19. Roland

Emerson seemed to regret the wedding wasn't some grand display. He kept saying how I deserved more, how I deserved anything and everything, but instead, I got this rushed ceremony in a small office in city hall. No friends or family in attendance. "We're still wearing our work uniforms, for gods' sake," he muttered.

But in my mind, it was perfect. I liked that it was just the two of us. And I was okay with it being rushed too, because I was getting pretty needy for him to claim me already. I was not in the mood for a long ceremony right now.

Emerson paused briefly to pick a flower from a vase in the hallway outside. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, holding the single bloom out to me. "I won't be mad if you say no."

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I replied. Then I dragged him into the office, all the way until we stood in front of the waiting justice of the peace.

Knowing how much regret Emerson felt that this wasn't bigger, better, more extravagant, I made sure not to show him a single speck of hesitation as I turned to look up at him and said those binding words: "I do." My voice didn't waver, I didn't blink. I imbued those words with every ounce of my confidence and devotion, until I was certain he felt it too.

And when I kissed my husband for the first time, I felt an astounding amount of all-encompassing love for this man. He'd always been the one for me, but now he would forever be my only.

"I promise, when all of this is over, we'll get married again, with proper rings and everything. A big party, with everyone we know. And I'll take you on a honeymoon anywhere you want," he pledged.

"I don't need any of that." I grabbed his tie and dragged me down to kiss me. "I just need you to take me home, Husband," I said against my lips.

So that was exactly what he did.

I was relieved when Emerson turned the car toward his home instead of mine. He'd informed me that Eva actually owned my apartment building, and I was fully prepared to abandon all my possessions rather than setting foot back inside. Emerson seemed to think she was bluffing with her threats, but I'd seen that glint in her eye, like a snake about to strike. She was dangerous, and I wouldn't be underestimating her anytime soon.

We held hands across the console of his car the whole way back to his apartment. I could see the way his leg twitched, the engine revving under his foot, and judging by the outline of his erection down his pantleg, I knew he was fighting the urge to slam his foot down on the accelerator and speed the whole way home. So I probably shouldn't have set my hand on his thigh, sliding it higher to brush against the bulge.

He hissed, the speedometer ticking up a notch. "Roland…" he warned.

"What?" I asked with fake innocence. But we got home faster, so I called it a win.

In the elevator on the way up to his apartment, he handed me his keys. "Here, hold these," he said.

"Okaaaay," I drawled, confused, frowning down at his keys in my hand. "Why did you—"

But as soon as the elevator dinged, the doors opening to let us out on his floor, he bent at the waist and swept me up into my arms. "Hey!" I protested, kicking my feet and bucking my hips.

"Quit squirming or I might drop you," he warned in a rough growl, and even though I had total faith in his strength, I decided to settle down like a good little boy. In fact, I was quite comfortable there in his arms. I hooked my arm around his neck and rested my head on his shoulder, loving the bunch and tug of his muscles as he walked us down the hallway.

He paused in front of his door so I could insert the key in the lock. "You might need to jiggle it a little," he instructed.

"That's what he said," I muttered cheekily, before managing to get the door open.

My husband carried me over the threshold, kicking the door closed behind him, before he set me down. I looked around the apartment curiously. The place was clean, his breakfast dishes stacked in the drying rack. The furniture was nice but maybe a bit bland, and the space was tidy, though sparse. I got the impression he didn't spend all that much time here; it had that unlived-in feel, but I had a feeling that was about to change now that I was here.

"The building is a little old," he said apologetically, "and it needs some work."

"Don't you dare apologize. You've seen where I live. This is practically a palace compared to what I'm used to." While we talked, I headed through the kitchen, barely glanced at the living room, then kept on going down the short hall. I peeked into the bathroom, but I made it more than clear that I had a destination in mind—the bedroom.

He trailed after me, looking more nervous by the second. If it weren't for the hard bulge in his pants, I might've assumed he didn't want me. He licked his lips, his throat moving with a heavy swallow. He paused in the doorway, watching me with hooded eyes. "I hope once we get Eva out of our lives for good, we'll be able to afford a bigger place, with room for a nursery."

I stopped in front of his bed and turned to face him, smiling tenderly. "I'd like that," I said, but I wasn't in the mood to talk. His eyes were laser-focused on what my hands were doing, working their way down the row of shirt buttons.

"I-isn't it a little early for bed?" he asked, gulping. For some unknown reason, he had his body locked down tight.

When he hesitated to join me, I raised an eyebrow at him, peeling off my shirt. I stood there for a moment as he drank me in, his pupils dilating as he followed the trail of dark hair downward. "Don't go all shy on me now," I teased, biting my lower lip, eyes flashing.

"It's not that I'm feeling shy. It's that…" he began to explain, but his words cut off as I shoved my pants and underwear down in one move. I peeled my socks off slowly, one at a time, in the absolutely sexiest strip tease ever, leaving me naked in front of him for the first time. I swore my heart stopped for a full three seconds, before it took off again at a gallop. The way he watched me made me feel sexier than I ever had. Now I just needed to entice him to play with me.

