“What can I say? I’m used to getting what I want, when I want it.” I lean toward her, my lips catching her temple, then sliding down her cheek. “And what I want right now, Mara, is my sexy wife.”
She shivers and tilts toward me, her body shifting against mine. “You sure about that? You don’t want to flirt with anybody else?” She says it lightly, like a joke, but it makes that rock of guilt shift in me again, and I pull back, just far enough so that I can see her face, my eyes locked on hers.
“Mara, I would never flirt with anyone else.”
She laughs. “Relax, John. I know that.”
“Still.” I frown. “I feel like I wronged you somehow. Just, that whole interaction…”
She shakes her head. “Don’t think about it.” She leans in to kiss me, then, her lips soft and sweet against mine. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She reaches up to cup my cheek, her hands soft against my stubble. “You’re a good man, John Walloway. And an even better husband.”
I smile and turn to kiss the open palm of her hand. My gaze drifts down for a second, to the ring she’s wearing again, now that the shallow cut on her ring finger has finally healed. We got it resized a little, so that it fits properly, not too tightly or in a way that might injure her again.
I have to admit, it looks beautiful on her. But even better is the knowledge of what it means. Of how it marks her as mine. My wife. I don’t plan on ever letting her go.
“I love you, Mara,” I whisper, feeling every word of that.
Her eyes go wide, fixed as they are on mine. I can see her pupils dilate, watch the way her breath catches in her chest as she takes in the full meaning of that.
“I love you,” I repeat, reaching up to cup her face between my palms. I lean in to kiss her again, to taste her mouth, those perfect shell lips of hers soft and pillowy on mine.
When we part, her lips remain parted a breath, her throat working with a tight swallow. Then her gaze leaps to mine once more. “I love you too, John,” she breathes.
God, she’s so beautiful.
And I’m so fucking hard right now. I don’t hesitate. I slide my hands down her curves and draw her toward me. I pull her onto my lap, until she’s straddling me, one knee on either side of my chair, the menus discarded and forgotten on the table beside us.
I reach down between us to undo the top button of her jeans, my fingers grazing the smooth plane of her belly underneath her shirt. She tenses at my touch, arching her hips toward me, her back curving in a way that makes me unable to resist sliding my hands up along the small of her back, tracing that arch, dragging her down against me.
With my other hand, I cup the back of her neck and draw her into another kiss, slow and searing. At the same time, I undo the zip of her jeans the rest of the way, reach my hand between us and into her pants, sliding my fingers down to cup her pussy tightly, hard and sudden.
She gasps and arches against me, grinding into my palm with abandon. Her hair cascades down her back, free and wild, just like her.
“God you’re so fucking sexy,” I whisper, and she smiles at me, her eyes dark with desire. I shift my hand against her, starting to rub her pussy through her panties, already able to feel how wet they are with her lust.
“You… drive me wild,” she murmurs, in that sexy, throaty voice that I love, when she’s turned on and can’t resist anymore.
I push the thin, soaking wet fabric of her panties aside and trace my finger along the lips of her pussy, one at a time, teasing, going lightly. “I can tell,” I say, one eyebrow arched. “You’re always so wet for me, dirty girl.”
She licks her lips, and the movement, the track of her tongue, draws my eye, makes me think about all the things she does with that tongue. At the same time, her hands slide down between us, and she traces the bulge of my cock through my jeans. “And you’re already hard just thinking about me, aren’t you, husband?” The word husband sends an extra pulse of white-hot desire through me.
This is what I wanted earlier tonight, alone in my office. I wanted her hands on me, touching me, tightening around me. More than that, I wanted to be inside her.
I shift my hands out of her jeans, ignoring her faint little mewl of protest, and wrap my hands around her thighs instead. Her eyes flash to mine with surprise, just before I rise from the seat and push her back against the table, sending the menus onto the floor.
Her eyes dart to the door, but I smile, shaking my head. “Nobody will come in until we call them,” I say. “I made sure of that.”
