Page 171 of Pucking Strong

“Fuck.” The heat in his tone has my every nerve ending sparking. “Look at you.” His gaze lifts to mine and I see the passion there, the love and adoration. “We said we wouldn’t stop until you were dripping with me.”

“Jag är din,” I say on a breath, meaning every word. It sounds strange to me in English. In Swedish, it just makes sense, like the sky being blue or ice being cold. I’m Teddy’s now. Cherished, claimed. I think I’ve been his for far longer than I knew.

He smiles again, slipping his fingers from inside me. “That’s right, baby. You’re all mine. Min perfect man.” He smears his cum-slicked fingers across my lips, chasing the action with a kiss. “How do you say ‘perfect’ in Swedish?”

I grin, holding him to me. “It’s ‘perfekt.’”

He blinks, leaning away. “Wait, really?”

I nod and he sighs with relief. “God, I’ll finally get one right on the first try.” He steals my laugh with another kiss. Then I groan into his mouth as he fists my cock tight, stroking me hard and fast. His tongue flicks with mine. I taste his release, mingled with the soft tang of the lube. “Come for me,” he begs. “God, baby, come all over me. Make me drip too. So fucking perfect.”

I cry out, my hips pressing up into the furious stroking of his hand.

“I’m yours,” he pants against my lips. “Show ’em, baby. Show ’em how you claim your man—fuck,” he shouts on a laugh, rocking back and angling my cock up as I come. It spurts from my tip, landing on his abs. He doesn’t stop stroking me and I just keep coming.

“Oh god,” I cry, rocking into each stroke of his hand.

“Yes,” he praises. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Ducking down, he catches the last of my release in his mouth, sucking my tip until I’m begging him to stop. I finally lie back, breathless and boneless, completely wrung out.

There’s a satisfied smile on his face as he rubs my release into his skin. In the light from the bathroom, I catch the glint of gold on his finger. His wedding ring. I didn’t even put it there. He slipped it on himself while we were sitting in Poppy’s office. In that moment, he wore an expression like he was attending his own funeral.

No ring. No kiss, No family in attendance.

Teddy is always so worried about what others want and need. He worries for Karro, for his sisters. But what about what he needs? I know now how much he loves weddings. He and Karro watch reruns ofSay Yes to the Dress: Atlantaby the hour. What did our rushed wedding truly cost him? I’ve never stopped to consider what he needs to make it right, to put it in the past, so we can all look to our future.

Grabbing his wrist, I pull him to me, sucking two of his fingers in my mouth, tasting my release against his skin. He watches, his gaze still smoldering. Then I roll to the side, taking him with me. We’re a tangle of limbs as our sweat-slicked bodies twist in the sheets of our marriage bed. Gone is the hesitation I’ve felt these long weeks. NowI want to pull him closer in the night, want him to wake with his cock in my mouth. He is my husband, and this is our bed. I mean to please him in it.

Once I have him on his side, I sling a leg over his hip, wincing slightly at the new stretch and burn from where I’ve been used.

“Was that good for you?” he whispers. “You liked it?”

I brush my finger down the tip of his nose, doing my best to memorize the pattern of freckling on his cheeks, as I nod. “Give me a minute to catch my breath, and we’ll do it again.”

His eyes go wide as he laughs and leans away. “Oh god, what have I unleashed?”

I smile, rolling with him until he’s pinned under me. Each moment with Teddy is a gift, and I intend to take none of them for granted. I kiss my way down his chest. “I think I’ve got the idea of it now. You just lie back, mitt hjärta. Leave the rest to me.”

“Okay, now stir, stir,” I chant, holding the bowl while Karolina moves the whisk in a jerky pattern. “Keep stirring. Tight circles, remember?”

“Here, like this,” says Henrik, trying to reach in and take over.

I playfully slap his hand away. “Babe, she can do it. Just give her a sec.”

Karolina furiously churns the eggs into the top inch of cinnamon roll mixture, an excited smile on her face. “Am I doing it?”

“Dig deeper,” I say on a laugh. “You gotta mix the whooooole bowl.”

We’ve finally made it to the last day of her wearing the arm cast. The last scans of the break look great, so she gets the cast off first thing tomorrow. To celebrate, we’re baking some cinnamon rolls as a gift for Hanna. Karro stands at the counter on her kitchen stool. She’s perfected the art of balancing on one foot, keeping the weight off her healing leg. That cast will be on for another few weeks, at least.

Henrik checks the time on the oven again, offering me a pained wince. “I must go.”

“I know.” Leaning around Karro, I wipe a smudge of flour off his forehead. Baking with a five-year-old who only has one good arm is always a bit of a messy adventure. “Give me a kiss before you go, and I might consider saving you a cinnamon roll.”

It’s game day today, an afternoon game against the Chicago Blackhawks. Henrik has delayed for as long as he can, but it’s timeto head in. He pulls me in by my shirt and kisses me. “They’re called kanelbulle in this house. Get it right, or I eat them all.” With a last quick peck, he lets me go.

I feel dizzy, lost in a haze of sappy love and contentment. I can’t remember a time when everything in my life felt more perfect. Henrik says something in Swedish that has Karro nodding. Then she starts digging deeper into the bowl, properly mixing the dry and wet ingredients. “Yes,” I praise. “Good girl. Keep going, min lilla chef. Once you get it mixed, I’m gonna knead it for you. But once that cast comes off tomorrow, you’ll be kneading your own dough balls.”

She giggles, still aggressively whisking.

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