Page 79 of Bite Your Tongue

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Six, huh?”

“You know I work fast,” he drawls, his eyes darting to Gemma. “Can you help me out?”

She rolls her eyes, sighing. “I’ll tell everyone you’re off taking pictures with the photographer and that you’ll return shortly.” She raises her eyebrows. “But don’t take forever—do you hear me?”

Patting Ryder’s chest, I giggle. “Trust me, he doesn’t need long.”

“Wow, that’s hurtful,” Ryder says, shaking his head but grabbing my hand. “But, yeah … I don’t need much time.”

As he starts to tug me toward the exit, I yank my arm back to slow him down. “Well, don’t make it obvious that we’re going to do the nasty in the middle of our reception!” I hiss lowly. “That’ll make me look bad in front of my old-ass relatives.”

“We’re married now; it’s allowed.” He grins back at me. “And before you asksays who, the answer is me. I say so.”

We got married next to a lighthouse on the beach and decided to have our reception in a field down the road that overlooks the ocean. We could have used the inside part of the venue if it rained, but luckily, it’s been beautiful out for days.

When it came time to plan our wedding, I was so drawn to getting married near a lighthouse. It seems so cliché for a girl who was raised along the coast of Maine to tie the whole nautical theme into her big day, I’m sure, but whenever I envisioned our day, I kept seeing the ocean. Which is kind of ironic because Ryder is shamelessly scared of the sea.

I wanted this to be his day, too, so I didn’t push the wholemarried by the seathing on him. I told him we could even go back to his hometown in Kentucky and get married there. Thankfully, he told me that Maine was our home. So, after I showed him some venue ideas, surprisingly, we settled on a beautiful lighthouse with a long dock, where we could say our vows, and a large field beside the coastline to put up a huge tent for our reception.

Hands down, it’s been the most beautiful day ever, though I may be biased, obviously.

As he tugs me through the crowd, I smile politely, saying hello to everyone we pass, but we both pretend to act the part that we’re on a mission of some sort. Gemma is going to cover for us, but I know we don’t have much time.

Exiting the tent, he keeps my hand tight in his and grins over at me. “Look at you, Mrs. Horny Pants, leaving her own reception just to fuck her husband in the lighthouse.”

“This wasn’t my—” I stop, gazing from him to the lighthouse in front of us. “Wait. You want to doitin there?” I wave my free hand toward the large structure. “Seriously? What if someone comes in?”

Brushing me off, he chuckles. “Relax, wifey, nobody lives in this one.” He gives me a wide-eyed stare. “Well, aside from the ghosts, I’m sure.”

The buzz of the party going on in the tent grows fainter, the farther away we get. My dress rustles around as I walk, taking slow and controlled steps. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks of the coastline and the smell of the salty ocean makes my heart flutter.

Home.

As we get to the steps of the lighthouse, I stop and stare up at it. “It’s probably locked, Ryder.”

“It was,” he says matter-of-factly. “Until I broke in earlier today and left it unlocked.”

Giving me a tug, he starts up the stairs, but when he looks down at my dress, he suddenly frowns. “Oh shit. Sorry, baby. I’m a dumbass for forgetting that it’s probably not easy, walking around in that.” Leaning forward, he scoops me up in one solid swoop and holds me in his arms. Pausing for a moment on the stairs, he smiles. “Goddamn, you’re so pretty.”

“I can’t decide if you’re being sweet to me or if you want me to give you a blow job since you know my dress is going to be impossible to take off and on in our allotted time,” I say, amused.

“You can suck my dick later, baby,” he says confidently. “Right now, all I want to do is fuck my wife. And don’t worry; you won’t even have to take off your dress, sweetheart.”

His eyes stay locked with mine as he takes the last step and pulls the door open to the lighthouse. It opens hard, and it smells like my grandmother’s attic in here—which isn’t a good thing. It’s dark, eerie, and a whole lot of creepy. But I don’t stop him from taking us farther inside the darkness because … well, I really want Ryder to make love to me.

As my husband.

“Ryder,” Saylor whispers, “I want this too. So bad. But how the hell is this going to work? We can’t see in here. And my dress is so tight that—I’m not shitting you—I can hardly even breathe.”

“Trust me, Brat, it’ll work,” I utter, though I’m a little in over my head too.

Fucking your wife in a puffy, long, tight-ass wedding dress is no easy feat. At all. But doing that while you’re in a creepy, dark lighthouse, trying to keep her dress from getting dirtyandbeing on a time crunch?

Impossible.

Well, for most men. Not me.

I’m not leaving this old-ass building until I’ve buried my dick inside my wife’s pussy and my cum deep inside of her heat.

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