Page 47 of Pucking Curves

“I wasn’t too drunk. I remember you asking. I remember saying yes. I knew I should probably say no, but I didn’t want to say no. So I just…didn’t. I took what I wanted.” She swallows hard, staring at me. “Most of the ceremony is a blur. But I remember what happened in the elevator clearly.”

“Fuck,” I growl, sitting up beneath her. I scoop her into my arms, kissing her hard and deep. She whimpers, pressing her body closer to mine. I run my hands all over her, unable to help myself. She’s sweet and warm, and she’s in my arms. She’s mine—not because she was too drunk to say no, but because on some level, she wanted it just as fucking badly as I did.

“Can we be done skating now?” she asks. “I’m ready for the getting lucky part of this date, husband.”

“Fuck yeah,” I groan, completely on board with that plan. She’s accomplished enough out here for one day. Right now, I only want one thing. Her beneath me, screaming my name.

Nothing else matters.

“You’re playing with fire, Wren,” I warn her hours later, my back against the shower wall as she runs her soapy hands all over me, teasing the fuck out of me. “Keep it up, and I’ll be making a mess of you again before we even leave the shower.”

I’ve already been all over her. Christ, we barely made it through the front door before I had her pinned to it. We’ve been all over each other for the last three hours. I can’t stop. Neither can she.

“Maybe that’s my master plan, Archer.” She smirks up at me, wrapping one fist around my cock. The other cups my balls, driving me out of my fucking mind. “Maybe I’m trying to get myself fucked sideways in this here fancy shower of yours.”

She pumps her fist, squeezing at the tip.

I grab her around the waist, spinning. We land with her tits pressed to the shower wall, my chest to her back. She moans loudly, throwing her head back against my shoulder.

“You want to come again, little bird?” I slip my hand between her body and the wall, homing in on her swollen clit. “You need your husband to fill this greedy little pussy?”

“Yes!” she sobs.

I yank her hips back, carefully kicking her legs apart.

“Archer!” she shouts when I slam into her. I fuck her hard and deep, keeping her pinned against the wall with one hand on her shoulder so she can’t go anywhere. The other stays between her legs, my fingers running in circles around her clit.

“Is this what you wanted, wife?”

“Yes, yes,” she moans. “Harder.”

I fuck her like a goddamn savage, her commands spurring me on. She takes every thrust, sobbing for more. It’s wild, frenzied, and so goddamn good I can’t catch my breath. Fuck it, though. Who needs to breathe? I just need this—her wrapped around me, taking everything I give her. That sweet voice in my ear, begging for my cock. I just needher.

She shatters around me, her cries echoing off the shower walls. And Christ, I love that sound. It’s the purest form of worship there is.

I impale her on my cock, nipping her shoulder as her pussy milks my cock, demanding everything I’ve got. I spill into her again and again, chanting her name.

By the time it’s over, we’re both breathing hard, and she’s plastered to the shower wall like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. I spin her again, hauling her into my arm to kiss her.

“I love you,” she whispers sweetly.

My heart squeezes in a vise.

How is this real? How is she mine? I don’t know, but I thank God anyway. For long moments, I just hold her, coming down. It’s bliss, the kind of perfection no man deserves.

Eventually, I manage to get us both cleaned up and out of the shower. She’s swaying on her feet when I dry her off, so I scoop her up, carrying her to bed.

She smiles up at me so sweetly, reaching for me like she can’t stand to be separated from me for even an instant. I crawl in beside her, pulling her into my arms.

“We should tell Micah,” I murmur.

She lifts her head, looking at me. “Yeah? You really want to?”

“Yeah, baby girl. It’s time.”

Her smile is everything. “Okay,” she says simply. If she has any doubts, I don’t see them. There’s nothing but happiness in her eyes. “When should we tell him?”

“After the game,” I murmur. We fly to Detroit in the morning. After what happened at the last game, the last thing we need is for him to be too pissed to keep his head in the game.

---