallow us, but antique sconces expose the unmistakable hunger in his gaze.

“I thought you were just messing with them.” My focus slides backward into the empty hall.

Brody’s fingers clench against the base of my spine. “I’d never joke about something this critical, wife.”

The temperature is cool but a fiery rush burns through me. “We can’t sneak off, husband. It’s our wedding reception.”

“Which is exactly why we’re doing this.” He opens the door, which isn’t locked until we’re inside.

Low lighting casts the small space in a cozy invitation. I feel that allure beckoning to my husband from between my legs. He’s turned me into a fiend.

But there’s still hesitation squaring my shoulders. “They’ll notice we’re gone.”

“Better make it quick then.” His eyes gleam. “I need to fuck you in that dress, and it can’t wait another second. It wasn’t an option the first time. Or at least not one thatseemed doable. That missed opportunity has haunted me, and I won’t let it slip by again.”

I’m backing myself into the far corner while he’s talking. The round table between us might as well be a taunt. My chest rises and falls rapidly, heaving faster when he begins to stalk forward.

Static energy sparks between us. We aren’t touching yet but I feel his intentions between my legs. That throb pulses a frantic beat while I watch him approach.

Brody becomes an imposing force that towers over me. A muscular arm braces on the wall over my head. The backs of his fingers on the other hand brush along my cheek in a gentle caress. That tender touch hitches my breath before I melt into him.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” His smolder burns into me with the heat of an inferno.

“Yes, and thank you,” I manage to whisper.

“Gonna repeat myself.” He dips to drift his lips over mine. “You’re so beautiful, wife. Inside and out. The rare kind of beauty that radiates from you and makes me want to deserve your sparkle. Sometimes I don’t believe you’re real.”

I lift a palm to trace the buttons of his dress shirt, up to the undone collar, and then to the heat of his skin. “This is very real, husband.”

He shifts closer, allowing me to feel more of him. “What would I do without you?”

The vulnerable edge in his tone shocks me. This isn’t what I expected when we came in here, but he loves to keep me guessing.

“You’ll never have to find out,” I murmur. “We’re forever.”

My thumb drifts along his jaw. The usual scruff is barelythere now, groomed for the occasion. I want the coarse rasp from the stubble to burn my sensitive flesh.

As if listening, Brody swoops down to bury his face in the crook of my neck. He maps the slope of my throat with his nose. I go boneless in his hold, allowing him to have his way with me. His loud inhale vibrates through me. Something about him smelling me is extremely sexy.

“Mine,” he breathes into my skin.

“Yours.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

A shiver pairs with the furrow that creases my brow. “About what?”

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