Page 91 of Love.V2
A year to the day that Tess left me, I made her mine forever.
It turned out when you dated “literally for-fucking-ever,” as Gracie put it, not only did a lot of peoplewantto attend your wedding, but they felt obligated to travel. Even if the wedding was scheduled on a random Tuesday.
“It’s thirteen years in the making, man. We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Mac had assured me, even though I’d told him he and Lexi were under no obligation to schlep their four kids and a babysitter up to Chicago for a wedding. Lexi had told me to shut up and then convinced me to upgrade their tickets to first class.
The ceremony was small, just me and Tess, my family, and some of our closest friends at the Chicago courthouse. Mac stood by me while Grant and Gracie provided a necessary buffer between my parents. Next to Tess, Vanna, Lexi, Meery, Lainey, and Jasmine wore dresses of all different colors and styles, and everyone was so happy even our stoic and seasoned officiant, Nigel, looked a little misty towards the end.
We’d kissed and laughed while everyone around us cheered loud enough that a bailiff came in to make sure everything was okay.
Later, several hundred close friends and colleagues erupted in cheers when we walked into the museum we’d rented for the reception. Thecaterers graciously, with very confused faces, allowed Tess to tap the keg.
In the sea of family, friends, co-workers, pottery classmates, and book club members, I never lost sight of my wife.
My wife.
“I think my feet are going to fall off,” Tess moaned, tucked against me as I carried her across the threshold of our hotel suite. The next day, I’d make her hop back into my arms to do this again at the loft we were renting in Logan Park. It was bright and open, with exposed brick and original beams and enough windows that I got a little self-conscious walking through the living room in a towel, even though the landlord assured us they had a reflective privacy coating.
“Well, that’s what happens when you spend nearly four hours dancing on a concrete floor,” I told her, lowering her to the bed.
“I had my Chucks on. I thought that would help.”
“I’m sure it did,” I muttered, taking in the sight of my wife sprawled on a pristine white comforter, decked out in scuffed, bubblegum-pink Chuck Taylors and a short, lacy dress with sleeves that covered her arms. She was perfect, cheeks flushed with happiness and wine. “Surely your toes would be bleeding by now if you’d had heels on.”
“What’s that?”
“Hmm?” I was too busy visually tracing the hem of her dress to look where she was pointing. I’d wanted her out of that thing since I’d seen her in it this afternoon. As she wiggled to a seat, the skirt inched up further and further. It was a helluva show.
“On the cart right there?” She brushed past me to look at something in the room. I immediately mourned the loss of her thighs, but usedthe opportunity to unbutton my shirt. I’d lost my jacket and tie hours ago. My shoes went next.
“Look what Henry sent.” She showed me a bottle of heart-stoppingly nice champagne, and the note that accompanied it.
Wish we could be there. You love birds come see us soon. - Henry & Beth.
“I wish they could have been here,” Tess said, kneeling over me as she examined the bottle. I pulled her into my arms.
“Me too. But we’ll see them in a few months.” We were already planning a trip to Nashville for Gracie and Grant’s fall break. My father, of all people, had suggested a family staycation. Go figure.
He wasn’t winning any dad of the year prizes yet, but he was trying, and had told me twice today that he was proud of me. Us. Even Tess had thrown her arms around him when she’d overheard.
“In the meantime,” I continued, gathering Tess up even closer, pressing her down to feel my growing cock. “At least he sends good gifts.”
“Have we had enough champagne?” she asked, eyeing the bottle.
“Is there such a thing as enough champagne on your own wedding night?” I tilted her chin with my thumb, pressing the open bottle to her lips. “Drink up, Wife.”
Her eyes sparked at the new title, and she took a sip, then another, giggling when I didn’t pull it back. Bubbles spilled down her neck, and I chased them with my tongue, making her moan.
I loved seeing her like this. Loose and happy and hot. It made me remember all the sloppy-drunk college sex we’d had after football gamesand the scorching, could-barely-make-it-through-the-door couplings after a night out in Nashville.
The new, soul-deep, heart-pounding ways we made love now. Now that I knew every inch of her. Not just her skin, but her heart, her soul. Every corner and hidden shadowy place.
I pulled her closer. She tasted like wine. Her hips wiggled on my lap as she gasped my name.
“I’m thinking about all the times I’ve fucked you,” I admitted, skimming teeth down her jaw as she pried the bottle out of my hands. She set it somewhere on the ground. I was too busy working her dress up over her ass to see. Or care.
“Allthe times?” Her breath hitched, and she picked back up where I’d started on my buttons, prying my belt loose shortly after. “That’s too many times to remember.”
“But not enough times, in general.” I pulled her dress over her head. She snorted, and I grinned when it got stuck and she had to shimmy out of it. I stopped smiling very quickly at the way her tits bounced. Her bra hit the floor next. She winced as the strap slid over her wrist.
