Page 113 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
The reception flows seamlessly from ceremony to celebration, and it's exactly what we wanted—a party that feels more like a family reunion than a formal event. Jamie's best man speech includes at least fourteen inappropriate stories about Dax's bachelor habits, while Cole's toast focuses on how obviously in love we've been since day one.
"Seriously," Cole says, raising his champagne glass, "these two thought they were being subtle, but watching them try not to stare at each other during team meetings was like watching a really sexy nature documentary."
"The sexual tension was so thick you could cut it with a skate blade," Jamie adds. "We all had bets on how long it would take them to crack."
"How long?" I call out, curious despite myself.
"Torres said three weeks. I said one. Chen said they were already sleeping together and just hiding it really badly."
"Chen was right," Dax admits, pulling me closer. "We were terrible at hiding it."
"The worst," I agree. "Remember when you started timing your showers with my practice observations?"
"Or when you began wearing that perfume that made me want to follow you around like a lovesick puppy?"
"I still wear that perfume."
"I know. It's why I can barely concentrate during board meetings."
The dancing is even better—Dax spinning me around the floor while our entire community celebrates around us. When they play our song—the same jazz standard that was playing in the elevator the night we first kissed as married people—he pulls me close and whispers all the filthy things he plans to do to me later.
"Mrs. Kingston," he murmurs against my neck, "I hope you're prepared for a very thorough wedding night celebration."
"How thorough are we talking, Captain Kingston?""The kind that requires a 'Do Not Disturb' sign and possibly room service breakfast tomorrow."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart and hope to score."
Later that night, in our hotel suite overlooking the lake, we're finally alone. Dax carries me over the threshold like something out of an old movie, then sets me down gently and just stares.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious in my elaborate dress and perfectly styled hair.
"I'm just thinking about how far we've come from that disaster in Vegas," he says, reaching out to trace the line of my jaw. "From drunk strangers to... this."
"Legally married strangers," I correct. "Very important distinction."
"The most important distinction." He starts working on the buttons at the back of my dress, his fingers sure and gentle. "Though I have to say, I prefer this version of our wedding night."
"Why's that?"
"Because this time, I'm going to remember every second of making love to my wife."
The dress pools at my feet, revealing the white lace lingerie I chose specifically for this moment. Dax's breath catches audibly.
"Fuck, Tessa. You're so beautiful it hurts to look at you."
"Then don't just look," I whisper, reaching for his tie. "Touch me. Make love to me. Show me what forever feels like."
What follows is everything our Vegas wedding night wasn't—slow, intentional, full of whispered promises and the kind of connection that comes from truly knowing someone. When he finally moves inside me, we're both crying from the overwhelming emotion of it all.
"I love you," he breathes against my lips as we move together. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"Forever," I gasp, my body arching against his. "No matter what comes next."
"What comes next is the rest of our lives," he promises, and when we climax together, it feels like sealing a vow that goes deeper than any ceremony.
Six months after the wedding, we're sitting in our home office—the one we designed together with two desks so we can work side by side—planning our next speaking engagement when Dax looks up from his laptop with a grin.
