Pen wasn’t quite sure how much champagne she’d had over the last five hours, but thanks to her mother’s clucking little comments (“dear, that’s the third glass in an hour, are you sure that’s a good look for a queen?”) she was very sure it hadn’t been enough. It had at least taken some of the edge off the day, though.

Although it hadn’t been all bad. In fact, some parts of it had been downright magical. She couldn’t deny that walking barefoot down the aisle in Eastman Abbey had been unexpectedly delightful, or that the look in Simon’s eyes just now had had her wanting to jump his bones right then and there. In fact, he’d been the best part of all today. It was everyone else that was the problem. It was the judgmental murmurs, the blatantly assessing eyes, her mother’s “helpful” comments whispered in her ear—she’d actually said Pen would have to “do better” at her next royal event, and she hadn’t even bothered to whisper. The whole reception had been nearly unbearable. The décor, food, and music were beautiful, of course, but she’d barely known anyone there and had been hard-pressed to even make small talk. It ended up feeling more like a political convention than a celebration of love. But at least the cake had been good, Pen supposed.

Plus, now she got to make love to her new husband. And what a hunky husband he was. She stared at him across the couch from her and had a sudden, physical need to finally see what was under those starched shirts of his. Boldly, she leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she said. The words came out a little more slurred than she’d intended. Maybe her mother had had a point about the champagne after all. Not that she’d ever tell her that. And anyway, all the bubbles were helping immensely with what could’ve been a very awkward evening. Pen didn’t even care about the judgmental looks anymore. She just wanted to see her husband naked.

Simon stifled a smile. “I’d assume it would be kind of hard not to, seeing as it’s our wedding day.”

She ran a finger across his chest, which was sadly still hidden under a shirt. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. Ever since we met. The look in your eyes when you talked about that treehouse—it bowled me over. You looked so… passionate. I want you to look at me that way.”

His eyes turned a little smokier. Much better than the way he’d looked at the sketch of the treehouse. But he didn’t take off his clothes the way she wanted him to. “Have you had a bit too much champagne?” he asked instead.

She scoffed. “Of course not. Well, maybe. But trust me, it was necessary. Did you hear my mother?”

He winced. “I did. I’m sorry. If it helps, I think you did wonderfully today.”

“Not nearly as good as you. You were amazing. You remembered everyone’s names, had the schedule memorized, and most importantly you didn’t nearly trip on your own train and fall flat on your face in front of a chapel full of nobility. Not to mention the millions of audience members on the Live Stream.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t wearing a dress.”

“Well, you’re wearing far too much clothing now.” Tired of beating around the bush, she reached out and, with one hand, unbuttoned Simon’s shirt. “Want to try that kiss again?

Simon already had a raging hard-on by the time Penelope’s lips were on his. He’d been mentally practicing his speech all evening about how he trusted her and he could wait until she was ready to consummate, but thank all that was holy, he apparently wasn’t going to need it. Which was excellent, because he’d been thinking about that kiss all day.

They’d been in a church in front of millions of people, and yet they might have been all alone in their bedroom for the way that kiss had made him feel. It had started out tender but gotten passionate way more quickly than he’d anticipated. The way her lips had parted for his, the way her waist had felt in his hands when she’d nearly tripped and he’d caught her—he couldn’t get enough of it.

Pen ducked forward now and kissed him again, but jerked back upright before he could deepen it. “Ow,” she said, sounding surprised.

He cleared his throat roughly. It better not be those damn clogs again. If a pair of stupid shoes kept him from making love to his wife tonight, he would crush them with his bare hands, hallowed tradition or no. “What’s wrong?”

“My dress is too tight. All this fabric—I can’t bend over that far.”

Unbidden, an image of her bending over in an even more delicious way came to mind. Fuck, he needed to bury himself in her right now or he would explode. “I can help with that,” he said. He got up, gently pulled her to her feet, and pulled the zipper at the back of her dress down. He took his time, savoring the sight of her soft flesh revealing itself, feeling like a kid opening the best Christmas present ever. He kissed a trail down her spine, following the track of the zipper.

Pen made a little sound that went straight to his dick. “Leave the corset on,” she said breathily. “I love how hot it makes me look. And once it comes off, it’s never going back on.”

He muffled a laugh. Tipsy Pen was a lot of fun. “Okay,” he said, tugging the dress off her shoulders and letting it drop to her feet. He watched hungrily as she stepped out of it and sat back on the couch in just her corset, panties, and stockings. At least two of those things had to go. He knelt in front of her and pulled the stockings off one by one. He kissed down her calves. When he nipped a little, she shuddered all over.

“Oh, I like that, do it just a little harder,” she said. “You’re so good at this. I had no idea.”

Unable to help but feel a little smug, he obeyed when he pulled off the other stocking, and she shivered again. And then there she was—only a corset and a pair of lacy white panties separating him from the place he most wanted to be, which was inside her. He ran a hand up her thigh and stroked her through the lace, relishing the feel of her slick folds through the thin fabric. He slipped one finger beneath it to touch her. She was wet and ready for him, and when his finger brushed her, she dropped her head back on the couch with a gasp.

“Take your clothes off,” she managed. “I want to see you.”

He stood up with a jerky motion. “Fuck,” he said with a rough laugh as he swept off his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. Maybe taking his own clothes off would give him enough time to clear his head, get some distance. The way her gravity pulled at him—it was like he was a planet and she was his sun, and he couldn’t get close enough. Not until they finally, gloriously, collided.

When he pulled off his shirt, Pen’s eyes widened. “Holy crap, are you Superman?” she asked. “Judging from those abs I’d say yes. Walking around in that Clark Kent getup of yours is a disservice to the human race, mister. How did I not know about the physique you’ve been hiding under there?”

He snorted, but she frowned and shook her head, sitting up.

“Hey, no, I’m serious,” she said, sounding surprised by that fact. “From now on, let’s be honest and not hide anything from each other, okay? Don’t keep things from me.” Her frown deepened, and Simon had the urge to smooth out the adorable little wrinkles it made on her forehead. “And I shouldn’t keep things from you, either.”

“Okay,” he said easily. Honesty and openness were qualities he’d happily strive for in his marriage. He reached for his fly, readjusting himself—he was harder than he could remember ever being in his life—as he started to unzip.

But her eyes were unfocused like she hadn’t even heard him. “To start, I should tell you my recent deepest darkest secret,” she said. “I’m thinking of this marriage and my reign as a test run.”

His hands froze on his fly. “What?”

“No one, not even me, has confidence I’ll succeed,” she said morosely.

Unable to speak for a moment, Simon swallowed. “Oh,” was all he said aloud. Internally, though, he was horrified. This was his greatest fear—that he’d be displaced again on a royal whim, that he’d never have a real home that wouldn’t be taken from him. His hard-on dissipated as quickly as it had come on. “Pen,” he said slowly, “maybe we should wait on… this. You’re a bit tipsy, and maybe I’ve had enough tonight myself.” He’d only had two glasses of champagne, but he didn’t want her to feel like this was her fault. “Maybe we should leave the consummating for when everyone is sober.”

She blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Okay. Yeah, I guess it would be nice to be able to remember it.”

He re-zipped his fly and pulled his shirt back on, muttering something about taking a shower as he retreated to the bathroom. He couldn’t help but mentally go back over all that paperwork he’d just signed, remembering the lawyer’s parting words: The marriage will still need to be consummated before everything is binding.

He wanted this to work out. He wanted a life with Pen, a life of meaning with an amazing woman at his side. But if this was all no more than a test run to her… maybe it would be best if the contract wasn’t binding just yet.