Page 58 of Yours, Now and Always
“Fuck, I swear that mouth of yours gets filthier by the day.”
“That’s because I have a filthy husband who’s teaching me his ways.”
After one last kiss, he cradles my jaw and rubs his thumb slowly over my bottom lip. “I’ll make you tea tonight. But after the wedding, the only thing I’m putting you to bed with is my cock.”
I watch him go, heart full and legs still shaking. Because somehow I married a man who says things likethat...and then makes me tea.
CHAPTER 20
AMELIA
Iwake up on my wedding day with cramps, bloating, and the distinct feeling that my body is trying to break up with me. If this is my next feminine era that Marin mentioned yesterday, I’m absolutely not interested.
I’m immediately in a bad mood, before I even open my eyes fully. My period’s not due, but this is definitely period-style pain.
Surely not.
Not on my wedding day.
The universe wouldn’t be so cruel, would she?
I’m in the middle of that thought when my phone vibrates on the nightstand with a text message. And then another. And another.
It has to be Tim. No one else bugs me with rapid-fire texts like this.
“Ugh,” I groan and then mutter to myself, “I’m not accepting any brothers in my next life.”
Gage shifts behind me, tightening his arm around my waist. His chest is warm against my back and his thigh slots between mine as his hand curves over my stomach.
He’s hard.
Of course he is.
I breathe through a cramp. He breathes against my neck, pressing his lips to my skin while his hand slides lower.
I grab his wrist mid-drift. “I wouldn’t do that if you value your life.”
I imagine most husbands would pause if their wife said that with the tone I just used. Not mine. He takes it as a challenge.
He dips his mouth to my ear, voice all dark silk and terrible decisions. “Careful, Princess. I like it when you threaten me.”
My uterus cramps and practically screamsUnless that hand’s holding a heat pad, tell him to back the fuck up.
I roll onto my back and drag his hand up to my waist as my gaze meets his. “Okay, but what if we didn’t? What if we just...stared at the ceiling and waited for me to die?”
Gage props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with amusement. “Is that code for something?”
“Yes. It’s code for my insides are staging a rebellion and your dick’s not invited.”
The corners of his mouth lifts. He thinks I’m being dramatic. Which, like, fair. I usually am.
I pull a face and kick off the covers dramatically, as if they’re responsible for my current state. “I’m hot. And cold. And everything hurts. I’m probably dying.”
“From what?”
“The catastrophic burden of owning a vagina.”
Gage’s amused silence is louder than anything he could say. He watches me like I’m his morning entertainment.
