“Where are we going?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall,” I tell him, pointing; laughing at the fact I am marrying man whose house I’ve never visited. A man who had never been in my apartment. His footsteps leave an orange trail on hardwood floor, and I love the way it looks: messy and perfect all at once.
I can’t help but smile as he turns on the shower, hot water spraying over us as he deposits me on the tile floor. He steps in, his big thick cock hard and ready. My pussy is humming with excitement as he runs a bar of soap over my skin. He spanks my ass playfully and I squeeze his butt cheeks in return.
There are at least a dozen bottles of shampoo and conditioner, body wash and face cleansers. Several of them knock over as I lean against the wall of the shower, as my lover runs soap over my skin.
“I’ll try and be more tidy,” I tell him as the bottles fall to the ground.
He shakes his head, the paint from our bodies swirling into the drain. “No. Don’t change a thing about yourself.”
“It will drive you batty, if you are as Type A as you let on.”
He plucks my nipples with his thumb and forefinger, his mouth so near mine. He runs a hand over my hair, pulling my mouth to his. “I don’t need my wife to be something she isn’t. We can hire a maid to clean the fucking house, Imogen.”
I laugh at the simplicity of it. “It’s that easy?” I ask. “Reconciling our differences?”
“It can be as easy or as hard as we want it to be.”
I take hold of his shaft, our skin washed clean. “Oh, I want it hard. Really, really hard,” I tell him licking my lips.
“Fuck, Imogen,” he growls as I stroke him the way he needs. He lifts my ass, and holds me against the wall, easing me down so I can sit on his thick cock the way we crave.
“Oh God,” I moan. He’s so strong, can hold me so effortlessly, as if I am weightless. His biceps bulge as he takes me, his big cock making me gasp with pleasure as I bounce on his shaft.
My pussy widens to take him, and I sink lower on his driveshaft. I want him to pump the gas and fill me all the way up. It’s like I’ve been running on empty my entire life — I needed a real man who knew what it meant to park it in the garage. God, I want to be his home.
“Oh Neil,” I moan as he pounds himself inside of me. I cling to his neck, wanting to be here for the whole ride. “My body … it’s yours.”
He knows it is, he holds me tight, his big hands on my skin, keeping me close. I don’t want him to let go, ever. His cock throbs as his thick warm come fills me up. We come, both of us together, and I bite down on his shoulder as the orgasm floods my body.
“I’m so glad you said yes,” he tells me as we finish.
“I’m so glad you opened up.” He plants a kiss on my lips and my heart soars. I’ve never felt so whole in my entire life.
He turns off the shower, grabs a pink towel and dries me off, head to toe. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, kissing my nose. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole fucking world, Imogen.”
“You’ve sure learned how to wear your heart on your sleeve,” I say, smacking his ass before wrapping a towel around his waist.
He grins, pulling me to him. “And you sure learned how to enjoy my hard-on.”
10
NEIL
“You almost ready?” I call out, placing our luggage at the front door of our home. “Your parents will be here in ten minutes.”
“Uh, Neil, can you … can you come here?” she asks, a frantic trill to her voice. Not a complete surprise, Imogen has knack for melting down over little things. It’s endearingly cute and I’ve learned how to work around her fluctuations in mood. Hunger requires protein bars and quick decisions. Tears require pints of ice cream and listening. And shouting requires a good, hard fuck.
No surprise, I like it when she’s upset the most.
“What is it?” I ask, stepping into our master bedroom. She moved in the week we got engaged. And now my modern, sleek home has color. Has life. Has her.
She kept her studio for her art, and I love that she has that space for her creative genius to sprawl out. She’s so talented and I believe she’s only just begun to tap into her potential.
I look over our bed frame, the bright canvas we painted on our engagement night hangs over it, and I smile, thinking how damn lucky I am to have met a woman who is my match in ways that could never fit on a piece of paper. In ways that could never quite make sense on an application.