“I don’t think hearing you call me that will ever get old.”
“Good. Then I don’t have to feel so stupid about how happy it makes me.”
He turned my head and planted his lips on mine, forcing his other hand between my back side and the bed, making every inch of my skin beg to be touching some part of him.
“Do we have time for this?” he asked.
“We’re newlyweds, we’ll make time,” I said, scooting further down on the mattress.
Travis reached back to grab his shirt and then pulled it up and over, tossing it to the pile of clothes on the other side of the bed. He slipped my black leggings off with ease, and then kissed me for a few moments more before reaching down and sliding his fingers beneath the cotton fabric of my panties.
I breathed out, a small whimper slipping with it. That tiny sound made Travis’s movements less patient, and he yanked down his shorts and, without pause, thrust himself inside me.
Once he was fully seated, he forced himself to pause, his faltering breath hot against my ear.
“I should … slow down … I’m gonna …”
“Don’t,” I said, locking my ankles behind him. “Not this time.”
He paused for just a few more seconds—long enough to kiss me—but once he moved again, slow wasn’t something he could manage. He rocked into me over and over, his arms shaking, so lost in the feeling that he ignored the performance of it all and allowed every nerve to be overwhelmed with the way his skin felt surrounded and caressed by mine.
“Pidge …”
“Don’t stop,” I whispered.
He felt as different as he did familiar, letting go of his control as he finished.
“God, you feel good … God da—” He groaned through his climax, trembling, holding himself inside me as he came.
We were both breathing hard, but then he inhaled, deep and slow, and then sighed. “Damn, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” I asked, smiling as I kissed his cheek.
“I got a little carried away.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I asked, keeping my leg hooked over him as he lay next to me.
He stared at the ceiling. “That wasn’t making love to you, that was blowing off steam.”
“I’m not mad about it.”
He looked over at me. “Why do you love me so much? I think I’m a fuck up and you just … understand me. You already know before I ever explain.”
“I don’t know,” I said, running my fingers over his whiskers.
“Probably not a good sign,” he said, only half kidding.
“Well, I don’t love you because of the way you look, that’s infatuation. I don’t love you because of our sexual chemistry, that’s lust. I don’t love you because you love me, that’s empathy. I don’t love you because of what you can give me or what you can do for me, that’s transactional. I don’t love you because of the way you treat me, that’s gratitude. I don’t love you because you keep me safe, that’s security. I don’t know why I love you, babe. That’s how I know it’s real.”
Travis pressed his lips together and shook his head, touching his nose to mine.
I closed one eye tight. “We should probably …”
He turned onto his back with a groan. “I know … I know. How about this weekend we just take a day?”
“I’m on board.”
Travis stood, reaching for my hand and pulling me upright. We couldn’t help but smile as we dressed, and then I took a look around our bedroom and perched my hands on my hips, blowing an errant strand of hair from my face.