CHAPTER THREE
LOU
We’re married. I can’t believe it.
I spread my fingers and look down at the ring on my hand. Dinner went by in a blur, and now that we’re back in our room, the whole thing feels a little like a dream.
“Beautiful,” Ward whispers behind me.
“It is, isn’t it?” I say, letting the simple gold band catch the light.
He grabs me so quickly that I don’t have time to do anything but squeak as he scoops me up in his arms.
“You know I wasn’t talking about the ring,” he says into my hair, and I can hear the grin in his voice.
I tilt my face up and kiss his neck. “Yes, I do.”
He carries me over to the bed. We’ve just put Ramona down for the night, and that means we’ve got some business to continue. Ward lays me gently on the comforter and lowers himself beside me. There’s a devilish look in his eyes and one side of his mouth is raised in that lopsided smile of his. Some of his auburn hair has flopped across his face, and he pushes it back with one hand. Despite his urgency back in the dining room, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry right now.
“Do you remember our first time?” he says, still grinning as he reaches out and grabs one of my curls in his fingers.
“I do.” It was out in the maze, almost exactly the spot where we just said our vows. I shiver as the memory comes back. Until that night, I’d never known anything like the pleasure I experienced with Ward. It changed me. It still changes me, every time we come together.
“That was it for me,” he says. “After that night, there never could have been anyone else for me.”
“Or me,” I whisper.
He props himself up on his elbows above me, and though his grin has fallen a little, the way he’s looking at me now makes my insides twist. I let my eyes slide down his body. He’s always made me feel so small, so delicate, and never more so than when he holds his hard, muscled body over mine, the way he’s doing now.
“I mean it, Lou,” he says. “If anything ever happened to you… that would be it. I don’t think I could go on.”
My heart flutters as his face drops close to mine.
“I’d die too if you were ever taken from me.” His lips brush against my cheek. “And then I’d find Death and fight him for you.”
I laugh softly. There’s no doubt in my mind he’d do just that.
“I’m yours in life and in death and anywhere beyond,” I whisper, running my hands up his back. “But I don’t want to talk about death tonight.”
He pulls his face away from mine again, and some of the humor has returned to his eyes. “I can agree with that. There are definitely a few earthly pleasures I wouldn’t mind enjoying right now.” He grinds his hips against me.
I groan and dig my fingers into his back. “I’ve been waiting all night for this.”
“You have no idea,” he says, his voice practically a growl as he hauls himself back and undoes his belt. “I was hard as a fucking rock all through dinner.”
“Mm. Then maybe I can help you with that.” I shift beneath him, repositioning myself so that he rests between my thighs. And then I grab his face and pull him down into a kiss.
I will never tire of Ward’s kisses, not for as long as I live. Every one is like a new breath of life, like a shot of energy and hunger straight into my bones, and I open my lips beneath his, ready to take everything he has to give me. My hands tangle in his hair as his mouth sinks down on mine.
He groans against my lips. His hands are tugging at my dress, trying to pull it up my legs—which isn’t entirely effective, considering I’m stuck beneath him. Normally I’d let him take his time, but tonight, I don’t have the patience. I need him now.
I wrench my lips away from his. “Roll off me for a second. I’ll need your help getting out of this dress.”
He props himself up slightly, but he doesn’t get off me. Instead, he shakes his head, that wicked grin stretching across his face again.
“Oh, no,” he says. “You’re not getting out of this dress. Not yet.”
He moves his hips just enough to allow him to pull the skirt up my legs. Though it’s summer, the air feels strangely cool against my bare skin, and I quiver slightly as he lets his fingers trail up the inside of my thigh.
“I’ve spent all evening imagining the things I’m going to do to you in this dress,” he says. His blue eyes have darkened, and there’s a rough quality to his voice that wasn’t there even a moment ago. “I’m planning to make sure it’s good and properly used before this night is over.”
“Are you, now?” I say.
His grin widens, but instead of teasing me back, he falls and attacks my mouth again.
I throw my arms around his neck and hook my legs—now free of the confines of the skirt—around his. One of his hands is still wedged between us, sliding up my inner thigh, and I gasp against his mouth as his fingers slide across the lacy undergarments I bought especially for tonight.
We’re married. It still feels so surreal. I never could have imagined my life would be like this, that I’d end up here—especially after some of the things I’ve been through these past few years. I didn’t know who I was. What I wanted. But now I do—I’m Ward’s wife. Ramona’s mom. I’m here to love them and protect them. To give them everything they need. To be the best version of myself for them.
That is what Ward has given me—he’s taught me who I am deep down inside. Before him, I always felt like I was playing a role—first I was the rich Cunningham daughter, then the selfless volunteer on the other side of the globe, and then, most recently, the wild fugitive. Heck, I even made up a false identity to get a job at Huntington Manor. My whole life was just one act after another, and never did I feel like I was ever just me.
