“Are we leaving Coronado?”

“Yes.”

“Are we getting on a plane?” I asked again.

“Does my hand not feel good?” Irritation simmering in his voice.

“. . . what?” I asked, confused.

“Are you distracted by the street, rather than the three fingers currently f**king you?”

“I—?”

He pulled his hand out and reached for my shoulders, pulling me off the seat and dragging me so I kneeled on the floor. I felt him shift around to pull me closer, and I realized I was positioned between his legs. The sound of his belt, his zipper, and his pants being shoved down his h*ps cut through the quiet.

“Come here,” he said on an exhale, cupping the back of my head. “Suck.”

Despite the single rough word, his touch grew careful as I began to lower my mouth over him, as if he wasn’t sure how to blend his pent-up need to come with the reality of our brand-new marriage. We’d talked for cumulative hours about how things would be in this very moment—the two of us finally alone, married, and faced with the reality that it might be different—but now that we were in it, I could tell Bennett was a little torn.

We’d said no way would it feel different: it was just two rings, just a piece of paper.

We’d said we’d never stop being hard on each other, or start having easily bruised feelings.

We’d promised anything could always happen between us in the bedroom. We swore we’d never hold back, or be afraid to ask for whatever we needed.

But as I worked his length with my lips and my tongue, I could sense that Bennett’s hands were fisted at his sides, not in my hair. His h*ps were pressed firmly into the seat beneath him, instead of rising up, arching toward my mouth.

So I did the first thing that came to mind: with a quiet sucking sound, I pulled my mouth off his c*ck and sat back on my heels.

His breaths came out in sharp gusts, but other than the sound of the road passing beneath us, the car fell silent.

Finally, his voice rose from the quiet in a controlled rumble: “What happened?”

What happened? So tame, Bennett.

In this moment, I hated not seeing his face, but I knew he understood the point I was making when he took a deep breath and asked, “Why the f**k did you stop?”

There he is.

“You know why.”

Strong hands lifted me off my heels and sat me back until my butt hit the floor of the limo and my spine rested on the seat opposite him. One of Bennett’s knees planted on the seat beside my head and without saying a word, he pressed the crown of his c*ck to my lips, forcing my mouth open.

“Suck,” he said, and this time the word was coated in anger and need. I barely had time to adjust to the feel of him before a tight fist curled in my hair, holding me steady as he began to move in short jabs, not going too deep, at least not yet. Finally, his hands released my hair and left me only long enough to frame the side of my face, holding me steady for his longer, deeper strokes.

The car rolled to a stop and Bennett slammed a palm on the intercom button, managing a sharp “Wait here” before returning his hand to my face, groaning hoarsely.

His rumbling “Fuck, Chlo” sparked my lust, and I reached up to wrap my arms around his hips, whimpering at the powerful snap of his thrusts, the hard contractions of muscles in his ass.

I couldn’t see a thing, but each time he moved deeply and I felt the soft hair against my face, I wanted to suck as hard as I could so that when he pulled back I would wring as much pleasure out of this moment as I could for him. I felt desperate to give him this.

“So f**king good,” he said, his voice raspy, and I could tell from his movements that he was growing close. “Those perfect f**king lips. Feeling your tongue on me.”

I slid one hand between us, cupped his balls, and stroked just behind, teasing.

“Yes,” he hissed, h*ps jerking.

With a final push inside, he came, c*ck rigid and releasing his orgasm down my throat. He cried out as I swallowed around him, slowing his movements until only the tip of him rested against my tongue. I tilted my head up to him when he pulled out, and felt the soft glance of his thumb across my bottom lip.

Wordlessly, Bennett reached down and adjusted my blindfold before bending and kissing me deeply, his tongue sliding over mine.

“Tell me you like my taste,” he whispered.

“I love your taste.”

And then he pulled my dress up, moving his hand between my legs and under the lace of my underwear, as if confirming what I’d said was true.

“I f**king love your mouth.” He leaned forward, laughing against my lips. “And I love f**king your mouth.”

