CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

There were no flowers. There were no rings. And the bride didn’t wear white.

Neither one of them changed from what they already had on—her green dress, his blue shirt and jeans. It was a hell of a lot more fun to race over to the marriage license bureau and snag the paperwork. The bureau was open until midnight every day, and plunking down IDs was nothing short of thrilling.

He pulled up in her car to a drive-thru chapel, its orange neon sign lit and flashing. The officiant came to the window. Brent had called earlier to book a quickie ceremony, and that’s exactly what they got. No Elvis impersonator, no Johnny Cash stand-in, no Vegas theme package of mobsters, or starlets, or showgirls. At the end of the two-minute ceremony, the officiant said the words Brent had longed to hear years ago. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

No one needed to tell him that twice. He laced his fingers through Shannon’s hair, and dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her softly at first, savoring the sweet taste of her lips, memorizing every second of the first kiss with his wife.

Mrs. Shannon Nichols.

The name played in his head, and it was so fucking perfect, so damn sexy, and so everything he’d ever wanted in his life. In mere moments, the kiss climbed the heat scale as he kissed her furiously, and she tangled a hand in his hair, consuming his lips with her fire too.

He kissed her harder, even as the officiant clapped and cheered and wedding music played from the chapel.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He opened his eyes to see her cell phone held in one outstretched hand. He broke the kiss.

“I know you love selfies of us, so this is your first wedding present from your bride. Our first picture as husband and wife.”

“I love it, Mrs. Shannon Nichols,” he said in a low dirty growl in her ear. “Now, I need to fuck my wife for the first time.”

“Then put on your seatbelt, handsome. I see a parking spot over there that’s got our name written all over it.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Nichols?”

“Yes. Those names,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Love those names.”

A minute later, he pulled into the farthest spot in the lot, away from other cars and lights. In a quick tango they’d practiced years ago in college, he moved to the passenger seat, lowered it, and lay back, bringing her on top of him.

He reached into his back pocket and proffered a condom. “Now I get why you’re so particular about them.”

“Some day I won’t ask you to use one.”

“Maybe someday soon. But for now, you should really ride your husband hard. Because we have ten years of lost sex to make up for.”

“We’re going to be pretty busy,” she said, her eyes sparkling with equal parts naughtiness and love, then with heat and want, as he hiked her skirt to her waist.

“My beautiful wife,” he said, as he brushed his fingertips along the front of her white panties. She trembled into his touch. He traveled lower, his fingers on a luxurious path to her center. Her mouth fell open in a sexy gasp as he felt the first evidence of her desire. “Hmmm. Seems marrying me turns you on.”

“Nothing has turned me on more,” she said, her breath already coming fast.

He unzipped his jeans, yanked her panties to the side and handed her the condom. “Put it on me,” he told her, as he held tight to her hips.

She opened the condom and rolled it onto his erection. He couldn’t believe it had only been twenty-four hours since he’d been inside her. It felt like forever. But as he lowered her, he savored both the intensity of sliding into her gorgeous body, and the sweet, blissful knowledge, that he had a lifetime ahead of him to be with her like this.

His wife.

She took her time, rising up and down, and swiveling her hips in a way that drove him wild. He watched her, raking his gaze over her face, her body, her hips. She was his now, completely his. He reached for her hair, threading his fingers into her strands, pulling her on top of him.

“Closer,” he said on a groan. “I need more of you.”

He dropped his hands to her ass, and gripped her tight as he moved her up and down, the friction, the heat, bringing them both to the edge. She rocked faster, harder, her hands grappling with his hair, her breathing turning frantic.

She said his name in the most desperate, ecstatic voice he’d ever heard, and it sent them both over the edge.

After, he wrapped his arms around her, her heart beating fast against his chest, her cheeks flushed. “Come home with me tonight, Mrs. Nichols.”

“Tonight? Just tonight?”

“Every night,” he said, as he smacked her ass. “Get your stuff. You’re moving in with me.”

She shot him a pouty look. “Why your home?”

“Why not my home?” he countered.

“Actually, I don’t care if it’s your home or mine. I just want to be with you. Plus, I hear you have a pretty good dishwasher.”

She went home with him. It had only taken him more than a decade to carry her over the threshold, but all those years of missing her were worth it that night.