Page 68 of Walkoff Wedding

Usually I’m the one with the incessant blush constantly staining my cheeks, but this time, a hint of pink colors his, and he grins in response. “Thank you. I just figured that you’re probably tired of living off Jack’s and microwavable stuff.”

“Maybe a littttttle?” I tease, squinching my nose.

His laugh is gravelly as it carries around the kitchen, making my own lips curve into a wide smile.

“That’s fair. And plus… I can’t keep up these abs if I keep eating pizza every day. It’s a tough job. Sacrifices must be made.” He brings his hand to his stomach and pats, tossing me a wink.

I try not to let my eyes travel to his T-shirt-covered abdomen, but apparently, when it comes to him, my self-control is nonexistent.

Entirely his fault.

Now that I’ve seen what’s beneath that shirt, I can’t help the image that comes flooding back from the day in the hallway where I counted each of those muscles in slow perusal, and suddenly, I’m the one blushing.

“We should… talk,” I blurt out, unable to hold the thoughts in my head inside any longer. “About last night.”

God, I probably sound so stupid, but he just nods, leaning in toward me. “We should.”

“About what happened.”

Grant nods again, his eyes lingering intently on mine.

“W-what did last night… mean for us? Where do we go from here? I feel silly asking that, but my brain hasn’t shut off since, and honestly, it’s exhausting, and I’m probably doing everything wrong, and I’m second-guessing everything. I know I have no clue what I’m do?—”

Grant reaches for me over the table, sliding his big hand along my nape, and pulls me toward him, sealing his lips over mine and swallowing all of my rambling words. They die on my tongue as my eyes flutter shut, and I whimper against his mouth.

Far too quickly, he tears his lips away and peers down at me, heat flaring in his gaze. “Does that answer your question? I want you, Addie. Not only because you’re my wife but because I can’t stop fucking thinking about you. I can’t stop replaying how you felt last night or how perfect it was to hear you come apart, for me. Baby, I barely touched you. I barely even saw you, and yet it was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Me? The girl with absolutely no experience in… any of this? He wants me?

His fingers brush tenderly along my nape as he continues, thankfully, because I think I’m too stunned to speak. “If you want to stop, we stop. If you want to keep going, then we’ll keep going, but it’s your decision. You tell me. But Addie, I do know that I want you—there’s no question about it. Not for me. And if you want me too, I don’t see why our arrangement, our marriage, can’t be mutually beneficial in other ways too…”

A beat of silence hangs in the air between us, but I already know the answer to what he’s asking. To what he’s proposing.

Because I want my husband.

Even though I’m nervous and terrified that I won’t measure up to what he’s used to because of my inexperience. But after last night… I can’t deny what I feel with him. I would not only be lying to him but to myself.

“I… want this. You, I mean.” My voice is a whisper, barely recognizable even to me, and when I lift my gaze back to his, his dark eyes flicker with heat.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Then we’re on the same page, and thank fuck for that because I’ve been dying to touch you again.”

My heart races in my chest as a shiver passes through me.

“You know what I love?” he rasps, leaning forward and dragging the rough pad of his thumb along my bottom lip with a look that has warmth radiating through my body, heating my insides with nothing more than his molten stare.

“W-what?”

My throat works as he repeats the motion, hunger flaring in his eyes once more.

“That I can tell exactly what you’re thinking, and you don’t have to say a word.” He reaches beneath the table and grasps the edge of my chair, hauling it toward him so quickly that I yelp.

I blink, trying to calm my erratic breathing and pounding heart, but the smile he gives me does nothing to help.

“When you’re nervous or… turned on, this goes wild.” His fingers brush along the curve of my jaw, sliding lower until his thumb ghosts over my wildly fluttering pulse. Then, he trails his fingers back to my cheeks as he leans in, pressing soft, featherlight kisses along them before dipping his head to my ear and whispering, “And you turn the prettiest shade of pink, almost as pretty as your perfect little pu?—”

My hand flies out, covering his mouth before he can finish his sentence. I feel him smirking against my palm as his brow arches, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

Oh. My. God.

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