40. Mira

40

MIRA

"Are you absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure you all want to leave?" I spin in a circle as our friends clean up the reception before my very eyes.

Not even half an hour ago, Zane and I were having our first dance under the glow of the string lights above us. White flower petals covered the dance floor and Zane twirled and dipped me so smoothly I almost felt graceful. Halfway through it, Aiden escaped Daniel's hold and ran across the dance floor. He threw his arms around our legs and Zane scooped him up so we could all dance together.

Nothing in my life has ever felt more right.

Now, Taylor, Jemma, and Rachelle are blowing out candles and clearing dishes. The hockey players are mostly eating leftover canapes and hiding wine bottles inside their jackets, but still, they're making quick work of everything, each in their own way.

"It's barely even eight o'clock." The sun is setting behind the distant mountains, painting the sky in jewel tones.

"It's past my bedtime." Rachelle gives a fake yawn and points towards where Aiden and Gallagher are drooping in their chairs. "It's past theirs, too."

"Yeah, we laughed, we cried, we danced, we drank." Taylor shrugs like there's nothing left on the list of possible wedding verbs. "Now, it's time for us to go."

I spent a week straight planning this day and now, it's over. We're married.

We're married.

I want to hit pause and savor the day a little longer. I want to spend a few more minutes with the people we love.

Then Zane wraps his arms around me from behind. He hasn't had a drop to drink, but there's something intoxicating in the air. He feels heavy on my shoulders, his body loose and relaxed and at ease in a way I haven't seen in way too long. "I hope you're not tired. I have plans for you, Mrs. Whitaker."

I barely resist letting out a wolf whistle, reversing course, and pushing everyone towards the doors. Okay, party is over.

My heartbeat kicks up, and I wonder when this will go away. When will I get used to the magnetism that is Zane Whitaker?

All at once, something occurs to me and I gasp. "I'm Mira Whitaker now."

I've been so busy the last week that I didn't have time to come to terms with everything that would change when I became Zane's wife. My name being one. I roll the idea around in my mind and smile.

Mira Whitaker.

I feel Zane's matching smile against my neck. "Say that again when we're alone. I like it."

Twenty minutes later, once the perishables are packaged in the refrigerator and anything that might blow away in the night is strapped down, folded, or stashed in the back of Daniel's truck, Aiden grabs me and Zane by the hands.

"I know you just had your marry, but Jalen wants me to stay at his house tonight." He delivers the news with a somber face, like he's telling us something we don't know. "I'm gonna do that."

Zane and I both bite back a laugh. "We'll miss you every second, son," Zane says in all seriousness. "But we understand."

I kiss the top of his head and remind him to grab the overnight bag I packed for him twelve hours ago from the closet. Jemma and Reeves wave as they follow the boys into the house.

Next, it's Taylor's turn to grab my shoulders and look deeply in my eyes. "I know you just had your marry, but it's time for me to leave so you can get railed by your husband."

"Taylor!"

She laughs and ducks away when I try to swat at her. "I'm sorry—the deep and meaningful bullshit was for before the ceremony. Now, I've had a little too much wine and your husband is looking at you like he wants to eat you."

I follow the flick of her eyebrows and, well, she's definitely not wrong.

Zane is talking to Jace, but his eyes keep slipping to me. His jaw is set in the soft glow of the lights and he ditched his jacket somewhere an hour ago to roll his sleeves around his forearms. He looks even more unbelievable than usual.

Mine. He's mine.

The reality that this man belongs to me snaps into place all at once. Something feral claws at my chest and I barely resist the primal urge to walk across the lawn and pin him to the ground.

"Wow. Yeah. That's my cue." Taylor backs away. "I'll see you whenever you're done…" She flits a finger from me to Zane and back again. " Later . I'll see you later. Probably in a few weeks."

I'd be annoyed with her if she wasn't spot on. Once I fall into Zane, I don't think I'll want to come up for air for a good, long while.

Taylor whispers something to Rachelle and, after a quick look at me, Rachelle crosses the yard and pulls Jace away by the elbow.

"I was in the middle of—" He starts to argue, but Rachelle tosses a pointed look at me and Zane, and Jace blanches. "Congrats again, you two! Bye!"

They walk around the side of the house, and Zane and I are finally alone.

"Our friends aren't much for subtlety." His voice is a deep rumble that sucks out all the oxygen in my lungs. He's stalking towards me with purpose, and I should be scared. A man like him looking at me like that should register some instinctual alarm bells, but all I feel is heady anticipation curling low in my belly.