I knew I’d want Mara all to myself tonight. The same way I do every night, any time we’re alone together.
She smiles, shaking her head a little. “You’re so naughty.”
“You like it,” I point out, grinning, as I work her jeans down off of her hips.
“Hmm, maybe,” she says, but the words are undermined by the fact that her breath comes out as a faint sigh, her body already pliable with want. I push her jeans the rest of the way off, until they puddle under the table at our feet, and her bare ass is on the table, only her thin little thong between her and me now.
Her hands drift to the front of my jeans and start on my buttons next.
“Do you know what torture it is?” I ask her. “To work with you every day and not be able to touch you the whole long time.”
She smirks. “I don’t know… You seem to find a way to sneak in touches now and again.”
“Not nearly enough,” I tell her. “I can never get enough of you.” She lets out a gasp then, because I’ve pulled her to the edge of the table, my thumbs hooking under her panties. I yank them down and off, in a quick move that makes her breath come faster, her pulse beating so quickly I can feel it in her throat when I bend down to kiss my way over her skin, nipping her gently every so often, lashing her with my tongue in between, until her toes curl and her body arches against my hands.
I trail my hands up to her chest, run my thumbs along the hard little bulges of her nipples, which I can feel through her shirt and her thin athletic bra. She twists against me, and finally manages to coordinate her hands enough to push my jeans off. I step out of them with a grin, and she pushes my boxers down after, her hands going right where I want them a second later.
She wraps her hands tightly around the base of my cock, and God, just that simple touch of hers is enough to light me on fire.
“I want to fuck you,” I whisper, my eyes on hers. “Right here, right now.”
Her gaze drifts again, and I know what she’s thinking. About the rest of the restaurant out there, behind just a simple separator door, close enough to risk them hearing everything. “What if people hear?” she replies, worrying at her lower lip.
“I don’t care,” I say, and my free hand goes around her waist, pinning her in place. With the other, I spread her thighs and drag my thumb lightly along her clit. “I want them to know you’re mine.”
She gasps and tilts toward me, her lips parted, her face flushed with heat and desire.
I could stare at her like this all day long. Flushed and naked and waiting for me. But she’s right. We are in public. Which means I’ll have to be a little quicker. And if I make her moan a little too loudly in doing so, well… so it goes.
I guide myself toward her entrance, and her hands stay tight around my cock, shifting with me, stroking me a little. Making me harder than ever.
“I love you,” I whisper again, this time as the tip of my cock reaches her entrance, and I shift my hips toward the table, easing into her.
Her eyelids flutter, and she drops my cock to reach up and wrap her arms around my shoulders instead, bracing herself. “John…” Her eyes go wide, then, as I grip her hips with both hands and drive myself harder into her, deeper. Her pussy stretches tight around me, so deliciously wet and warm and hungry. I pull back a little, thrust deeper. Again and again until I’m buried all the way inside her, my cock filling her pussy, stretching her walls, making her feel stuffed full. “I love you,” she breathes too
, then, her eyes still fixed on mine, wide and hot.
The words flood me with heat. She’s mine—really mine. Not just an accidental marriage or some ploy to appease my family. She’s my wife. I grin and bend her over beneath me, driving into her faster now, turned on by the thought, by the feel of her beneath me, opening up to me, her head falling back and her mouth parting as she gasps for breath.
I reach down between us, and my fingertips barely brush her clit before she’s crying out, unable to help herself as the orgasm sweeps through her. My grin widens, and I reach up to press a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound, as I continue to fuck her, harder, angling myself to be sure my cock drags along her inner walls, adding to her pleasure.
“That’s it, my sexy wife,” I whisper, my voice almost a growl with all the desire and heat I’m suppressing right now. “Come for me.”
She doesn’t need telling twice. Not as I fuck her so hard my balls slap against her pussy and her ass bounces against the table. Before long she’s at the edge again, then coming once more, with an even louder cry this time, one I have to press hard against her lips to muffle.