His touch was gentler now, exploring rather than giving pleasure. He grunted quietly, moving his hand away from me, and I heard the rustle of fabric as he pulled up his pants, straightened his clothing.

Taking my hand, he murmured, “Come on, Mrs. Ryan. We’re here.”We were definitely in a hotel. I could tell by the sounds of elevators, suitcases rolling across travertine floors. I could hear the way voices grow hushed as we walked past, and I imagined how we must look: Bennett carrying a blindfolded and barefoot bride in his arms and with a duffel bag full of who-knows-what slung over his shoulder, carrying me barefoot and blindfolded in my wedding dress.

“Are we in a hotel?”

“Shh,” he whispered, lips to my temple. “We’re almost there.”

He carried me as if I weighed nothing, his strides even and steady. I pressed my lips to his neck and asked, “Is everyone looking at us?”

He turned his head, laughing quietly in my ear. “Definitely.”

Once we stepped into the elevator, it smelled familiar. Was it possible we were back at the Hotel Del and he had just done an elaborate ruse to trick me? But if he did, why?

We rode up in silence and I adjusted my grip on his neck, trying to listen to the number of floors we passed, to any sign of where we were. Beneath my knees, his left hand squeezed me reassuringly.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, but Bennett didn’t move. I realized there’d been someone else in there with us. How had it been for them, I wondered, to be watching us as we went up to wherever our final destination was, knowing we were clearly headed to our wedding night?

When we reached another floor, Bennett stepped out and carried me down what felt like the longest hallway ever.

“I want you inside me,” I said into the warm skin of his neck.

“Soon.”

“You won’t make me wait?”

“I only want to get you there and nak*d. The plan beyond that is pretty self-explanatory.”

Something about the walk felt familiar, some turn and body position, and suddenly it hit me.

Of course.

Of course.

He came to a stop, maneuvered so he could pull a key from his pocket, and opened the door.

I didn’t even have to take off my blindfold to know.

Carefully, he put me down and I reached up, slipping the satin up and off my face. Yes. It was the room we’d stayed in at the W more than two years ago—the exact one. The same couch, the same bed, the same balcony, the same small kitchenette. Although, now it had a new, no-longer-broken desk.

The room where we first knew—really knew—that I was his and he was mine.

I could feel Bennett watching me, gauging my reaction, but I’d been so overwhelmed with emotion all week that I felt a little numb, almost as if on top of the family around us, the wedding, the vows, and how much I needed to feel him, my mind clamped shut and I started to feel dizzy.

He stepped behind me, kissing my neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“We never did lose what we found in this room,” he said, bending now and kissing my shoulder. “In fact, we turned it into the happiest hate-love of all time.”

“We sure did.” I turned to look at him, wondering if now was when he tore my dress off and f**ked me facedown on the floor.

But his eyes were clear, careful. He stepped closer, bent to kiss my jaw. “You smell so f**king good.”

“What’s going on? I thought you were going to be rowdy.”

“Fucking your mouth in the car helped take the edge off.”

I closed my eyes, feeling memories storm into my thoughts.

“I’ve never done anything close to this and I don’t know how to navigate it anymore,” I’d said.

“I told you. I haven’t been with anyone else since we started this,” he’d said.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t take a room key if it’s put in your hand.”

“Let’s call a truce for one night. I just need tonight,” he’d pled, and given me three desperate kisses.

I opened my eyes. “How much of the first night in here are we going to re-create?”

He shrugged and when he smiled, he looked so young, almost innocent. “I think we’ll skip the fight in the bathroom, but I definitely hope you wake me up with your mouth on my cock.” He leaned forward, kissing me once and then pulling back to study my face. “Honestly, Chlo, I just want you out of this dress. I feel like we haven’t been skin to skin in months.”

I nodded without speaking, still overwhelmed and exhaling in relief when Bennett’s broad hands slid across my bare back, unbuttoning and pushing my dress down my sides, holding it up just enough for me to step out of the skirts. I turned back around to face him, wearing only a tiny strapless bra and the smallest thong I think I’d ever worn in my life.