Mine.

I'm Mira Whitaker, and he's mine .

"To be fair, neither are we. I think we made them uncomfortable."

"Good." He doesn't slow or stop as he wraps his arms around my waist and walks me back until I'm pressed against the brick wall of the house. Our house.

He plants his palms on either side of my head, caging me in with his body. The heat rolling off of him is insulating against the evening chill. "I've wanted to get you to myself all fucking day. Even before I saw you in this dress."

His fingers smooth over the delicate tulle straps, and I'm painfully aware of how easily he could shred this dress off of me… and how much I wish he would.

"You're the one who wanted a formal wedding. I would've gotten married in front of Fake Elvis—twenty minutes in and out—but you wanted our friends and family there."

"Maybe I wanted to draw it out. Maybe I'm into edging." He nuzzles his stubbled cheek against mine. My body vibrates where he touches me. I can't take it, but I also need more. "Waiting almost drove me crazy. You've been driving me to distraction for hours. It's a miracle I got through my vows without dropping to my knees and tasting you."

Speaking of miracles, it's a miracle I'm still human-shaped instead of a melted puddle of desire on the ground.

I press my hand to Zane's chest just to make sure he's real and this isn't all a dream. His heart thuds against my palm a bit too fast. "We're married now, you know."

His eyes flutter closed like I just said something sinfully dirty. "Believe me, I'm aware."

"If I remember right, your plan was to marry me and then carry me over a threshold before you rip this dress off of me with?—"

I yelp as Zane scoops me into his arms and carries me towards the patio doors.

I think he's going to turn down the hall towards our room, but he turns for the kitchen instead. He sets me on the spacious counter littered with party leftovers, and I don't even have time to complain about the bite of the cold marble through my dress before Zane slips the straps down my shoulders and has me bare from the waist up.

"I thought you were going to rip it off with your teeth."

"It's pretty and you look good in it. I don't want to ruin it." He scrapes his teeth over my shoulder instead, kissing his way over my collarbone while he curls both hands around my chest. He lifts my breast to his mouth, moving over me with gentle nips until his control slips and his teeth sink into me.

"You bit me!" I yelp.

"I already told you," he growls against the sting, kissing away the tenderness. "You look edible."

The bite already feels good. I want him to do it again. But I lift my chin. "Well, I'm not. If you keep that up, I'll be ruined."

When he looks up at me, his eyes are dark and his smile is vicious. "You're not so fragile, Mira. You can take it."

Before I can find the words, Zane pushes me back onto the counter. The marble is frigid on my skin, but my body flames where Zane touches me. He lifts my hips and slides my dress down, discarding it somewhere on the floor. Calloused fingers scrape over my legs, hesitating over the garter belt around my thigh and the lace arching over my hips.

"Just for me," he breathes against the inside of my leg. Goosebumps explode in his wake. Every part of me is alive and responsive.

I should be doing something in return—touching him, making him feel as worked up as I am—but I lie back and let Zane explore. He kisses my knees, my thighs, the crease of my hips, then strokes his thumb over the triangle of lace at my center.

And just like that, I pretty much cease breathing.

I grab at his shirt and try to pull him higher, but he shrugs my hands away and takes his time, as if we have an endless amount of it. As if there is no limit to how long we can taste and touch and tease.

Come to think of it, he might be right.

He parts me with his hands, planting stubbly kisses along the hem of my panties. He must be able to see how wet I am, smell it, taste it. I'm throbbing and it's a miracle I haven't finished from the anticipation alone.

"I chose these because they were supposed to drive you crazy," I complain, squirming to get his mouth where I want it. "You were supposed to go wild and rip them off of me."

I feel him smile. Feel a wide-mouthed kiss pressed to my very center over the fabric. "As a kid, if I liked the wrapping, I would peel the tape from my presents and fold the paper neatly for later. I liked taking my time."

"You were one of those kids?" I groan. "You definitely like edging, then."

"You're the prettiest present I've ever seen, Mira Whitaker. I don't want to rush it." His hands span across my thighs, his thumbs stroking devastating vibrations on either side of my pulsing pussy.

"Zane…"

He takes mercy on me and slides the lace to one side. His warm breath washes over my wetness before his thumb settles there, stroking.

He's barely touched me, but I'm deranged. I'm trembling with how much I need him.

