My wife.
“I feel a lot of things about marriage,” she says, hot breath hitting my collarbone. “Like how weird it would be to call any man my husband. Yes, including you.”
“You know what’s funny? It doesn’t feel so weird calling you my wife.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No.” I look her in the big eyes, feeling the rising need to worship her taking me over. That’s not all I want to do to her, of course. We both have... eclectic needs. “Technically you are right now. So, I guess I should get the most out of it. Kathryn Alison, my superb wife.”
“Superb?” She grins. “How nice of you to not change my name without my permission.”
“I don’t dare believe for two seconds you would start going by Kathryn Mathers.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
“How about Kathryn Alison-Mathers?”
“That is such a mouthful.” She rubs her hand all over my chest. It’s like she wants to torture me. “And I wouldn’t unless you changed your name too.”
“Ian Alison-Mathers sounds weird, and Ian Mathers-Alison sounds like I couldn’t make up my mind.”
“It’s settled. Nobody’s ever changing their name.”
“Nope.”
She’s hugging me, sideways, head resting on my shoulder as we breathe in unison. “I never saw myself having a husband,” Kathryn says, quietly. “I never dreamed about that sort of thing. Does that make me weird?”
“I dunno. I don’t think a lot of guys fantasize about getting married. Why would it be different for women?”
She gives me “the look.” I know that look. My mother gives me the same one when I say something stupid about sex and gender. Which happens a lot.
“Regardless,” I continue, letting it blow over. “I like the idea of you being my wife. I’m totally cool with it.”
“Really? Marriage doesn’t faze you?”
“That’s different. Marriage is messy at our level. Hence why we’re in a hurry to get this shit over with.” I shrug. “I like to think I could have a wife without marrying her. What does that word even mean? When I think of having a wife, I think of the woman who is my complete equal in nearly every way. Maybe she stays at home. Maybe she works. She’s always there for me whenever I need her, though, and I’m always there for her. She’s the woman who is above all other women. Why shouldn’t that be you?”
Kathryn has never gotten used to me being sappy. I think she thinks that I’m 24/7 playboy deep inside. Nah. I have fooled around with a lot of women. Almost every relationship before her was casual, but the moment we clicked, everything made sense. Is it weird that it doesn’t scare me?
Is it weird that it apparently scares her?
“Come here.” She’s already here, but I don’t care. I tilt her head back and kiss her, reveling in the feel of her lips against mine. It never gets old.
Her hand is on my cheek, head sinking against the couch as I fight back everything in my body screaming at me to take her. It’s a losing battle. My fingers dance on her stomach, feeling how taut she is beneath this blue cotton. I want to bury my face in her breasts, between her thighs, deep in the folds she has hidden away right now. The only fun we’ve had since coming to Vegas is that half-drunken quickie at the club. Don’t get me wrong. That was hot—and far from the first time we were so public with our lust for one another. But it wasn’t enough. I will never be satisfied with a quickie against the wall once a week with my sweet Kathryn. I need all of her. Right now.
“Ian...” she mutters, hand gently pushing me away. “We can’t.”
“Why not? Who would know?”
“We would know.”
“This is stupid.” I’m pouting like a kid, and I know it. I don’t care. “We’re grown-ass adults. Until two days ago, we had sex whenever we felt like it. You know. Like adults.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been there for all of it.”
Cheeky. How like her. “So because we foolishly signed a piece of paper when we were drunk off our asses... we can’t have sex? How fucked up is that? If anything, the best part about getting hitched should be all the sex we have to celebrate.”
My mouth has run away from me. The moment those words are out of my mouth, I regret it. Because Kathryn is looking at me as if I said we should celebrate her mother’s death.
“I don’t want to ‘celebrate’ something we already regret, and you heard our lawyers.”
“Yeah, I sure did.” Even though we’re technically fighting, I draw her closer to me, inhaling the sweet scents of her perfume and shampoo. “They can piss off. You’re the woman I love. I want to make love to you.” This time I catch the damning words threatening to spout from my mouth: that she’s my wife, and damnit, if I’m going to be married for one week, I would at least like to tango with my wife!