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“I don’t care what you’re wearing, the only thing that’s important is you saying yes. Say it for me, Etta, say yes,” I coax.
Her lips fall open, and instead of bracing for her rejection, my mind fills with all the filthy things I plan to do to my wife’s mouth once we get home.
“We’ll have a big wedding after the baby is born, you can invite whoever you want and wear a fancy white dress if you’d like.”
“I’m not pregnant,” she says.
“If you’re not yet, you will be soon.”
“I’m not pregnant,” she says again, like she didn’t hear anything I just said.
“Let’s not worry about it right now,” I assure her, pulling over to the curb outside the courthouse.
Turning off the engine, I pocket my keys, then circle around to the passenger door and open it. Her eyes are wide and a little glassy when I lean in and press my lips to hers, kissing her like we’re not in public and minutes away from getting married.
“Oz.” My name is a seductive rasp on her lips, and I have to suck in a deep inhale to stave off the urge to get back into my truck and take her home to bed.
“You’re a fucking temptress, Little One,” I growl against her mouth. “Let’s go.”
Unclipping her seat belt, I lift her from the truck and carry her bridal-style, closing and locking the door before striding into the courthouse. I’ve never been in the impressive red brick building, but I don’t waste time looking around. Instead, I follow the signs and head straight to the clerk’s desk, lowering Etta to her feet but pinning her to me with a restrictive arm around her waist.
“Hey there, we have an appointment with the judge to get married,” I tell the man behind the glass window.
“Names, please?” he asks.
“Oscar Malik and Henrietta Jordan.”
“I’ll need to see your IDs, please.”
Grabbing my wallet from my back pocket, I pull out both mine and Etta’s IDs and slide them over to him.
Etta’s brows furrow in confusion as she stares from me to her ID that I took from her purse while she was drying her hair.
“Okay, everything seems to be in order. Your license has been approved, and the judge will be ready for you as soon as he’s finished with the current wedding he’s officiating. If you’d like to take a seat just over there, he’ll call you in just as soon as he’s ready.”
“Thank you,” I tell the guy, taking our IDs and the license from him and then steering Etta over to the line of chairs against the wall.
“Oz, we can’t get married,” Etta says, a hint of panic clearing the slight slur from her voice.
“Yes, we can. I applied for the license in plenty of time, and the guy said the judge will be ready for us soon.”
Sitting down in one of the chairs, I pull her into my lap instead of letting her take the seat beside me.
“This is crazy,” she whisper-yells.
“Seems like it makes perfect sense to me.” I shrug.
“Oz.” Her eyes bug out a little, and it takes everything in me not to laugh.
Pinching her chin in my fingers, I turn her to look at me. “Are you mine?” I ask.
“Oz,” she whines, like she thinks the tone of her voice will explain everything.
Standing with her in my arms, I glance around us until I spot a sign for a bathroom. Throwing open the door, I step inside, then close and lock the door behind us. Lowering her to her feet, I tower over her, forcing her to tip her head back to look at me.
“Answer the question, Etta. Are you mine?”
When she starts to shake her head, I grab her chin and stop her from moving. Crouching down, I push my hand up her skirt, finding her pussy and cupping it possessively. “How many times have I fucked you in the last four days?”
