Shawn looks like he’s making a mental checklist.
“Why are you asking me this? It’s too late now. The wedding’s over.”
“Aya, I want you to have everything you want. Including the perfect wedding.”
I look up at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Shawn, a wedding is a wedding. I have you. I have everything I want.”
Two
Shawn
I kind of hate the expression ‘happy wife, happy life.’
I mean… I don’t hate it exactly. Make your partner happy and your life will be happy too. That part of it is beautiful.
But most men who throw around this saying tend to mean that they’ll sacrifice their own happiness to avoid an argument with their wife. First of all, no one should have to sacrifice their happiness in the relationship. And secondly, these guys tend to sound like their wives are either on the cusp of a temper tantrum or that they’re really passionate about something frivolous.
But I want to do anything I can to make my wife happy. Because watching Aya, on our wedding night, look like she’s trying to be happy when she’s clearly not is killing me. Her happiness is my happiness and her sadness is too.
“I have you. I have everything I want,” she says again.
While I’m lost in my own head, Aya escapes from my arms and pushes me to my back before straddling my hips.
“Know what would make me happy now?” she teases, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth.
I have a pretty good feeling.
“You losing the rest of that suit.”
Aya undoes the rest of my shirt buttons and helps me out of it. She’s onto my pants before I know which end is up. She gets out of her dress and she’s wearing little white lacy panties and a strapless bra. Her hair is starting to come down from its complicated updo. In this moment, she looks more like the fiery, tenacious Aya that I know and love.
With our combined efforts, my slacks and boxers hit the floor along with her underwear and I scoop her up, easing her down on her back so I can be on top. I’m trying to go slowly, savoring every moment, really making love to Aya for the first time as her husband. But my girl isn’t having it.
She’s grabbing and clawing and kissing me like her life depends on it.
“Is that how you want it, sweetheart?” I say, my voice dropping low. “You want it rough? You don’t want me to be nice?”
“I’ve had enough nice,” she husks out. “Fuck me.”
That breathy demand sends a dangerous rush of want through my body.
“Fine. Hands and knees, sweetheart,” I command.
Aya stretches out on her hands and knees, her hair messy. She’s wet and panting, waiting for me.
I get into position behind her. My hands find her pert little ass and I squeeze her cheeks before sinking my teeth into one of them. She shivers and lets out a soft moan, giving herself over to what I’m about to do to her. Or what she thinks I’m about to do to her.
Aya’s already losing her battle with self-control, and her moans are getting louder. Good. If I have things my way, this whole floor will know my name soon enough.
I know she expects me to push inside her and take her rough from behind, but she’s all pink and wet and enticing, and I can’t help but dive in headfirst. Or… tongue first.
When she feels my mouth on her, she lets out a long, low moan and grips the bedding in front of her. Her legs tense. Her breath gets raggedy. I hold her hips in place and go to town on her.
“Shawn,” she gasps.
I moan against her pussy.
“Shawn.” She’s practically screaming. Mission accomplished.
She lets out a string of incoherent vowel sounds as I pick up the pace, lapping at her, then sucking on her clit.
“Ugh,” she moans. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
“Do it,” I groan into her. “Come, sweetheart.”
The words are no sooner out of my mouth before Aya’s shuddering, her breath is catching, and she comes all over my face. I keep my mouth on her, savoring her sweet, heady orgasm as she drops to her stomach, curling up on the mattress.
For a minute or so, she barely moves. She rides out the aftershocks and waits for her breath to level out.
I take a certain pride in being able to render my wife motionless. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m good with my mouth.
“Shawn,” she finally whispers.
“Yes.”
“Come here.”
Aya gets on her back and reaches up to pull me back down on top of her, like I originally intended. She kisses me, deep and slowly, easing me onto her body. She bites and sucks on my neck as I line my hard cock up to her entrance and inch my way inside her. She’s so tight and warm and perfect.
“Fuck, Aya,” I growl as I push inside her to the hilt. “So good. So fucking good.”
Because sex with Aya makes a wordsmith out of me.
She just moans.
I thrust into her once. Twice. Three times. Over and over again.
“Shawn,” she whisper-moans as she starts to come again. “I love you, Shawn.”
Sure, she’s sex-drunk and her brain is soup right now, but my wife telling me that she loves me is what sends me flying over the edge after her. I spill into her as she pulses around me, growling her name as my spent body collapses over hers.
I don’t move. I don’t want to.
I want to stay right here, inside of Aya, forever.
Three
Aya
Shawn eventually wakes us up and we take a long, steamy shower. He helps me pull a million pins out of my hair and cleans me up. My legs are jelly, and I’m beyond tired, so I’m grateful that he still has his wits about him.
In the morning, we head downstairs for breakfast with some of our out-of-town guests who’d also spent the night in this hotel. Partway through the meal, I realize that Shawn is missing.
I abandon my bacon and eggs and politely recuse myself from a conversation with my cousin Dakota about different types of breast pumps to search for him. He didn’t sneak off to the bar or the gym. And since I have the room key, I’m pretty certain he didn’t head back upstairs.
Finally, I find him in the business center, on one of the computers.
“Shawn? What are you doing?” I wonder.
He looks up from the keyboard.
“What are you doing next weekend?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Work probably,” she answers. “Why?”
“I’m reserving a block of rooms at that lodge we stayed at last time we went up to the river and it was too cold to camp outside,” he says.
“Are we going on vacation?” I ask.
The dance studio that I work at is expanding, and I’m teaching a bunch of new classes. The band is also recording all this month, so Shawn and I aren’t going on our honeymoon until the summer.
“We’re having our wedding. The wedding we actually wanted,” he answers. “I’ve got rooms for the eight of us.”
“Eight and a half,” I correct him, reminding him that Cora is currently very pregnant and her unborn child will be joining us wherever we go.