When our lips separate from one another’s, he nods toward the setting sun. “See that sun?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Doesn’t come close to being anywhere as beautiful as my wife. But that’s not the point. The point is that you may not see it again until it rises next week.”
I laugh as we walk toward his parents’ … his … our home.
“You think it’s funny, sweets, but it’s not a joke. It’s as real as the rock-hard cock in my dress pants.”
I sigh exaggeratedly. “They’re right.”
“Who’s right?”
“Everyone who said that, as soon as I said I do, all the romance would be dead.”
He smirks. “My cock is very romantic.”
I wrap my hand around his tie and pull him closer. “Prove it. Show me.”
“Only took two years, three hundred acres of land, four number one hits, five carats, and a vow before God that I will love”—he kisses my neck—“honor”—he kisses lower—“and cherish you”—he kisses the swell of my breast—“for as long as I live.”
“You think it’ll be worth it?”
“It would have been worth a hundred years of jerking off.” He winks.
My thighs clench at the memory of catching him in the act not once but a half a dozen times.
“Wife?”
“Husband?”
When he walks us inside the house, he smiles. “Welcome home, Kendall Sawyer.”
My feet finally touch the ground as he kisses me softly.
Against his lips, I whisper, “Don’t go easy on me now.”