I throw my arms out to my sides. Cups tip over and my fist lands in something solid, but Zane's lips are on me now and nothing else matters.

"There," I moan, hooking a leg over his shoulder. I slide my hand through his hair, holding him where I want him, arching my hips against his mouth. "Oh, God, right there."

He hums against me, working his tongue faster, tasting me like his grip on control is slipping as fast as mine.

My hand closes in his hair, pulling tight—too tight. He growls and tosses my hand to the side. It lands in something solid again, but my body is on fire. I feel like I'm coming out of my own skin. I stroke my hands over my chest to keep myself together, massaging to the pace of Zane's mouth.

"Touch yourself. Don't stop," he orders, but I already am. I couldn't stop even if I wanted to.

Some primal snarl rips out of Zane's chest and he lifts my thighs, holding me open so he can bury his tongue inside of me.

And I collapse like a dying star.

Bright white burns behind my eyes as my body pulses again and again. Zane keeps going, following my cues. As I'm coming down, he coaxes me back to reality with soft kisses.

When the last of it ebbs away, I slump to the counter, breathless.

Zane starts making his way over me again. He drags his tongue over my stomach and around my breast. I open my eyes and see a clump of white in his hair.

"What is—" I work my hand through it, rubbing the cream between my fingers. "Is that frosting ?"

He lifts his face and his tongue is out, a dollop of frosting on the tip. He swallows, his throat bobbing beautifully. "I think we ruined our wedding cake."

I look over and see what my hand kept hitting. The bottom tier of our chai cake with vanilla cream cheese frosting is perfect—except for a deep gash in the side closest to us. It looks like a bear mauled it. There are actual claw marks.

Whoops.

Zane follows the trail of frosting I unknowingly left across my stomach and over my breasts. He straddles me on the counter, eating and tasting until I'm pulsing again.

"I want some."

He swirls his finger in the mess at the hollow of my throat and holds out some frosting, but I shake my head.

I reach for the cake, swipe my hand through the frosting, and then dip between our bodies. Zane frowns until my hand slides into his pants. Until I stroke frosting over him from base to tip.

We clumsily switch positions, and he hisses when his back hits the cold marble.

"You're not so fragile," I tease, arching a brow. "You can take it."

He grins and dips a frosting-covered thumb between my lips. "My cruel wife."

His pants are covered in frosting and spilled champagne, so they stick to his skin when I peel them over his hips. Zane kicks them off the rest of the way while I fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

He took his time with me, but I don't have nearly the self-control my husband does. The second Zane is bare beneath me, I plant my hands on his thighs and take him in my mouth.

"Fuck." He loops my hair around his fist, holding lightly as I move over him.

I swirl my tongue over the frosting at his tip, and Zane breathes my name. He thrusts into my mouth like he can't help himself, his lips moving around broken phrases and words I can't hear. When I slide deeper, pressing my nose to his stomach and swallowing around him, he roars.

Sugar and Zane explode on my tongue.

When he's finished, he grabs my arm and pulls me over him. The marble is warm under us now, and he settles me against his chest.

"Have I told you how incredible you look?"

A weak laugh bubbles out of me. "You're remembering me from an hour ago. It's too late for compliments now. I'm wrecked."

He drags his finger through the sticky mess of my chest, slowly circling my nipple until the skin pebbles for him. "Wrong. I don't think you've ever looked better."

That doesn't stop him from peeling me off of the ruined island and carrying me straight to the shower. Steam billows and swirls as we soap each other up. I work shampoo into the frosted mess of his hair and he drags his hands over my skin, making me feel dirty in a way soap could never touch.

We dry each other off, unwilling to stop pawing at each other for even a second.

Our bedroom is a maze of half-unpacked boxes, but the bed is made.

"Did you do that?" I ask, pointing to the tucked corners and mound of pillows.

"I unpacked the most important things first."

I start to reach for a box labeled Clothes , but Zane catches me around the waist and pulls me onto the bed. "Like I said, I only unpacked the important things."

"Clothes are pretty important."

He rolls me against him, fitting his body behind me like we were made for this. "Not right now they're not."

It's easy, the way he slides into me. I've been wet and ready for hours—days, really—and Zane sinks into me with one thrust. He presses a hand flat to my stomach, holding me against him as he drags out and fills me again. The friction is excruciatingly good. I reach back to touch his neck, his hair, whatever I can reach, because I need to hold onto something or I swear I'll float away.

