She rubs my tongue to hers and sighs as I slip my fingers into her hair and loosen the crystal clips scattered throughout. Pulling each raindrop-shaped crystal from her hair, I tuck them into my jacket pocket while I slowly savor her mouth and kiss her all the way to the hotel, until neither of us is breathing right by the time we arrive.
The moment we walk into the lobby, a dozen curious stares land on us, and they’re soon followed by claps and cheers as I take her by the hand and lead her to the elevators.
“Many years, man!” someone shouts.
“Cheers to the bride and groom!”
Brooke laughs, and I’m chuckling too as I pull her into the elevator with me and then bury my face in her neck, smelling her as we head to the top floor.
“I want to eat you,” I growl, sliding my fingers under her hair again. Her eyes darken as she reaches for my free hand and spreads it over her heart.
“Are you going to kiss me here?” She forces my fingers to curve around the round flesh of one perky little tit.
I nod.
Then she lifts that same hand to her mouth and sets a kiss on my palm. “And here?”
I nod again.
Her smile matches mine in mischief as she slides my hand down her abdomen and to the bell of her skirt, then she laughs and pushes up on her toes. “What about . . . there?”
I tip her head back. “Your pussy is getting kissed tonight for sure.”
Her lips curve in pure delight and I have to take them and kiss her, stopping only when we hear the Ting.
When the doors roll open, I scoop her in my arms and she squeaks in surprise as I head to the double doors down the hall. “Remy!”
“This is what husbands do the first night. No?”
She links her fingers at the back of my collar and nods.
I duck my head low to whisper in her ear as we reach our door. “As your husband, I do whatever the hell I want,” I say, sliding the key into the slot while I add, “And right now, I’m going to do you.” I push open the door, take us inside, and kick it shut behind me, then I set her to her feet, facing the room.
I click on the lights, and Brooke lets out a soft, surprised gasp.
Rose petals of every color are littered across the carpet. A hundred vases are scattered throughout, bursting with red bouquets, white bouquets. I wanted a fucking rose garden for my wife, and this is what the guys could help me do.
As Brooke stares quietly around, every inch in the room is either green, yellow, white, red, pink, some roses in buds, some blooming, some with stems, some scattered on the furniture without them, I quietly come up from behind her and set my headphones on her head, and click Play on my iPod.
“Everything” by Lifehouse begins. A hand flies to her chest when she starts listening, her pink mouth opening slightly and her eyes instantly tearing.
My chest swells and my throat feels itchy, my eyes stinging like the day Racer was born, and in that one instant, only hours after Brooke accepted to marry me—they became my family and the center of my world. Now my wife stands in this room I filled with roses for her, and I have. NO. WORDS. No fucking words to tell her. The way I need her. The way I want her. The way I love her. How every day I wake up a happy man, and go to sleep a happy man, sure that I can’t love her any more than I already do. But every day, the impossible happens, and I love her more. Her smiles, her strength, her dedication to our son, to me, everything about her is perfect for me.
She starts sobbing softly as she keeps listening to the song, clutching her stomach as if it hurts to hear the lyrics.
You’re all I want, you’re all I need, you’re everything . . . everything . . .
My eyes burn as she cries softly, and I’m flooded with tenderness as I step before her. I lift my palm to catch the tears of one cheek, and press my lips to the other, kissing her tears dry. “No crying,” I murmur into her skin, and she squeezes her eyes shut as more tears fall, her arms trembling as she wraps them around me.
“No crying. I want to make you happy,” I murmur, pulling off the headphones and tossing them aside as I repeat it in her ear. I want to make you happy. She shudders quietly, sniffing, and I frame her face in my hands so my thumbs can dry the rest of her tears as I look into her eyes. The only eyes that really see me. The tender, hungry, and passionate gold eyes of the woman I love. I caress my thumbs on her cheeks. “Not just happy. I want to make you the happiest woman alive.”
“I am,” she says, sniffling, wearing her heart in her eyes as she looks at me. “It’s why I’m crying.”
With a soft groan, I pull her to me and go kiss her ear. “Every day you make me the luckiest man alive,” I whisper, sliding my fingers up her back and tracing the buttons of her wedding dress, impatiently popping them open, one by one. She nuzzles my neck and kisses my throat when suddenly, she pulls away from me and starts backing across the suite, a new playfulness in her gaze.
“You want me?”
One of my eyebrows shoots up. “You doubt it?”
I start following, my hunter kicking into gear, all my instincts rearing up and priming my body to chase and catch her. I’m not about to let her get very far. “Come here,” I growl, reaching out and pulling her close. She lets out a squeak a second before I kiss her, hard and deep as I run my hand down the buttons on her back, grab the fabric, and rip it. Buttons fly, landing over the rose petals on the floor. She moans when I slide my hand through the tear and touch soft, bare skin. “Hmmm.” I lick up her neck as I pull her arms out of the sleeves of her dress and yank the top down to her waist.
She pulls off my bow tie and slides my jacket over my shoulders. “I’m so ready for you, you can consider all day foreplay,” she says.
