Page 236 of The Perfect Wrong

Whoa.

My skin tingles so hotly I can feel my searing pulse in my temples.

My new husband takes me by the hand and leads me outside, past the screaming throngs to the limo. We cruise down the Vegas Strip while I’m perched on his lap, dangerously close to the cock I want inside me.

Every time my hand brushes him, he takes my wrist and stops me, shooting me a devilish look.

“Not yet. Good things come to wives who wait,” he says with a terrible wink.

“Tease!” I straddle him. No easy feat in this dress, but somehow I manage, gripping his shoulders for support. “Don’t tell me marriage is softening you up already, bad boy. The Chris I know would hold me down and take me right in the back of this car.”

“It’s called being responsible—and your old man would never forgive us if we skipped the reception. Besides, we both know I’ll knock you up sooner if you’re on fucking fire for me all day.”

I. Am. Dead.

But alive again when, without warning, he reaches under my rumpled skirt, pushes a hand up my thigh, and flicks my panties aside.

Gasping, squirming, I push my face against his neck until I’m practically drooling on his nice new uniform. It’s so wrong, so dirty, so flipping insane to start our ever after like this.

This day is supposed to be all about love and devotion and flowery things, imagining a lifetime together.

Instead, I’m obsessed with carnal pleasure, riding the high of being so in love with this man.

His rough promises have some serious weight, too.

I dropped my birth control a month ago.

And after that three-week break in the bedroom, he must be as starved as I am.

I know what happens tonight.

He’s going to give me everything I ever wanted, a miracle I can’t yet imagine.

Right now, I just wish he’d give me one little O right here.

Too bad the car stops at the fancy spot where we’re having the reception.

His fingers press deep into my pussy, his thumb swirling my clit, sending me so close to coming my legs shake.

“Hold that thought, Delia. Here comes our chauffeur.”

I look at him like I’ve just bitten into a lemon.

I barely manage to slide off him in time to straighten my clothes. I think I finally get the meaning ofblue balls—and how badly I want his emptying inside me.

The reception is one long whirlwind of tension and laughter and love.

Our food and friends are exquisite as a million old stories fly around. Everything you’d expect from a wedding as fantabulous as ours.

Even the spring night smells like renewal, the very air we breathe inviting us into our new lives.

Marnie and Dad keep teasing us through the whole thing, banging their spoons every five minutes through dinner and telling us we’d better get started making babies.

Oh, if only they had a clue.

My best friend shows up with her latest date, this lean software geek from Seattle. He actually looks like a normal human being instead of someone who’s been roasting in the sun too long and spending whole lifetimes at the gym.

What else is changing next?

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