you want to me,” he teases.
I laugh. “But I couldn’t before?”
“Good point, but now it’s legal.”
I laugh again and he kisses me before he whispers, “You said I do.”
I smile. “So did you,” and the minute his mouth comes back down on mine, the elevator doors open.
He steals a quick taste and then captures my hand. “Let’s go home, wifey.”
He leads me out of the elevator and to our door. He unlocks it, kicks it open, and scoops me up. I’m laughing again as he carries me across the threshold, but once inside he sets me down to lock up. I frown, surprised he’s doing that right now when we have other things on our minds. Not that he doesn’t usually lock up, but my gut says he’s still on edge, still worried about trouble. I mean, of course, he is. We have a chaperoned honeymoon.
The apartment now secure, Rick catches my hand and walks me to him, our legs pressed together, the locked door forgotten. And for a moment we just stand there, staring at each other, this crazy mix of heat and emotion burning between us. He moves first, his hand gently cupping my face, the touch, that one touch, managing to lift goosebumps on my skin. That’s how much this man affects me. He leans in, his breath warm, filled with the promise of so many things before his lips caress my lips, so tender, so slow, and I swear I feel him in every part of my body inside and out.
His fingers splay at my hip, and then his mouth slants over mine, and with that connection, it’s as if the passion just explodes between us. We’re kissing and touching, and he’s shrugging out of his jacket and I’m pressed against the wall, his big wonderful body crowding mine. The skirt to my dress ends up at my waist. His palm is on my bare backside, a hot branding that only makes me say, oh yes, God yes. I want more. And that’s what I get. In a blur of heat and desire, the dress is unzipped down the front, and his hand is on my now bare breast, the lingerie I wore for him pushed aside.
“Wait,” I manage with that realization, my hand pressing on his chest. “I have lingerie on for you.”
“We’re just getting started, baby,” he says. “You can model it for me later.”
His fingers curve under my leg, just reaching my sex, and I gasp, but I grab his arm.
“I really want you to see the lingerie.”
He pulls back to study me a moment, and I say, “What?”
“You really want to show me?” he asks.
“Is that bad?”
“No, baby.” His lips curve. “It’s fucking perfect. You’re fucking perfect and I just need to slow down. Not an easy thing to do when you just became Mrs. Savage.”
My lips curve now. “I love how that sounds.”
“Good, because that’s your new name and it’s not changing again.” He kisses me, hard and fast, and then pulls the skirt of my dress down.
I yelp as he surprises me, scooping me up, and starts walking.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Candace
Rick might have reined in the heat momentarily, but he doesn’t even try and make it to the bedroom.
He carries me toward the living room, where he sets me in front of the couch and moves the coffee table, already pulling his button-down over his head and tossing it away. “Show me,” he orders gently.
I grab his waistband and say, “You first.”
He arches a brow. “You want me naked first?”
“For once,” I say firmly. “Yes. You first.”
His eyes dance with mischief and he toes off his shoes. “What the wifey wants, the wifey gets.” He strips down and stands there naked, his thick cock jutted forward, his lean muscular body a magnificent, powerful sight. He’s gorgeous. And he’s mine.
“Now what?” he asks, holding his hands out to his sides.
I wet my dry lips. “Sit,” I order, pointing at the couch.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and so he does.
I laugh, a little high on this power of mine that won’t last. He likes control. I like him in control. But this is fun. I give him my back, fix my bra, and finish unzipping the front of my dress, which was designed to run top to bottom. Once it’s hanging open, my pretty strappy white bra is exposed, and quite uplifting in all the right ways. My lacy bridal white garter belt wraps my waist and holds up white lace-top stockings. As for my