"Do you think this will go away?" I breathe. "The way I need you? The way you need me?"

Zane laces his fingers through mine and brings our hands to his lips. He kisses each of my knuckles. "It might change. When we've been married for ten years, twenty, fifty?—"

"You'll be so old by then," I tease, gasping when he shifts a little faster inside of me like he's trying to prove exactly how young he still is.

"—so maybe it will look different, but it will never go away, Mira." His hand strokes over my stomach, dipping between my legs to circle my clit. "You're wrapped up in my DNA. Needing you is part of who I am now."

When he groans against my neck that he's going to come, I slide away from him and lie flat. If Zane is confused, he pieces things together fast. He kneels over me, stroking himself as his neck tenses and his arms flex. The low lamplight paints him in pale golds and soft shadows. Zane gives himself fully to everything he does, including pleasure. It's mesmerizing to watch. I touch myself while I stare up at him, falling at the exact moment he spills onto my chest.

He dries on me and my fucking God, it's insane how much I love being marked by him, inside and out.

His cum on my skin.

His ring on my finger.

His love and his heat and his last name surging through my veins.

Zane lies down next to me, and we might fall asleep. I'm not totally sure. My eyelids are heavy, and he's warm and solid at my side. I do know we lie there for a long time before he gets up to snag tissues from the nightstand.

He cleans me up with a lazy smile. "We just showered and you're already dirty again."

"I don't care. I wanted you everywhere. Inside and out." I reach out and stroke my fingers down his stomach. His muscles twitch and flex. "I wanted you to mark me, Zane."

His smile slips and his eyes darken. His voice goes rough. "Fuck, Mira. You can't say shit like that to me."

"Why not?"

He falls over me, catching himself with his hands on either side of my head. "Because I'm already getting hard again and I want to fuck a baby into you."

Zane told me to take my time. He told me to think about whether I wanted kids or not, but in the end, there wasn't much to think about.

"You can." I bite my lip. "Right now, if you want."

"You're on birth control."

"I was. I—" The words catch in my throat. I'm going to sound insane. Hell, I might be, but the truth tumbles out of me, anyway, for better or worse. "I stopped three days ago. I thought it could be like a wedding gift. That maybe you'd… that maybe you'd want to…" My cheeks warm, and I shake my head. "It's crazy; I know it is. That's why I didn't let you finish inside. I didn't want to force you. But when I thought about this night, I didn't want there to be anything between us or our future. We don't have to, but if you want?—"

Zane steals the words from my lips. He kisses me hard, picking me up off the mattress so we're chest-to-chest. So I can feel how fast his heart is racing.

When we break apart, he's panting. "I want . All I fucking do now is want , Mira." Our foreheads press together. "Ever since I met you, I want it all."

I wrap my hand around him and he takes my hips. We fall together like a sigh, sinking back together in a kind of frenzied haze I've never felt before. I ride him in long, slow strokes, rising and falling down every inch of him.

"I already want to come," he grits out. He sounds half-amazed.

"Do it." The way he's filling me has me teetering on the brink.

But Zane shakes his head and pushes me back onto the mattress. "I want this to last. I don't want to stop."

He slides into me and it's too good. I cry out. "We'll die."

I believe it. Death by excessive orgasms. We've got to be setting records here.

"Then we'll die together." He slides his hands into my hair and kisses my neck, licking my pulse as he fucks me faster and faster.

I hook my legs around his thighs and pull him closer. I claw at his chest and cry his name and lose myself to whatever this madness between us is.

I'd say it's love, but if that's true, we must be the first two people who have ever felt it.

Because no one has ever fit together the way we do.

"I'm going to put my baby in you," he groans, pumping faster. "You're mine, Mira. All mine."

I arch off the bed, so close to the edge my vision is going black. "I'm yours."

A deep hum rumbles through his chest. "Say it again."

"I'm yours, Zane." I tug my hands through his hair and give myself over to everything he has to give. "I'm all yours."

He grips the top of the headboard and spills into me in long, powerful strokes. My orgasm stretches and carries until I think I really might die.

Hearts shouldn't beat this fast. Bodies shouldn't burn this hot.

Then Zane collapses on top of me, and everything is just as it should be again.

"That was more official than any ceremony." He sinks into the mattress next to me and flattens his hand on my quivering stomach. His lips brush against my jaw as he whispers, " Now , you're officially Mira Whitaker."