“I don’t think so,” I laugh, then I pin her hands at her sides and lace my fingers through hers, keeping her fingers from going anywhere as I kiss her mouth, slow and languorously. “Let’s start stripping you.”
Grabbing her by the hips, I prop her on the back of a couch and push her skirt up so I can reach one silver glittery shoe. I unbuckle all the little line of crystal buckles, then I toss one shoe aside and work on the next. Once it falls next to the first, I run my hand up her stockings and find the perfect spot to rip.
She gasps in delight as I rip and pull it off her leg, baring her skin from the tip of her feet, up higher. I lick her toe, then trail my tongue up the arch of her foot while my hands slide up her lean, long legs to tug the rest of her stocking free. I hear her start to pant, and when I’ve bared all her legs under her dress, I have a perfect view of the damp spot on her panties as I suck one pink-painted toe. My eyes blur from the force of my need, and I part her thighs and hear her catch her breath as I release her foot and bury deeper under her skirt to lick her over her panties.
“Remy,” she groans, as I lick the damp spot on the lace. She’s never worn lace before and I can see her pussy lips, pink and snug under the material. Groaning low and deep, I urge her legs wider apart and give her one thorough lap of my tongue, then I emerge from under her skirt, and rise to my feet, so fucking hot I’m about to turn to cinder.
Brooke’s chest is heaving and she’s leaning weakly backward, looking dazed and in love and beautiful with the top of her dress pulled down to her waist. Her body is twisted at an awkward angle as she braced herself, her dark hair falling behind her, and she’s catching her breath from the licking I gave her. Her round, pretty tits are as juicy as they’ve ever been, her nipples jutting out and almost screaming for my mouth. “Remington,” she says, almost pleadingly.
My body tight with desire, I scoop my arms beneath her. “You get a bed tonight, Mrs. Tate,” I whisper.
“Mrs. Dumas-Tate,” she says as she opens the top buttons of my shirt and drags her lips along the stubble of my jaw.
“Whatever. You’re mine.”
She agrees with a sound against my throat, and a lick of her tongue. My blood is bubbling with need as I set her down on the bed, then I get busy stripping off my shirt. While I get rid of the cuff links and jerk it off my shoulders, my eyes run over those full breasts, fuller than ever, her nipples larger for my son to suck. And me.
I’m burning down to the pit of my stomach.
Beneath my zipper my cock is fully hard, and all I have to do is jerk open my pants button and it explodes through the zipper. Brooke is trying to squirm out of her big dress and I decide I need her naked before I do anything else.
I reach out and pull the skirt and she squeaks and laughs when the fabric tears again and now easily slides down her body. “Oh, I knew this dress wouldn’t survive you, I knew it!” she cries happily.
We laugh together, and as soon as she’s in nothing but panties, scooting back on the bed, I finish stripping and then stand there, at the foot of the bed, naked and so fucking hard I can barely see straight, and I look at her with my heart pumping in my chest and my skin buzzing from her nearness.
I look, and look and look. At my bride. My woman.
She grows impatient and crawls over to me in those wet lace panties. She kisses the length of my cock, the tattoo behind it, up the squares of my abs, up to my neck, and works her way to my lips. “I’m so hot, I’m shaking for you.” She caresses my cock.
I fist her hair in my hand and draw her back an inch, slowly dragging my tongue along her lips. “Then give me.” She smiles against my mouth and then moans and opens up so our tongues meet, and I lay her back on the bed littered with rose petals. Grabbing a handful of rose petals on the bed beside us, I flatten her on her back and raise my fist above her to sprinkle the rose petals over her.
She catches her breath as they fall on her body, her hair splayed dark behind her as she runs her fingers up my biceps, my shoulder, caressing me as I caress those rose petals and drag them up and down her body.
A mew leaves her lips and her eyes drift shut, and I keep dragging all the petals under my hand up to cup one tit, rubbing the petals over her nipples. The room is fragrant of rose petals but Brooke smells best of all. I know when she’s completely wet and ready for me, and she’s ready now.
“Remy . . .”
Pulsing to bury myself in her, I stretch my body out next to hers and take her in my arms, and whisper against her mouth, “It’s our official wedding night.”
“Yes.” She rubs her hands up my chest and looks at me with half-closed eyes.
“And I want to make it last.” I press my lips to her several times, without tongue, kissing the corner of her lips, the top, the bottom . . . then the center. “I want to freeze you right here,” I huskily murmur, “in my arms, where nothing can touch you but me.” As I drag my hand down her side, she shudders, letting me pet and kiss her, and she kisses me back with slow, wanton thrusts of her tongue. “Nothing, just you,” she agrees.
“That’s right,” I rasp.
“But I’m so wet,” she breathes.
“And you know I like it,” I murmur, petting her pussy with my hand before I ease her on top of my body so that she’s splayed above me and I can kiss her and grab her ass, and feel her pussy close to my cock while I have that juicy ass clenched in my hands and our mouths won’t leave the other alone.