Until Ward. With Ward I’m Lou, only Lou. I don’t have to put on an act or pretend to be anyone else. I don’t think I could pretend anymore, even if I wanted to. It’s not just that he’d see right through it—which he would, without a doubt—but he just has a way of bringing out the truth. He has that sort of magic over me.
I tighten my arms and legs around him. He doesn’t stand a chance—before he even realizes what I’m doing, I’ve rolled him over onto his back with me on top of him.
He doesn’t seem to mind. He laughs and kisses me again, nipping at my bottom lip as his hand once again finds its way up the back of my thigh beneath my skirt.
My sound of pleasure is muffled against his lips as his fingers dig into me. One of his fingers slips beneath the lace of my panties, and I’m so distracted by his tantalizing touch on my bare skin that I don’t notice his other hand drifting up my body until it’s too late. His fingers slip beneath my arm and wiggle against my armpit.
I can’t help it—I’ve always been ticklish, but Ward has it down to an art. He knows exactly where and how to touch me, and I burst into laughter as my nerves go haywire.
He’s unrelenting. Now his other hand has joined in, tickling me wherever he can reach, and I’m helpless, twisting and contorting as I try to get away. And laughing so hard I can hardly catch my breath.
“Ward!” I manage between laughs. “I’m… gonna… kill… ahhh!” The giggles take over again, and now he has me exactly where he wants me. He twists and rolls us both back over, returning us to our original position with him on top of me.
“Not… fair…,” I protest, but I’m weak beneath his hands. He’s laughing just as hard as I am, enjoying every minute of this, and I know I only have one line of defense.
I have to turn the tables.
He’s ready for my attack, but not ready enough. My small hands slip easily beneath his arms, and soon he’s nearly as helpless as I am. Our hands are everywhere, fingers wiggling, and we’re both laughing so hard that the bed is shaking. Tears start to leak out of my eyes.
Finally, I see an opening again. I hit just the right spot on him, and that gives me the opportunity to push him over once more onto his back. Then I pin him down.
His hands immediately go to my waist. He’s stopped tickling me—instead, he grips me firmly at the hips.
I stop, too. My chest is heaving as I sit up, and between my legs his own body rises and falls heavily as he tries to catch his breath. For a moment, we just stay like that—me straddling him, him gripping me, both of us staring into each other’s eyes as we gasp in mouthfuls of air—and everything seems to still. My heart pounds in my ears. Ward licks his lips.
I love this man so much it hurts. Hurts physically—and not just from laughing too hard.
I lean down slowly, never breaking his gaze. Much of my hair has escaped its pins, and loose curls fall down around my face. The ribbon that Lily helped me weave through my locks dangles and drags across Ward’s chest as my face gets closer and closer to his.
I love the scent of him—of his breath, of his sweat, of his hair—and I inhale deeply as I close that last space between us. His hands tighten on my waist, but otherwise, he doesn’t move. Instead, he waits for me.
The first brush of my lips against his is light, delicate. The second is a little deeper. The third, deeper still. He returns my kisses, but he doesn’t try to take charge. Instead, he lets me lead the way. He matches the passion of my kisses but never pushes beyond what I’m giving.
I continue to give him pieces of my desire—a touch here, a whisper there, a lingering sigh of a kiss to his bottom lip—but never too much. If I let the full force of my hunger free, there will be no controlling it. Instead, like this, I can give him the truth of these beautiful feelings one kiss at a time. I love you. I need you. You’re everything.
Finally, he moves too. One of his hands leaves my waist and drops between us, going once again for his pants. My mouth continues to caress his one kiss at a time. I love you. I’m yours. Take everything.
I rise up on my knees, letting him slide his pants down slightly. And then he grabs my lacy underwear and tugs it aside, pulling the crotch out of the way as his other hand guides me gently back down.
He fills me perfectly. My breath catches in my throat as he buries himself, and I sink onto him as deep as our current position allows. My lips fall on his again, and for a moment we both freeze, our mouths pressed together, our breath mingling as our bodies react to the wonder of our joining.
I kiss him once more—I love you—before sitting up. My hands come to rest on his chest, and he grips my hips again as we start to move together.
The motion is soft at first—like a rolling wave—and I feel like we’re both holding back on purpose, letting everything build, afraid to lose the intensity of emotion beneath the strong tide of lust. Our eyes are locked together, and even our breath seems to come in unison.
But slowly, bit by bit, we move faster. The hunger threatens to take over. Our bodies begin to lose patience and the yearning for pleasure starts to drown out everything else. We’re still mostly clothed, and suddenly I need to be touching his skin. My fingers tear open the buttons of his shirt.
His hips are moving more vigorously, his fingers digging deeper into my waist. We’re both gasping for air, and I can feel his heart galloping beneath my palms. It’s nearly as fast as mine.
I rock on top of him, meeting every swell of his hips, reveling in the sweet fullness between my legs. There’s no holding back the tide now.
