Page 81 of Bite Your Tongue

Within seconds, I’m exploding like a fucking rocket right inside of my wife. I cling to her like a wild animal, breathing heavily against her neck as a sheer layer of sweat begins to bead up on her flesh. My whole body feels shaky, and the moonlight creates a weird illusion of dancing lights in my eyes, forcing me to squeeze them shut.

A few minutes—or ten—later, I look into my wife’s eyes and grin. She lifts her hips up enough for my cock to slide from her heat, and right away, I miss her.

“Told you I could fuck you in that dress,” I drawl. “Let’s get out of here before the ghosts decide to kill us now that the porno is over.”

Swatting my chest, she giggles and rests her forehead on mine. “I love you, Mr. Cambridge.”

Reaching for her cheek, I cup it and nod. “And I love you, Mrs. Cambridge.”

She gives me a kiss and grins. “Let’s go before our guests realize the photographer is in there and they know that Gemma is lying.”

“It’d be worth it.” I wink. “I just came so hard that I think I blacked out.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says and wiggles her eyebrows. “Now, where are my panties?”

I can’t fight the deep smirk that takes over my lips. “Nah, babe. I think I’ll keep them.”

Her mouth hangs open, and she smacks my chest. “I can’t be commando on my wedding night.” She lifts herself off my lap and stands in front of me. “Someone could see my vag.”

“Yeah, well, seeing as your dress goes to the ground, they’d have to be playing hide-and-seek in your dress to see that.” I grin amusingly. “Which I plan to do later, by the way.”

I stand, fixing my pants, and she rolls her eyes at my words. She doesn’t attempt to get her panties back from me because—let’s be honest—she doesn’t care if she wears them or not.

Grabbing her hand, I lead her out of the lighthouse and back toward our reception. I’ve had sex with Saylor more times than I can ever count. But that was the first time I had sex with my wife.

And it was totally worth the fact that everyone at the party probably knew what we’d disappeared off to do.

A Year and a Half Later

So many times in our relationship, Ryder has surprised me. It’s something he gets great joy from, and they are always planned to a T and absolutely beautiful.

For our first Christmas, when we weren’t even together, that man flew to Charleston and planned a whole adorable thing involving a horse-drawn sleigh. We got tattoos and agreed to have sex in a friends-with-benefits type of arrangement, even though it definitely didn’t feel that way.

For our second Christmas, he proposed, all while incorporating the horse and the sleigh once again.

Last year, for our third Christmas, he surprised me with the sweetest puppy. A Bernese mountain dog, just like I had talked about getting months before.

And then for my last birthday, he surprised me with VIP tickets to a Morgan Wallen concert, with a meet and greet with the handsome guy himself before the show. I just had to promise I wouldn’t try to make out with the guy simply to cross that off my list.

Don’t get me wrong; I love Ryder’s surprises and all, but for this Christmas, I hope I’m the one who gets to surprise him. I always thought the wholehe treats me like a princessexpression was a stretch in any relationship, but with Ryder, he actually treats me like I’m a whole-ass queen.

Anxiously, I grab the small gift bag from my closet—the same one that’s been tucked inside of there for over a week—and I walk out to the living room, where he’s lying on the chaise lounge with Captain snuggled up with him.

Right when Captain sees me, his tail begins to wag, and he makes his obnoxious talking noises—the same ones he makes when he wants to be fed, needs to go outside, or is just feeling extra and needs attention.

He gets that last one from me.

His tail beats on the chair harder. Captain loves my husband, yes, but that dog is obsessed with me.

When I get closer, he jumps down and nudges his wet nose against my hand repeatedly, damn near knocking me over.

I’ve done obedience classes with him because for the first few months of him living here, the fucker chewed every shoe I’d left out. He even ruined a couch of ours, along with way too many pairs of underwear. One pair he swallowed and needed surgery. So, that was fun.

But Ryder always jokes that no matter what the dog does, I can’t stay mad, and sadly, he’s right. He’s our baby.

“Whatcha got there, babe?” Ryder grins, jerking his chin toward the bag. “Let me guess. You got Cap another damn gift to go with the twenty other stuffies you gave him.”

Giving Captain a few pats on the head, I plop down at the end of the chaise lounge and turn my body to the side so that I can pass Ryder the bag.

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