Page 85 of Give Me Forever Love

This is where we’ll be for our honeymoon. Who could ask for anything more? I don’t need a fancy beach vacation.

He puts me down, and I walk over and turn some lamps on so we can see.

“How does it feel?” he asks me. I turn to look at him. He’s leaning against the closed door with his hands slid into his pockets. To say he looks handsome would be an understatement. Bryce can wear a pair of jeans and a snapback hat perfectly, but a suit… He looks immaculate.”

“How does what feel?”

“Being married…to me.”

I smile. “It feels the exact same.”

He scoffs. “No way. You didn’t feel some kind of life-altering, ground-shaking feeling when he said, ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife’?”

I scrunch my nose. “Maybe I will when I get my new social security card.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, maybe so.” He looks down, in his own thoughts.

“What about you?” I ask. “Did you feel the ground shake? The earth rumble beneath your feet?” I lick my lips and walk over to him, the swoosh of my dress the only sound in the house besides the soft hum of the fridge.

I begin to undo his tie. His eyes watch me before he removes his hands and reaches for the side of my dress. He slides the zipper down and the dress falls, leaving me in a strapless bra that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. My nipples harden, begging for his touch.

I push his blazer off his shoulders, and he shrugs it off, tossing it onto a nearby chair. I undo the buttons on his shirt, pulling it out of his pants. I look down and see how much he wants me.

My hand has a mind of its own, and I rub him through the black fabric. His mouth falls open slightly, his lips pouty, his eyes full of emotion.

I shimmy and the dress puddles beneath my feet. I step out of it. His eyes rake up my body before landing on my face. “Every time I’m near you, the ground shakes.” He pushes off the door. “The world slows; the sun burns brighter.” He leans down and softly kisses my neck. “The moon covers its eyes because he knows the thoughts I have about you.”

He runs his finger over my nipple and bites the skin on my earlobe. “And the stars hurry out so they can witness exactly what I plan to do.” He points upward. “Look for yourself, baby.” I look up, exposing my neck more, and he takes advantage of it.

“We have to entertain,” he says, his voice gruff, full of love, lust, passion. I swallow, my hands going to the back of his neck. I move his head so his lips join with mine and I kiss him fiercely.

With easy grace, he lifts me off my feet and I wrap my thighs around him. He swipes magazines and a vase of flowers off the table before laying me down. He kisses my breasts, licks my skin, and sets me on fire.

My panties are removed, my heels kept on. My bra is pulled down, just enough to release my needy nipples. I arch my back as his tongue finds my warmness. He makes me come with his fingers, and then he makes love to me under the stars on the dining room table.

There’s something different about sex when you’re married. It’s stronger. It’s more meaningful. It’s powerful.

After we come down from our high, we take showers and lie down on the floor in front of a fire. We talk about the house and how the day went, and then finally I feel like it’s the right moment. I sit up, my hair falling down the front of his T-shirt.

I look over at him and blink, and then I reach around and pull out a box from underneath the couch that I hid when he was in the shower and I made the pallet on the fluffy rug.

He narrows his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Open it and see,” I say, handing the box to him. I’m nervous. We only talked about having kids once. Well, twice really if you count when he showed me the house. But this is it. It’s done. There’s no going back, and I pray to God he’s happy. I know I said I wasn’t ready, that I wanted it to just be us for a while, but life never goes as planned, and we all know that. I was supposed to get my shot again four months ago, but I just didn’t. I made that choice without talking to him, and I hope I don’t regret it.

I’ll cry a river if he isn’t happy about this.

“Why do you look like that?” he asks.

“Because I’m terrified,” I reply.

He gets a wrinkle between his brow, and now I’ve concerned him.

“Open it.”

He opens the box and moves the tissue to the side. His eyes scan over the onesie that saysI’m proof Daddy isn’t always riding.It has a little dirt bike on it, and it’s white so it can be for a boy or girl.

His eyes jump up to me, and I swear the fridge stops humming, the clock stops ticking, and the fire stops crackling. My heart does the opposite, though. It beats like a snare drum, rushing blood through my veins.

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