by Zoe York
That predatory gleam flared in his eyes again, and he shifted, covering her body with his. His cock nudged her entrance.
“Ready?”
“You’ve just tasted that I’m more than ready.”
Myles flexed his hips, sinking into her body, stretching and filling. At last. He took her mouth in a rough, desperate kiss as he withdrew and plunged back in, grinding his hips against her.
Piper’s legs locked around him, her hips shifting to pull him even deeper. “Yes. God, yes.”
“You feel so goddamned good.”
“More.” She nipped his lip, goading, taking his mouth in a hot, wet kiss, her tongue echoing the thrusts of his body into hers. Her hands dragged down his back, digging into his taut ass, urging him faster, harder. With every primal stroke, she tightened around him, dragging out the glorious, erotic friction of his cock moving within her, until her muscles began to quiver and pulse. The orgasm rolled through her, an unbridled storm. She cried out, body clamping around him. Above her, he stiffened, and she felt the heat of his own release as he poured into her.
Breath coming hard, Myles dropped his brow to hers. “I’m pretty sure that makes you most thoroughly mine, Mrs. Stewart.”
Piper tipped her face up to kiss him. “I don’t know, it might require several rounds to really take.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “It’s best to be thorough in these matters.”
“Damn straight. Although as first times go, that was…”
“The best sex of my life.”
She sighed, exhausted and sated. “Glad it wasn’t just me.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure that was entirely you.” He rolled just far enough off her that he didn’t squish her when he collapsed. “What was that you did there at the end?”
“Kegels.”
“That thing you’re supposed to do for bladder strength?”
Piper snorted. “They have other uses.”
“I fully support those other uses. At every available opportunity.” He nuzzled her shoulder.
She rolled into him, laying her left hand over his heart, looking at the rings glinting in the candlelight. Other than her pearls, they were the only thing either of them was still wearing. She liked having that visible symbol of unity.
“What’s going through that busy brain of yours?” he asked.
“I was just wondering if it would’ve been that amazing if we hadn’t been married first.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t know. You said yourself you felt some kind of primal satisfaction at the idea of claiming me as your wife. Did it live up to your expectations?”
His lips quirked in a rakish smile. “Honey, if you have to ask that, I did something wrong.”
She laughed as he ran a hand down her leg, pulling it over his hip and proving he’d be ready to go again in very short order. But she didn’t want to be distracted from this. Not yet. “No, I mean…do you feel like I’m more yours because of this,” she flexed her ring hand, “than you would have without? Does this change how you feel about me? About us?”
Myles studied her, running a hand through her hair. “You mean does being married amp up what I feel for you in some artificial way, like taking on a role in a play?”
Piper didn’t know whether to be pleased or terrified that he’d so easily read between the lines. “Yeah. I mean, it would be easy to get caught up in the whole thing.”
“Do you think you are?” His expression held no judgment, and that made it easier to speak the truth.
“No. I know that I love you. I knew I loved you before you sang your vows to me—although if I hadn’t, that would’ve done it. You are my perfect match, and I just…I just want to make sure I’m not in this alone.”
He pressed his lips to hers. “Definitely not alone. And trust me when I say, I’ve never had any doubts about the veracity of what I feel for you.”
Then say the words.
He didn’t. But the tiny, scared part of her that needed to hear it lapsed into silence as he proceeded to show her.
Chapter 11
“HOW ARE WE EVEN supposed to know where to begin?” Piper wailed.
Myles slid an arm around his wife and followed her gaze, taking in her bedroom, which looked like a tornado had ripped through. Which it sort of had, given the frenzy with which she’d packed for their honeymoon. “Okay, so it’s going to be a lot. But there’s no rule that says we have to get everything moved today. We don’t even have to get it all this weekend.” And thank God for it. Piper’s house was eighteen hundred square feet of stuff. Pictures on every wall, furniture shoved cheek-by-jowl into every room. He had space in his place—their place—but just getting all of her things packed up was going to be a major undertaking. Maybe he could talk her into doing a little purging in the process.
Myles considered, briefly, calling up their friends to ask for help, but after all the work they’d put in on the wedding, it didn’t seem quite fair to draft them for the sucktastic job of moving, too.
Her shoulders slumped. “I should’ve started on this before the wedding.”
“In your defense, it’s not like you really had time.”
“I don’t feel like there’s time now. Two days back at work felt like two weeks. Why didn’t we stay in the Caribbean?”
“Getting back into the groove at work after any legitimate time off always feels worse.” The paper hadn’t exactly been a mess when they’d returned, but it’d definitely proved that he couldn’t just leave any of his current people at the helm and expect things to run like clockwork. “It’s just going to take a little while to find the new rhythm, that’s all.”
Piper turned and burrowed into him. “I’m so tired. After all the stress of the wedding and the honeymoon—which was fantastic, but let’s face it, not long enough and certainly not spent resting.”