We move together until I can’t think or breathe, until I don’t know anything but the intoxicating sensation of him moving inside of me again and again and again. And then all at once everything peaks, and I hear myself cry out as my head falls back.
Ward is only a moment behind me. He groans as he empties himself into me, and my body welcomes it. I want everything he has to give me.
When we both come down from the high, he pulls me down into his arms. I’m still straddling him, and he’s still inside of me, but I don’t want to move yet. Instead, I curl up against his chest and press my cheek against his. Our bodies still rise and fall in unison, our breath still in perfect rhythm.
“I love you, Lou,” he murmurs into my hair.
“I love you, too,” I whisper back. “My devilish husband.”
He laughs and tightens his arms around me. “My angelic wife.”
“So I’m the angel in this relationship?” I ask. Considering some of the things I’ve put him through—I wasn’t exactly the saint the tabloids once made me out to be—I’m not sure I deserve that descriptor at all.
“You’re perfect,” he says softly. “And every day with you is heaven. That’s enough of a reason for me.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Don’t start getting all cheesy on me.”
“Mm, I think I’m allowed to be cheesy. At least tonight.” His hands rise to my hair. “You look so beautiful. I just can’t get over it.”
“And you—”
My words are cut off by a sudden shriek coming out of the baby monitor. Apparently Ramona has woken up—and she doesn’t sound happy.
I let out a soft laugh and let my head fall again. For most of Ramona’s life, she’s actually been a pretty good sleeper—or at least better than I was led to expect a baby would be. But I’m not going to lie—some nights have been hell. You never really know when you’re going to get a good night’s sleep or when you’re going to be up every other hour tending to a crying child.
“Let her cry herself out,” Ward says, still playing with my hair.
“Mm,” I agree. We’ve been trying not to coddle her too much, but I’ll admit that it’s still insanely difficult to hear my daughter cry and choose not to do anything about it. I would do anything in the world for her.
“At least she didn’t wake up ten minutes earlier,” Ward says, and though my face is still buried against his neck, I can hear the smile in his voice.
I smile in turn, snuggling my face closer to him. “I’m not sure I even would have heard her.”
We continue to lie there, nestled in each other’s arms, as we wait for Ramona to scream herself out again. But though on some nights that strategy works, it doesn’t look like we’re going to be that lucky tonight.
“I’ll go check on her,” I say, sitting up slowly. It feels like I’m losing something, pulling away from his arms, but I’m not sure I can bear to listen to sweet little Ramona’s cries any longer. Every sob tugs at my heart.
“No,” Ward says. “Let me.”
“But—”
“You checked on her last night. It’s my turn.” He sits up beside me and drops a kiss on my cheek before disentangling himself. “Besides, I want you ready and rested for when I return.”
My lips curl up as I watch him climb off the bed. He tugs his pants up and shoots me one last grin before heading down the hall to her room.
I love this man. I love him so much that every part of me aches.
I grab the baby monitor and flop back on the pillows, listening as Ward—my husband—enters our daughter’s room.
He still sings to her every night when we put her down. And he sings now, lilting a few bars of a lullaby as he tries to comfort her. Some of his songs are ones his mother sang to him. Others are ones he’s made up. A lump rises in my throat as I listen to him through the baby monitor. Little by little, Ramona’s wails start to trail off.
I place the baby monitor back on the nightstand. Ward doesn’t know anything yet, but I’ve been planning a surprise for him. We decided several months ago not to worry about having a honeymoon—between Ramona and the ongoing renovations here at the estate, it seemed impractical, especially considering we wanted there to be as little fuss around our wedding as possible—but over the past few weeks, I’ve been rethinking my position on the matter. Ward’s made a couple of comments this summer about wanting to visit the beach again—something he’d never done before he and I ran off together—and honestly, I miss being on the road with him. Our travels together were brief—and crazy and emotional—but our souls connected on that trip. And I’ve never stopped thinking about it.
I want to plan a trip for us. Something special to celebrate the next phase of our lives together. Ward has given me so much over these past couple of years—now I want to give him something memorable in return.
Ramona has stopped crying. I can still hear Ward singing softly, so he’s probably making sure she’s asleep again before he returns. I close my eyes and listen to the deep tones of his voice. This is everything I ever wanted—a man I love, a beautiful daughter, a place that finally feels like home. What did I ever do to deserve it?
Ward keeps telling me I’m his angel. That I’m perfect. It scares me, hearing that word on his lips. I’m not perfect. Not even close. How can I ever live up to such a word? How can I be the perfect wife to the man who deserves one?
Ward’s singing has stopped, which means he’ll return any second. I sit up, spreading my wedding dress back down around my legs. I don’t know how to be perfect—not even close. But though the very thought brings a knot to my stomach, tonight, at least, I can show him what he means to me one kiss, one touch, at a time.
I love you. I need you. You’re everything.