Page 74 of The Game Plan
I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing across her skin. She melts into my touch as I lean down and kiss her temple. Sav’s fingers slip into the collar of my shirt, pulling me closer until she’s kissing me in a way that has my stomach flipping. She tastes like lemon andmine.
“C’mon,” she murmurs against my lips, which has me pulling away. My brow furrows as I watch her lips form a sexy little smirk. “Take me to bed, husband.”
Husband.
Holy fuck me.
My cock has never jumped to life faster. The way her sparkling doe eyes stare up at me. The sexy-mixed-with-tired voice saying those five words. I nearly let a growl escape as I inhale slowly. My hard dick strains against my zipper. I ache to be inside her. To feel her wrapped around me, pulling me deeper into the heat of her body.
Savannah flips the lock and takes my hand, leading me down the hall. It feels like miles before we step over the threshold of my room. The quiet is heavy, broken only by the pounding of our hearts as anticipation builds.
My fingers trail up her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Across her collarbone, making her shiver. Up her neck, slender and begging to be held—but I won’t. Not yet.
With my thumb and forefinger gripping her chin, I tilt her head up. “Still tired?”
“Not anymore.” It’s the only thing I need to hear as my tongue plunges inside her mouth. She grips my hair, pulling me tighter. Teeth nipping, tongues dueling, we both give in to the moment.
I slip a hand up her back and clasp the zipper of her dress. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, the zipper gives way, inch by inch, buildingthe anticipation of getting her naked. With her zipper undone, I trail my fingers over her spine before pushing the fabric away and helping it fall to the floor. I’m thankful for the bright moonlight through my cracked blinds that gives me enough light to see all of her.
Still fully clothed, I drop to my knees. My fingertips grip the light blue panties she’s wearing as I slide them down her legs.
I hum. “So beautiful, Peach.”
“Grant,” she gasps, begging for more.
I help her step out of her panties and place open-mouthed kisses up her legs before leaning forward and placing a kiss at her center.
My mouth salivates as I inhale her scent, my cock thickening almost painfully. Before I have a chance to taste her, Savannah finds my hair. Her grip tightens, pulling my head back until I’m looking at her. Desire swirls in her irises, and it makes me weak to see how desperate she is for me. That, out of all the men in the world, she’s chosen me. My touch turns her on.
“Make love to me, Grant.”
At her soft declaration, I stand. One hand grips her cheek while the other helps lead her down onto my mattress.
And I make sweet love to my wife. It’s slow and unhurried. Loving and tender. The last time was wild and frenzied, but this time, it’s gentle and full of emotion. She arches under me, clings to me, wraps herself around me like I’m the only steady thing she’s ever known.
I worship her the way she deserves.
I promise her security while she promises me the world.
Two days.
Two days have passed since I became Mrs. Grant Campbell. I still can’t believe that I’m a wife, and Grant pulled off the most epic ceremony and intimate reception. I guess it’s true what they say; everyone has a weak spot. Turns out, I’m his.
When he proposed such an outlandish idea, I thought he was crazy. The kind of certifiable that gets you committed. And maybe I’m as crazy because the more he talked and laid out all the benefits, the less foolish everything felt.
Or maybe childhood trauma has fucked me up more than I thought.
I spent yesterday in a blissed-out fog, the kind of exhaustion that’s not physical but emotional. My morning was spent on FaceTime with my aunt, thanks to my cousin’s big mouth. Aunt Bethany was less than thrilled about my elopement. Not because she doesn’t want me happy, but because she worries. She always has—both as my aunt and as the mother figure I’ve leaned on my whole life. Once she was convinced this was what I wanted—and that I hadn’t been abducted by aliens—she demanded pictures.
Thankfully, Bret snapped more pictures than I even realized.
With that conversation out of the way, I moved on to the mental to-do list that felt suffocating. Brynn had shipped a small box of Cleo’s clothes. I washed everything, folded onesies and tiny socks that felt too small for a human. Diapers and wipes are stacked neatly in caddies for quick, easy changes. I rearranged part of my room to make sure baby girl had plenty of space. Everything was done in preparation for her arrival.
Our daughter.
She’s his now, too, and the relief that brings with it is something I can’t explain. My daughter will grow up with the love of a man whochoseher. We’ll both end up with a man whochoosesus when the world is full of people who wouldn’t.
And with that, my mind drifted to Friday night. The soft murmurs spoke against my skin. The promises of our future. The way he held me while dancing to one of my favorite songs. The love shared between us.
