"What?"
He pulled the duvet cover out and slipped into bed, then knelt over me, yanking my tee-shirt up over my head before I could say anything else. "The weirdest shit I like," he said, kissing my on the mouth, tongue meeting mine, before I could remind him of my morning breath, "is letting my soon-to-be wife sleep in, and bringing her coffee in bed." He kissed the side of my neck, then my collarbone.
"Mmm, is that right?" I asked.
"Then, I like to make love to her and leave her so weak and breathless that she can't do anything except nap all afternoon." He kissed the top of my breast, one then the other, and traced his tongue over my areola, careful not to touch my nipple.
I moaned in disappointment when he left my nipple alone. "No fair," I said, pouting.
He ignored me. "Then I like to let her put her feet up while I cook her dinner." He sat up, pulling on the sides of my thin little pajama shorts, sliding them off my legs. "No panties. Nice."
"I try," I said.
He climbed on top of me, his hardness already evident, and leaned in close to kiss me. "Then I like to have her for dessert."
"What makes you think I want you to have me for dessert?" I asked.
He reached between my legs, my growing wetness apparent. "I think you more than want it."
Blaze kissed me hard on the mouth, his tongue exploring me, and my body responded to him immediately. I arched my back to meet him, moaning and encouraging him. Not that he needed any encouragement.
When he entered me, I wrapped my legs around his back, holding him against me, not wanting to let him go. He rocked inside me, harder and harder, his movements by now very familiar. He knew just where to touch me, just where to angle himself inside me to push all my buttons. When we got together, I had no idea that being with one person could be like this, that the sex could be so mind-blowingly good even when it was totally boring.
"Hey," Blaze whispered, his voice gravelly, like he'd just smoked a carton of cigarettes. "Look at me."
I looked at him, into his eyes, as he brought me higher and higher. He kissed me, pulling my lip in his teeth. He caught my lip in his teeth and I winced at the pain, but groaned when it sent a new pulse of arousal shooting through my body, and I groaned. "Make me come," I begged.
He practically roared, thrusting into me with such intensity that I couldn't control myself. I didn't care about holding out for him any longer. I let go, clinging to his shoulders as I came, my head nestled in his neck, biting down on his skin. I felt his warmth as he came inside me, and afterwards I was still, hanging on to him, waiting for the throbbing between my legs to finally subside.
When I finally pried myself away from him, I looked up to see him grinning. "What?" I asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Is it just me, or does it just keep getting better and better with you?"
"Nah," I said. "It's just you."
Blaze laughed. "You didn't seem to be complaining there, babe."
I smiled. "Nope," I said. "No complaints here."
He rolled over, then pulled me to his chest and I listened to his heart, still racing from the physical exertion. "So," he said. "You were trying to talk to me about something yesterday."
I felt a little flutter in my chest. There were a bunch of things I needed to talk to him about. He was about to be my husband. Why was I nervous talking to him about this?
"Yeah," I said, rolling over onto my stomach, propping myself up against him. I traced my fingers lazily down the middle of his chest, over the ridges of his pecs and abs, and watched his muscles jump as my fingers made their way over him.
Shit. I needed to stop doing that before I got distracted.
"You better watch those hands," Blaze said. "You're going to wind up starting something up again."
Any other time, I'd take that as a challenge to get going on round two. But now was something else entirely. "The wedding..." I began.
"Yeah, babe," Blaze said. "What about it?"
"Shopping with Kate yesterday, you know, I hated the dress..." My voice trailed off. What did I want to say exactly?
Hey babe, the idea of a biker wedding at the clubhouse sounded like a kick at first, but I really don't want to get married wearing a pleather dress in the middle of a dirty warehouse? That Mad Dog looks at me like he's about to kill me or fuck me, I can't decide which? That the Old Ladies hate me? Have you thought about having kids or anything, about how it would be like for them growing up with their criminal daddy? Oh, and by the way, do you even want kids?
The thoughts began pouring into my mind, a flood threatening to overwhelm me. How had we not talked about any of this before? How could I marry this person?
"Yeah," Blaze said. "That dress is obviously not your style."
"Well, that's the thing," I said. "It's a perfect style for a clubhouse wedding. But it's not really my style."