“Fuck, Mara, you’re incredible.” My eyes lock on her, drinking her in.
It doesn’t take me long to finish after that—just the sight of her, flushed, her chest heaving for breath, her legs locked around me, her pussy wet and as tight as a fist around my cock, is enough to get me close. I finish with a deep guttural growl, burying my cock in her and pulling her body against mine, holding her there as I come inside her, coating her, our juices mingling and dripping down her thighs when we draw apart.
She arches an eyebrow, eyeing the table, and we both laugh. “Oh God. We have to clean this up before we eat here.” Her cheeks flare bright red, and she glances at the door to the rest of the restaurant. As if that flimsy piece of wood will have kept anyone outside from figuring out exactly what we were doing back here.
It makes me smile, even though I know she’s embarrassed by it after the fact. Because I want people to hear. I want them to know how sexy my wife is. How impossible it is to keep my hands off her.
Hell, I want the whole damn world to know Mara is mine. Deep down, I’m not upset about that article coming out, or about whichever of my crappy relatives spilled the beans to the press about our relationship.
Because it brings this whole thing one step closer to real. It brings her one step closer to officially being mine, for good. Forever.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, helping her down off the table and picking up her bra to pass her. “See?” I drop my napkin over the mess and laugh at her horrified expression. Then I catch her around the waist and tug her against me, leaning in to whisper against the nape of her neck. “Why don’t we just get takeout after all?”
Her eyes dart around us, as she’s no doubt considering the class of restaurant, we’re in. One of the best in the city. One with a wait list miles long. “Do they let people do that?”
“They’ll let us,” I say. Her brow furrows a little, but I lean in to kiss it away, already taking out a hundred-dollar bill to leave on the table as tip. “Don’t worry,” I murmur against her forehead. “I’m sure they’ll understand why I couldn’t keep my hands off my sexy wife for a minute longer.”
“I’m pretty sure they’ll guess you failed at that,” she points out, but she’s laughing now, even as she pulls on her clothes. She lets out a sigh, her bangs fluttering against her forehead, and shoots me a sideways look. “I’m going to have to get used to attracting a lot of attention, aren’t I?”
I try and fail not to grin. “Probably.” I arch an eyebrow. “Is that a deal-breaker, wife?”
“Not at all, husband. I just want to be sure what I’m really getting into here. If…” She hesitates. Eyes me once more, almost like she’s afraid I’m going to bolt if she looks at this whole situation too closely. “If we’re really doing this thing.”
I know the feeling. I’ve had similar feelings. Especially the other day when she threw her ring back at me. But the fear I felt at the idea of losing her? It only makes me more certain that this—that she—is what I want.
I step closer to her and sweep her into my arms, crushing her against my chest as she wraps her arms around my neck, holding on tight. “I want this, Mara,” I whisper against her hair. “I want you. What I feel for you is real.”
She tilts her head back, a sly smile on her lips. “Who would have guessed?” she murmurs. “An accidental marriage between two strangers could turn into true love.”
“And yet here we are.” I smile and lean in to kiss her again, softer and slower this time, taking my time to enjoy her. I’m already starting to swell again, just at the sensation of her hands wrapped around my neck, her body pressed to mine. But it’s more than just attraction or lust. It’s happiness.
I’ve never felt this way before. Not even with Heather, back when I thought I knew what love was. This blows every other woman I’ve dated, every other love I’ve experienced, out of the water. The woman who caught my eye in that club in Las Vegas; the wild party girl who was willing to run away to the chapel with me, drunk and exhilarated and just looking to celebrate her new lease on life, the new job she was about to plunge into… She turned out to be the perfect woman for me.
The woman I never knew I’d been waiting for, all along.
When she nestles into my arms, her head resting on my chest, letting out a sigh of sheer pleasure, that’s when I know. I will do anything to make her exactly as happy as she is right now, for the rest of our lives.
