Page 26 of Kneeling to Candy

Hold up! Why am I automatically assuming she has no memory of the wedding? She remembered us having sex last night. And from everything I know about women, they have way better memories than most guys. Perhaps I’m sweating over nothing and she knows we’re hitched.

That would mean she’s good with being tied to me. Hence, her asking me to join her in the shower for a little action before we hit the road to head back home like it was no big deal.

My heart does that weird somersault thing when I get excited over anything related to Candy. Hope consumes me, praying she’s happy to be my wife.

Last night when we returned to our room, I sobered and was brave enough to drop to my knees and beg her to have her way with me.

The way her eyes shined when I knelt before her to say, “Take me however you want, but take me and be mine,” I’ll never forget the determination that swept through her face. She was bold, in control, and it was fucking glorious.

The sex…nothing can compare to what we shared. It was everything and more—the start of our forever.

I need to play it cool, join her in the shower, and ask her exactly what she remembers from last night.

As I rise from the edge of the bed, I quickly scoop up all the evidence—the Ring Pop, the marriage certificate, and my cell. No reason to have this out, in case she has a shit memory like me. I stuff the candy in my duffle bag, fold up the marriage license, and slide it to the inside of my leather cut, along with my cell.

Running my hands over my head to settle my rattled nerves, I take a calming breath. Time to man up. I head into the bathroom, where my wife waits for me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CANDY

Holy shit. It finally happened. Butch and I banged each other’s brains out.

Shell-shocked, I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. Hot water blasts out of the shower nozzle behind me, filling the swanky hotel bathroom with steam. The warm mist slowly clouds the mirror. However, the haze isn’t enough to conceal my flushed face, tousled hair, and puffy lips from the lovemaking I had only a few hours earlier with my biker boy.

I barely recognize the wide-eyed woman smiling back at me with wonder. Then again, I can’t recall a time when I’ve been completely jubilant. I’ve had moments of happiness, but they were fleeting. And I certainly never caught my reflection during one of those few times.

For the first time in my life, I’m giddy, and it has everything to do with the biker on the other side of the bathroom door. The same man who dropped to his knees, begged me to order him around, and fucked me all the ways I wanted until our bodies collapsed in a heap around each other.

I’m not sure what spurred us into action—the details are a little foggy as I search my mind and drift back to the memory.

“Goddamn keycard,” Butch grumbles, struggling to open the hotel door with one hand while holding me around the waist with the other.

I have no clue how we made it to our room, or where we were prior to coming back to the hotel. Doesn’t matter either. All that matters is how close I am to Butch.

Snug against his body, I catch a whiff of his cologne—his natural musk spiced with smoked cloves.

Gaaawd! He’s delicious.

Eager to breathe him in, I bury my nose in the crook of his neck right above his scar. “Mmm, you’re yummy. Can I taste you?”

The keycard slips from Butch’s grip, falling to the floor. He quickly bends to swipe it off the ground, his hold on me tightening, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.

He pops back upright like a spring, earnestly fumbling with the lock mechanism. I nibble on his earlobe, quietly laughing at his fervor. Butch groans when I suck on the delicate tissue of his lobe. His rough moan sends a rush of heat between my legs, dampening my thong and slicking my thighs.

“Butch,” I taunt between teasing nips on his neck. “Your pulse is racing. Are you feeling okay?”

The door wildly swings open, hitting the wall with a loud thunk. He yanks us into the room, making me laugh out loud when he kicks it closed and pushes my back against the door.

“Candy…” Butch groans, grinding his pelvis against mine. The hard bulge of his denim-clad cock digs into my stomach, pressed between us.

My lips curl into what I hope is a sultry smirk. I grab the sides of his stubble face in my hands, not aggressively, but enough to get his attention. His gold-flecked, hazel colored eyes search mine intently.

“Nu-uh. Did I say you could pulverize your monster cock against me?”

He responds with a low growl in his chest—he’s flustered and aroused.

Good. I want him wound tight. It makes the sex more intense. And I intend for our first time to be the best damn sex of his life. Mine, too.

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