“Long, glorious days and nights of not resting,” Myles agreed reverently, feeling his body stir at the memory.
“I’d almost kill for a weekend to do just...nothing.”
“Well, there’s nothing that says we have to do this now.”
She lifted her head, pinning him with a Look. “Don’t you balk now, buddy boy. You married me. Those vows apply in sickness and health and through moving.”
Myles laughed. “I’m not trying to get out of it. I’m just saying we’ve got time. Pack up your clothes, your toiletries, whatever you can’t live without. Get that settled. And you can take your time with packing up the rest. And once we’ve figured out what to keep, what to toss or sell, we can hire movers to deal with the rest.”
“Movers?” she asked hopefully.
“Movers.”
“You say the sweetest things.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, effectively derailing him from the task at hand for the next little bit.
He began to back her toward the bed conveniently at her back.
Piper stopped, breaking the kiss. “Oh no. You are not seducing me right now. We have work to do, Myles Stewart.”
Unrepentant, he grinned. “It was worth a try.”
“Go make yourself useful and pull the suitcases and bags out of the attic. The ladder is in the hall.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
By the time he came back, she’d made an even bigger mess of the bed, having emptied the dresser drawers onto the comforter.
“Is there any particular way you want this done?” he asked.
“Cram whatever you can into whichever bag. I’m not fussy.”
Myles started with a pile of scrubs, efficiently stuffing a duffel. “I can get the rest of the dresser if you want to start on the closet.”
“Okay.” She disappeared into its depths.
Scanning the walls, he noted the display of Playbills grouped around what he thought of as a little starlet style dressing table. There were a ton of them.
“Are these all the shows you’ve been in?”
“Most of them. I’m missing a few fro
m high school. But everything I’ve done at The Madrigal.”
“Which role was your favorite?”
“No question. Betty in White Christmas.” She flounced out of the closet and flashed him a sassy grin. “Because it brought me you.”
“Points for stroking my ego. But seriously. Is that really your favorite role?”
“I suppose not. My favorite was probably Elphaba in Wicked.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s one of the ultimate examples of love and forgiveness and being able to shake away your past and live a better life.”
“It’s ironic.”
“What is?”
“We were both looking for that. And I consider myself so goddamned lucky to have found it.”
She emerged from the closet, her eyes suspiciously glassy as she crossed over and gave him a hard kiss. “We make our own luck.”
Because he couldn’t bear the idea of her tears, even happy ones, he shot her a wicked grin. “Luck isn’t what I feel like making just now.”
“Behave, Mr. Stewart, and maybe I’ll reward you later.”
He heaved a theatrical sigh and sent her back to the closet with a pat to her ass. Back to the dresser. “You know, I realize this is the first time I’ve seen your bedroom.”
“Well, we didn’t spend much time here. Your place was more private and there really just wasn’t a lot of time.”
“A part of me keeps forgetting that. On some levels, I feel like we’ve been together way longer. And on others, I realize there’s still tons to learn about you. Like why you have a purple leopard print thong.” He dangled the item in question from one finger.
Unruffled, she shrugged. “It was part of a multipack and I really liked the stripes and polka dots that came with it.”
“You realize I’ll want everything in this drawer modeled, right?”
“A great deal of what’s in that drawer is not worth modeling.”
“Not when you’re the model. You make everything look amazing. Besides, the entire point of all of this is for me to take it off, and we’ve got an entire house to christen.”
“Ambitious, are we?”
“No. Practical. If I were ambitious, I’d say we should christen all of this place, too.”
She came out of the closet, one brow arched in a Really? sort of way that got his blood pumping. Oh, who was he kidding? Just her breathing got his blood pumping.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I am ambitious.” He started to advance on her.
She pointed an imperious hand toward the increasing mountain of clothes on the bed. “Pack.”
“The clothes aren’t going anywhere.”
“Exactly, which is why you need to—”
He cut off her protest with his mouth, sliding his hands down her back and over that luscious ass so he could pull her closer, rocking his hips into hers. At the press of his arousal, she stopped fighting. Surrendering on a moan, her own hands skated under his shirt. She tore her mouth away so she could shove the shirt up and over his head. “We have to be fast. There’s work to do.”
“I can do fast.”
He stripped her shirt off, reaching behind her back to release the clasp of her bra with a single flick of his fingers.
“You’re awfully good at that,” she murmured.
“In high school, my friends and I had a contest sometimes to see how many bras we could unhook with a flick just going down the halls.”
Piper pulled back to look at him as he slid the straps down her shoulders and off. “So you just popped girls’ bras randomly?”
“Yeah. I’m not real proud to admit that I held the record.”
“That’s—”
“Completely juvenile and stupid. I know. But it makes for fast access for this.” He bent his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth.
Her hands dove into his hair. “God. I find that I can’t really complain about the end result.”
He smiled, and shifted to lave the other breast. And his phone went off.
She stilled, hands still gripping his hair. “Do you have to get that?”