He watched as I crawled across his bed, wiggling my ass in the air, dripping with slick. "What a nice bed you have here. Much softer than your desk," I joked with a husky laugh.

He groaned, gripping his cock tightly through his pants. "I want to make love to you, Roland, I really do, but… I don't think I'll be able to go slow."

"Who said anything about slow?" I peeked over my shoulder at him and tilted my hips toward him in invitation. "We have all night, sweetheart. We have more than one night, in fact. We have a whole lifetime of nights. We'll have another chance to go slow."

"Say that again," he blurted, stalking toward me.

"Which part?" I asked, thinking back over what I'd said. Something had clearly triggered his lust.

He threw off his jacket, tearing at his shirt. "You called me sweetheart." Who knew pet names would be what did him in?

My grin grew sly. "So I did. Would you prefer I call you… honey? Darling? Dearest?"

We'd spent so long toeing the line, and I had resigned myself to never calling him anything but Monsieur Holland, so formal, so distant, yet another barrier between us. Calling him a cute nickname, it had brought the final walls tumbling down. Emerson was mine, and I would do whatever it took to keep it that way.

His moan was louder than I could've anticipated as he kicked off his clothes as quickly as he could, fumbling and desperate, and made his way across the mattress to me.

I was guilty of having imagined him naked since that first time I met him in person, and I'd assumed after all this time that I'd painted a fairly accurate portrait in my mind, but I couldn't have been more wrong. He was gorgeous.

I needed to touch every inch of him, taste everything he had to offer—but it seemed he had a similar plan. As his mouth lowered to my slick hole, I bucked in surprise.

"Fuck!" I cried, before pressing back into him hard. He mouth was so hot and wet and so, so eager. He was like a man starved.

First he teased around my hole, savoring my flavor like a fine wine, before he added his fingers. One finger, then two, scissoring them to stretch me out. By the time he added a third finger, lapping at my taint to catch every drop of slick that escaped, I was arching my back and whimpering. "Emerson, please," I begged. "I need more. I-I need…"

"Don't worry, omega mine. I know what you need," he grunted, removing his fingers and leaving me feeling suddenly empty.

Taking me around the waist, he flipped me over onto my back and settled in between his thighs, my cock pinned between us as he lined his blunt head up against my entrance. There was a light sheen of sweat across his skin, his chest already heaving to catch his breath, and I loved knowing I'd worked him up like that before we'd barely had a chance to get started. "Hold on to me, love," he instructed.

I tried to, my hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, but my body seemed suspended in an in-between state, half dazed, lust and need making me clumsy. And then Emerson surged forward, impaling me on his cock, and I gripped him with my whole body, thighs clamping down around his hips, a strangled cry escaping my lips.

Even as he sheathed himself inside my tight channel again and again, setting a furious rhythm, the wet slap of slick skin filling the room, I was incredibly aware that this wasn't just fucking. This was making love, because we were devoted to each other with every fiber of our being, and no joining of our bodies could ever be anything but love.

My need for him had been hovering just beneath the surface ever since we said "I do," and now that he was inside me? I was a goner.

Cupping me behind the knee, he hiked my leg up to my chest, changing the angle. My eyes rolled back in my head as he added friction against my prostate, and the pitch of my cries became frantic. "Emerson, Em, fuck!" I began violently quivering. I couldn't hold on any longer.

Just as my balls drew up with the first hint of my climax, he jacked his hips even harder. One, two, three hard thrusts—and I threw my head back, shouting, as my cum unspooled in an arc across my abdomen. My entire body felt electrified.

Above me, Emerson shuddered then stilled, crying out before pulsing deep inside me as he painted my insides with his seed. It wasn't until after his knot had slid into my entrance, expanding and filling every spare inch of space, that I finally began to emerge from the haze of orgasmic bliss. The room came into focus, and we both realized at the same time how hard he was gripping me. He pried his fingers from the flesh of my hip, the other tangled in my hair.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, Ro. I didn't mean to be so rough." His face crumpled, guilt and regret taking the place of his pleasure, but I quickly grabbed his face and forced him to look at me.

I could just imagine what I must look like, with my hair sticking up at all angles, my face flushed, feeling sleepy and sated. "Do I look like I'm feeling any pain?"

"Well… no," he admitted. "But—"

"Nope. No buts." I leaned up to kiss him slowly, sweetly. Before my thoughts veered straight over to the naughty side. "You know, I used to have all kinds of fantasies about you," I admitted.

"Oh?" he asked, intrigued. "You… fantasized about me?"

"Mm-hm. You were always a little rough," I admitted with a cheeky smile.

He tugged a little on his knot, and I swore he was already hardening again for round two. "Tell me what else I did in these fantasies…"