Forty-Three
“Aidan…oh…God.” She threaded her fingers through his hair and put pressure at the back of his head, her hips seeming to levitate off the mattress.
He was between her legs with his mouth, his broad shoulders pushing her thighs apart, and he showed her no mercy.
The orgasm crashed over her, a wave of sensation, tinged briefly with regret. She’d wanted them to be together, their first time on their wedding night. She felt selfish…but satiated, hot with bliss as the pulses rippled through her and she stared up at the ceiling.
At their reflection on the ceiling.
This motel was a disturbingly out-of-the-way place just off the interstate, a place she would never have ventured on her own. But Aidan had gripped her hand outside their door, turned shining eyes on her and said, “There’s a surprise inside.”
The surprise had been the mirror affixed to the canopy of the bed, and she got to watch him go down on her in it.
Through lowered lids, she watched herself arch, gasp, claw gently at his scalp. Saw the ivory sheen of her damp skin, the shiny wetness on her nipples from his mouth, the flexing tattooed expanse of his back as his tongue slid up her sex one last time.
She could come again just watching, the harshly erotic novelty of it almost overwhelming.
“Aidan,” she repeated, and he slid up her body, blocking her view with his smiling face.
“What, baby?”
Her ring caught the lamplight, flaring as she brushed the damp curls off his forehead. She could have stared at his excited expression all night. But instead she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and said, “Can I be your wife now?”
He kissed her in answer, his tongue flicking between her teeth to stroke against her tongue.
The minister had pronounced them hours ago, but it wouldn’t feel wholly real until…
He touched her, briefly, where she was sopping wet, and then his cock pressed inside, plunging deep, his hips meeting hers.
She loved watching: his strong, gleaming, tattooed frame thrusting between her thighs, every imperfect inch of him hers. But she closed her eyes and turned her face into his neck. Breathed the salt on his skin and dug her fingers into his back, memorizing every sensation, relishing the physical power of him.
After, they lay tangled on the cheap sheets, too hot, but refusing to separate by so much as an inch.
“Congratulations on your wedding,” she teased, skimming a fingertip down his nose. He had his father’s nose; a strong, masculine nose.
“Congrats to you, Mrs. Teague.” He tangled his fingers in her hair.
As their heartbeats slowed to more regular thumps, sounds from the motel intruded. A loud engine in the parking lot. Rattle of the Coke machine on the landing outside their room. Voices from below.
Tomorrow, they were headed into the mountains, to a secluded cabin Hound had offered them the use of for a few days. They couldn’t afford the beaches of Key West or Mexico, but Sam didn’t want them. A long weekend in the woods, by the firelight, would be heaven. And still…there was something about tonight, about this first joining as husband and wife in this crappy motel, that touched her deeply.
“Thank you,” she said. “This is wonderful.”
He snorted. “No it’s not.”
“Yes it is,” she insisted, snuggling even closer to him.
His arm tightened around her waist. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you somewhere fancy.”
“Aidan, don’t…”
“I’m probably gonna have to say that a lot.”
She laid a hand alongside his cheek and turned his face so they were eye-to-eye. “Aidan,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “Stop doing that. Stop belittling yourself and the things you give me.”
His lips twitched. “No more ‘sorrys’?”
“Only if you do something really stupid.” She felt her own smile threaten.
“Okay, but fair warning, I’m gonna have to say ‘sorry’ a lot.”
She laughed. “Oh, you’re awful.”
“Sorry.”
She laughed harder and he cut her off with a kiss.