With a disappointed sigh, he pressed a kiss to the hollow between her breasts. “Unfortunately, yes.” He fished out the phone, mouthing I’ll be quick, as he answered. “Stewart.”
“Hey Myles. Sorry to bother you, but we’ve got a problem.”
He listened to Wes outlined the issue, then asked a few questions about troubleshooting and thunked his head against the wall.
“What was that?” Wes asked.
“Nothing. I’m on my way.”
When he turned around, Piper was already slipping her bra back on.
“I’m sorry.”
“For leaving me unsatisfied or bailing on moving?” But her tolerant smile took the sting out.
“Both. The paper’s a bitchy mistress.” He blew out a breath. “I don’t know how long this will take.”
“It’s fine. I can deal with packing my stuff and getting the clothes and whatnot put away at the house. Go deal with your emergency.”
No guilt and only a tiny bit of disappointment. God, what a woman.
“I’ll get takeout for dinner so we don’t have to think about it. And as soon as I get home, we’ll pick up where I left off and make absolutely certain you’re satisfied. As many times as necessary.”
“Promises, promises,” she sang.
He pressed a fast kiss to her lips. “Always.”
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Piper struggled to inject some pleasure into the surprise. She’d hope to come home to someone, but that definitely hadn’t been her mother. Myles had been forced to work late all week, putting out fires at the paper. Given that her mom was parked in the driveway, obviously that trend was continuing. So much for a post-work, stress relief quickie.
“Do I need a reason to come see my daughter?”
Um, yes. But Piper didn’t give voice to the thought. Instead she stepped forward to give her mom a hug. “It’s good to see you. Come in.”
She unlocked the door and led Twyla into the kitchen. The house was a wreck, a fact Piper had been able to live with until her mother walked inside. Now all she could see was the explosion of boxes there’d been no time to unpack.
“Good Lord. You haven’t gotten all this stuff put away?”
Piper fought the automatic defensiveness. “It’s a work in progress. My place is still a long way from packed up. There wasn’t time before the wedding, and we’ve only been back a little over a week.”
Twyla stepped past her, eyes skimming the living room, which, while comfortable, still very much said ‘bachelor’. “Have you gotten any of your stuff properly moved in?”
“Clothes, toiletries, some kitchen stuff. The essentials that could easily be gotten out of the floor. I’ve been going to my place a little bit every day after work to keep packing things up, but it’s slow going. I’m so tired. I feel like it’s been go go go go go since we got engaged, and it’s all starting to catch up with me. As soon as everything’s packed up at my house, we’re getting actual movers. But we still have to sort out what’s staying, what’s going and all that jazz, since there’s not room here for everything from my house and everything he has.”
Twyla made an elegant sniff of disapproval, but let the subject drop. “What will you be doing with your house? Selling or trying to rent it out?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She wasn’t quite ready to let go of her place. She didn’t really know why. Myles had the bigger house, so there was no question where they’d live. And he’d given her carte blanche to do whatever she needed or wanted in order to feel more at home in their place. But she felt strange making decisions about the house without him.
They’d decided so fast that this marriage would be something real, and there’d been no bumps in that road, so that rather than feeling real, it felt…surreal. She didn’t want to acknowledge the niggling sense of doubt and she sure as hell didn’t want to examine it. But it
was there, keeping her from fully investing in the marital reality of household meshing. So she hadn’t done that much to move in, which meant she felt more like she was on an extended stay-over rather than actually living here. The whole thing left her unsettled.
Not that there’d been time to talk to him about it. After all the intense one-on-one time during the honeymoon, she felt like she’d barely seen him the last week. She couldn’t help wondering if their honeymoon period was already over and worrying about what that might mean. But she’d go to her grave before admitting any of that to her mother.
“Well, it’s a lovely house. These counters are beautiful. What are they? Soapstone?” Twyla set her enormous purse on said counters and began to rummage.
“I believe so,” Piper said carefully, struggling valiantly not to remember exactly what she and her new husband had been doing on that spot the night before. The composition of the counters had been far less a concern than the convenience of their height.
Twyla produced a small binder. “I wanted to bring you this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s all the cards from your reception.”
“What cards?”
Exasperation flickered over her face. “We had a station, remember? Where all the guests could write their well wishes or advice for you. I organized them in an album.”
Piper had missed that entirely. Then again, Myles had completely stolen the show. “That was really thoughtful, Mom. Thank you.”
She flipped the book open and read the first card, written in her mother’s familiar, looping script. Recipe for a happy husband: Leave discussion of your bad days and personal problems to your friends, be a cheerful, happy harbor for your spouse, and always have a hot meal ready and waiting.
“How very 1950s,” Piper remarked, unable to rein in the sarcasm.
“My mother gave me that advice when I got married, and it’s solid. Your father and I have been happily married for thirty-five years. You’d do well to emulate it. The last thing Myles is going to want to hear about when he gets home from a long day is whatever gross thing you had to deal with at work.”