This is it for me. She’s it.
13
Mara
A calendar alert reminds me of something I’d almost forgotten in the whirlwind of the last week with John. Our deadline to annul is coming up. Two days. That’s all I have left to change my mind about this. To step off the crazy train and declare our marriage null and void—before reality sets in, and this all becomes real. Our wedding, our marriage, everything.
But in a move that might be even more crazy than our marriage was in the first place… I don’t want to.
I want to stay with John. I want to give this a real shot.
So I close the reminder with a sigh and a smile, about to turn back to my work. I’m in the office early again, as usual, hard at work in the wood shop, awaiting the rest of my coworkers to arrive. I’ve started coming in earlier than I used to, mostly to avoid the stares when I first arrive, the judgment on everyone else’s face.
Daniel has finally started acting semi-normal around me again, saying—when I finally dared to ask what he thought about me and John—that he’d just been surprised by the secret, that was all. But pretty much everyone else acts cold as ice around me. And don’t even get me started on Bianca. I haven’t seen her face to face since the night John tracked me down the restaurant in a panic and told me she came on to him. I think—hope—that she’s embarrassed by her behavior. But who knows?
Ever since that night, she’s avoided the wood shop, stayed glued to her desk on the far side of the office, and dodges my glances, even going so far as to pretend to be on the phone anytime I’m within her vicinity.
I tell myself I don’t care. That I’ll get used to it. That my other colleagues will come around when we work together longer and they realize I’m dedicated to this job; that I didn’t just sleep my way into it. But for now… it rankles, I won’t lie.
It’s the only wrinkle in the otherwise shockingly perfect fabric of this life John and I have unexpectedly started together. When it’s just us together, or out with friends… the rest of the bullshit fades away. It’s just us, and I know this is right. It feels right, in a way I’ve never experienced before. In a way that makes me never want to let go.
I shake myself with a start, realizing that I’m just staring at my phone calendar daydreaming. But it’s when I shake myself out of it that my gaze lands on the date again. Double check it. Triple check.
My stomach does a backflip. Fuck. Is that the date?
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My heart starts to hammer faster, my earlier thoughts forgotten as I tap on another app I installed a while back, a tracker, one I added just out of curiosity. Now, though, it’s coming in handy.
I check the dates again, do the math, and swear once more under my breath, softly.
I’m late. My period is late.
I swallow hard, wracking my brain. I take birth control, but I’m not exactly the best at sticking to strict schedules, especially since I’ve been working so much. Sometimes I take it in the mornings, sometimes in the evenings… John and I stopped using condoms since the two of us are definitely exclusive. But it never even occurred to me to worry about anything happening.
I’d been so focused on work, on figuring out what we wanted to happen with our marriage, that I didn’t even think about anything more practical.
My stomach churns, unsettled. It’s almost 9am, almost time for my coworkers to arrive. The last thing I want to face right now is anybody else walking in on me in the midst of figuring out this revelation. I grab my cell phone and beeline out of the office, waiting until I’m safely away from the entrance in the parking lot to dial.
Lea picks up on the second ring, sounding groggy. “Who is this early bird and what has she done with my best friend?” she grumbles into the line.
“I’m late,” I say, without any other greeting. “My period, it’s late.”
There’s a long beat of silence, followed by shuffling, the crumple of sheets. Lea crawling out of bed, most likely. Her bartending gig means that she works late nights and usually doesn’t rise before the crack of noon. I feel a little guilty for waking her this early, but any guilt is overshadowed by my growing worry.
“Well, at least you’re married, so it won’t be a bastard,” she says, after a long moment, and I half-laugh, half-groan into the phone. “Kidding, Mara. Deep breaths, okay? Don’t freak out until you know for sure if you are. Go to the store, get a test.”
“And then?”
“And then, figure out what you want to do.” There’s another sound. A shower turning on in the background. “I mean, you told me John was pretty baby crazy, right?”
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