Without a word, he reached for me with lightning-quick hands and shredded the panties, and then reached up to my chest, gripped my bra in one hand, and savagely tore it from my body. Reflexively, I crossed my arms in front of me, my pulse hammering.

“You had other things you were going to put on for me tonight?” he asked, nodding to the bag he’d dropped in the entryway.

“I did . . .”

He was already shaking his head. “You won’t need them. Maybe in the morning, but not right now.”

Bennett kissed my shoulder, running rough, impatient hands over my br**sts, my hips, my thighs. “Undress me now.”

It was suddenly surreal to be standing bare before him like this. He’d seen me nak*d thousands of times, and God knows he’d bossed me around like this even more often. But this moment felt so loaded. It wasn’t the easy instinctual sex we had every night. This was Bennett, undressing me and demanding to be similarly stripped so we could have Married Sex in a Fancy Bed in an Emotionally Relevant Room.

The words wedding night, wedding night, wedding night pounded through my head. Maybe this is exactly what he felt in the limo: the pressure of doing it right, making it memorable.

I tried to ignore the way my hand shook when I pulled at his tie and slid it from his collar, but he noticed and he grabbed both of my wrists in one hand. The other slid down my front and between my legs, parting me, sliding a long finger over my cl*t and dipping into where I was wettest.

“Why are you shaking, Mrs. Ryan?”

With a flash of irritation, I bit his bottom lip when he leaned closer for a kiss. But then I closed my eyes, enjoying for a few moments the way he slid his finger back and forth over the rise of my cl*t before he stopped, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I’m a little nervous, Mr. Mills,” I admitted.

His eyes went wide, nostrils flaring as he released my hands from his grip. “You? You’re nervous?” He looked like he was on the verge of yelling or laughing, I wasn’t sure which. “You’re nervous with me?”

Shrugging, I said, “It’s just—”

“You’re nervous?” His tone had changed this time; amusement curled through the two, short words. He was definitely on the verge of laughing.

I removed his cuff links, dropping them on the carpet at our feet. “Are you making fun of me?”

He shook his head slowly, but with a devilish smile said, “Yes.”

Taking his shirt in my fists, I pulled it open, hearing the pop of the buttons as they tore free and skittered to the floor. “You’re making fun of your bride on her wedding night?”

His expression straightened and his brow smoothed as I ran my greedy hand down his chest. “Of course I am.”

“What kind of monster are you?” I teased, lightly scratching his stomach.

His answering smile tilted up one half of his perfect mouth. “The kind that’s going to f**k you so hard it’ll look like your legs were put on backwards.”

I laughed, playfully shoving him, and he fought his own smile before bending to kiss me roughly, pressing his tongue into my mouth, sucking, and biting at my lips. “Come on, Chlo. I think we both know I’m pretty easy,” he murmured. “Tend to my c*ck and the night is a success.”

I ran my hands down his torso, feeling every dip and hard ridge, and shivering when he bent and sucked my jaw, growling into my neck. I pressed into him, loving the feel of his hungry hands down my back, grabbing my ass.

“Get over your ridiculous nerves and f**king undress me,” he hissed, kicking off his shoes and bending to peel off his socks.

I gave his zipper an impatient tug and pushed his dress pants and boxers down to the floor. With his hands on my waist, Bennett backed me to the bed. And then he kneeled in front of me, bracing his hands on my h*ps and leaning forward to kiss my navel. His wedding ring winked in the dim light of the bathroom.

“We’re married,” he said quietly, pressing another kiss to my belly button. “I’m your safe place. I’ve always been your safe place.”

I slid my hands into his hair, pulling gently and knowing he was right. I’d been my best and worst self with this man, and he only loved me more the more real I was with him. No place was safer for me than with Bennett.

He moved his mouth from one hip to the other, up my ribs, tongue sweeping over my br**sts, teeth pulling gently at their peaks. And then he rose to his feet as he kissed up my neck until he towered in front of me, hair hanging over his brow, eyes dark and predatory.