Page 270 of One Bossy Disaster

This is real life.

It’s never just been about the sex.

It’s always been infinitely more, right from the start, even before we could admit the truth and put a neat label on it.

His face is so handsome, cut from pure granite in sharp lines of adoration and heat.

Inside me, I feel him pulsing, grinding me so deep with slow, deliberate strokes that mark me from the inside out.

“Shepherd,” I whimper.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he growls. “We’ve got all night. I want to take my time watching you go over.”

It’s not wild tonight.

It’s slow and steady, building so perfectly I know I’ll go to pieces when I finish.

And when it hits, I’m too shattered to even scream.

I just catch a final, searing glimpse of his eyes as his thrusts quicken, as he makes me come, as he empties himself inside me with a rough noise like a mountain falling down.

Holy buck falls.

I guess this is my wedding present.

Without doubt, one of the best orgasms of my life, and that’s saying something for a relentless beast who delivers them daily.

After we come down from the high and clean up, I’m tangled in his arms. I smile as his fingers skim my thigh, stop between my legs, and squeeze.

“This is mine. And this is yours,” he says, keeping his eyes locked on mine as he grabs my hand and lays my palm on his chest.

His heart drums like a machine.

Yours.

I smile up at him. Our shower washed off the bioluminescence, but his eyes still glow sharper than the starlight.

“Mine,” I echo. “I’m a lucky, lucky girl.”

“Every part of me, Dess.”

“You know I’m yours, too,” I whisper.

His eyes close. “Tell me again.”

“Yours. Now and forever.”

He pushes inside me to the hilt again.

Yeah, I think I want to stay like this forever.

Right here, on these white linen sheets, the ocean dampness still clinging to our hair and our skin bronzed from the sun.

Right here, with my husband inside me and his eyes so warm and every shade of blue flashing in them.

Right here, with our love woven around us so tightly I can’t tell where it begins or ends.

Because it doesn’t truly matter.

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