Page 8 of Wedding Whitney
He could do that any time, with his travel schedule with the Blizzard, and it makes no sense for me to stress about things like this. Maybe it’s naïve, but we fought hard to find our way back to each other, so it serves no purpose to think about that kind of thing.
I sip my tea at the island in the kitchen, resting my chin on my hand and staring out at nothing as I wait for him. Part of me wishes we were home in Anchorage, playing with our black lab puppy, Taz, and getting ready for the honeymoon of a lifetime. I love my grandmother enough to indulge her in the big wedding, but it’s already getting tiresome.
I hear a step behind me and turn, smiling at the picture my fiancé makes. He’s a little sunburnt and tousled, but as handsome as ever. I tilt up my face for a kiss as he approaches me, and his lips skim mine gently.
“I missed you today,” I whisper against his mouth.
“I missed you too.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Wanna go upstairs and get naked?”
“Yes. Very much.”
I abandon my tea, and we hurry up the stairs as quietly as possible, locking the door to my room behind us. I’m wearing nothing but a tiny silk chemise and panties under my robe, and he makes short work of taking them off. I fumble with his belt buckle; it’s a jumble of limbs and mouths and pent-up frustration as he pushes me against the wall.
“I fucking hate sleeping without you,” he growls against my mouth.
“Me too.” I yank at his khakis impatiently. “Now, Jake, I need you now!”
He kicks off his pants, lifts one of my legs, and thrusts inside of me, raising me off the floor.
“Jake…” My voice is a breathy whisper.
“Mine,” he grunts, pushing into me again. “Say it.”
“Yours.” My eyes fall closed, and I grip his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he pounds into me.
It isn’t like Jake to be so rough, but it’s kind of exciting too, and I lose myself in him. Fast or slow, gentle or rough, everything else stops when we’re together this way. This is our calm in any storm, the moments of tenderness and passion and pure need.
I must have made a sound of distress, because he suddenly slows down, his eyes on mine as he slowly thrusts back in.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Mm, yes. Just a little slower. I’ve missed you the last few days.”
“Sorry. I’m here now.”
We kiss and touch and make love as if we have all the time in the world, just like when we’re home in our own bed, our bodies moving together as we build up to a crescendo.
He knows every movement and touch that will get me off, and every time we touch is better than the last. The coiling deep in my belly is the first sign everything is about to spiral for me, and I tilt my head up to capture his mouth. He drowns out my cries of ecstasy as his tongue swirls with mine, his orgasm right on the heels of mine.
We finish almost as quickly as we started, and I chuckle against his shoulder.
“That might be the quietest I’ve ever been when we make love.”
He dips his head, a faint smile on his lips. “If I couldn’t make you scream, then it probably wasn’t my finest hour.”
“Any time you’re touching me, that’s your finest hour.”
“I love you, Whitney.”
“I love you too.” I pause, wrapping my arms around him. “Do you want to tell me what happened today?”
“Yeah.” He slowly lowers me to the ground. “I really do, because I feel like your brother is going to be a problem.”
“What happened?”
“Can we get into bed first?”
“Sure.” We crawl beneath the covers, and he tells me everything.
