I fucking love my wife.

We crash through the doors of the cabana, barely able to take our hands off of each other. Emilia’s arms and neck are tangled in her dress as she tries to lift it up over her head, and I’m stumbling out of my fucking pants, tripping over my own goddamn feet.

But when we fall, we fall into each other.

Then, thank fuck, we fall into the bed.

Our marriage was consummated in an airplane bathroom, then with a blowjob and a bottle of tequila on our way here to our honeymoon suite.

The cab driver gave me a real fucking look when Em announced that she was going to baptize her mouth with my cum, but hey—she had a bottle of Jose Cuervo in one hand and my cock in the other.

I wasn’t about to argue with her.

“C’mere,” I slur, rolling on top of her.

Her body shifts beneath mine. She spreads her thighs for me and I slip between them, kicking off the last clinging vestiges of clothing from my lower half.

When I go to kiss her, I have to untangle her from her dress to do it. Prettiest little white sundress you can imagine. If she didn’t have it stuck over her head, I’d have ripped it off of her.

Instead, I toss it across the room.

Won’t be needing that anymore.

My plans for our honeymoon are simple: fucking Emilia, fucking Emilia, wining, dining and fucking Emilia. If I can keep her naked for most of that time, all the better.

It crosses my mind that I should’ve slipped a baggage handler a couple hundred bucks to accidentally lose Em’s bags.

I guess locking her in our suite so I can have my way with her is going to have to suffice.

The bed is draped with a white linen canopy overhead. I’m dazzled by the gold of Em’s hair, the way it’s splayed out on the crisp white sheets.

The whole room is lit up with candlelight, and I can hear the crystal blue waters of the ocean splashing just outside along the shore of our private stretch of beach.

“I fucking love you,” I tell her. It simultaneously feels like the billionth time and the first, all at once.

Then, I kiss her before she can say it back.

Hearing her try to mumble it against my lips anyway just makes me chuckle and kiss her harder.

I don’t stop kissing her until I feel the pale crescents of her nails pressing into my back.

“Horny, honey?”

“Fuck me,” Emilia gasps.

And how can I say no to that?

We’re drunk on equal parts tequila and love. When I first got on that plane, Em was drinking to forget me. By the time we got off of it, she was drinking to celebrate.

I have a wife, I tell myself as I kiss her long, slender neck.

I have a wife, I tell myself as I worship her firm, heaving breasts with my tongue.

I have a wife, I tell myself as I scrape my teeth across her wide, wiggling hips.

“Stay still or I’ll punish you,” I tell my wife.

“Make me, husband,” she giggles.

And then I do anything but.

I can’t blame her for not staying still while my fingers are knuckle-deep in her cunt, after all.

I imagine it’s pretty fucking difficult for a woman to orgasm as hard as she is while staying completely still.

I punish her anyway, of course.

A husband has to be firm with his word.

And oh—I’m firm. You’d better fucking believe I’m firm.

“Bad slut,” I say with a grin, nipping at her clit. I dig my fingers into her thighs as I drag her closer to me on the bed, licking her slit up and down until she cries out.

“H-hey,” she pants, chest rising and falling like she’s running a marathon. Backwards. In heels. “That’s wife-slut to you, asshole.”

“Asshole?” I say, getting the dirtiest fucking grin on my face. “You are a slutty wife, Em…but if you insist, babe.”

I love the way she squeals when I flip her over, too. It’s cute as hell, the way her knees tremble as I smack her ass and sip my tongue into it.

“Oh, you’re…you’re bad, husband,” Em moans.

That’s fucking rich. As if she’s not loving every minute of it.

I just smack her ass again and relish the way I can make her come in my hand with just a flick of her clit.

She’s orgasmic. She’s incredible.

And she’s mine. She’s all fucking mine.

I can’t get enough of her. Her taste. Her heat. The scent of her fucking skin—not just the perfume she wears, but the smell of her beneath it.

The smell of my wife.

I could breathe her in all fucking day and I still wouldn’t want to breathe out ever again.

“Evan,” she sobs as my fingers toy with her clit. I can play Em’s pussy like a video game set to easy mode at this point. I make her come again just because I can—and because I like the way it makes her entire fucking body shake. “Evan, fuck me. Please, please, please, please—”

“Who fucking knew?” I laugh, slipping my tongue back out of her ass. “I never dreamed I would have such a polite wife.”

“You don’t,” she growls. “Fucking fuck me already!”

I lick my lips as I shift back, looking her over.

“I’ll do better than just fuck you,” I tell her, grabbing her hip and pushing her onto her back again.

Seeing Em like this, all wet and wanton and slutty and still entirely, completely my bride…

I just added another item to my honeymoon checklist.

And I think it just might be my favorite to-do yet.