Page 62 of Reluctantly Ever After

My entire body goes rigid as my hips slam into hers, my fingers digging into her skin, my orgasm ripping through me so hard I see black spots. I'm pretty sure I'm saying her name like a prayer, and she's right there with me. Fucking her bare like this is my new favorite thing in life and I'm never going back.

Her and me? There'll never be anything between us.

Not now.

Not after this.

My chest is heaving when my vision clears, my hands braced on either side of her head as I lean over her. She's staring up at me with this look in her eyes I haven't seen before and I don't know what it is. We're a mess. There's food and broken dishes everywhere, our skin is smeared with sauce and sweat, her thighs are shaking where they're still clamped around me and my arms tremble.

I let my forehead rest against hers as we catch our breath. My dick's still inside of her and twitches with an aftershock that sends a shiver through my body.

I don't know what she's feeling, but I know I'm completely fucked.

"Wren—"

"I know."

She doesn't say anything else and neither do I. But she doesn’t push me away either.

She just lifts her hand and presses it to my chest—right over my heart—and leaves it there.

There are four broken plates, two shattered glasses, and a whole mess of food on the floor. Oh, and we can’t forget the hickey the size of Montana on my neck.

It’s all damning evidence of what happens when you fuck your husband on the kitchen table.

When you finally give in to what’s been building for months and things just sort of… explode.

My fingers trace the purple monstrosity at the base of my throat as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I look different. My hair’s a tangled pink mess, my lips are swollen, and I’ve got this general post-sex glow that I don’t think I’ve ever seen on my face before.

Turns out orgasms are better than any beauty routine I’ve ever tried.

"Shit," I mutter, trying to tug the collar of Kasen's t-shirt higher to cover the way he marked me like I’m his property. It doesn't work. Nothing short of a turtleneck or a scarf would hide this thing.

The thought of walking into Cascade with this billboard of poor decisions on my neck makes my stomach clench. But under the low-key anxiety is something a lot more disturbing. I’m actuallyhappyabout this. Kasen marked me.

And Ilikeit.

And it didn’t happen just once. Oh, no.

Last night's boundaries-obliterating sex marathon plays on repeat in my head. The kitchen table. The shower. His bed. My god, his bed. I'm still not entirely certain how we even made it that far, considering neither of us could keep our hands off each other except when we needed to breathe.

I splash cold water on my face, which does exactly nothing for the "I've been thoroughly fucked" look I'm sporting. Everything about me screams that I just spent the night breaking every single boundary I insisted on when I moved in here. Separate spaces? Obliterated. No touching? Please. Roommates, not spouses? We literally fucked on multiple surfaces while I called him my husband.

My. Husband.

The word shouldn't make my stomach do that stupid flip thing, but here we are.

And I think it’s time I finally fess up to the fact that I've never wanted anyone more in my entire life than I want Kasen James.

It's terrifying. And exhilarating. And I have no idea what happens next.

A soft knock on the bathroom door makes me jump.

"You planning on moving in there, Pink?" His voice is rough from sleep, and I hate how it makes my knees weak.

"Trying to figure out how to make myself presentable for civilization," I call back, running a hand through my tangled hair in a futile attempt to look less like I've been fucked to within an inch of my life.

"Coffee's ready when you are."

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