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“I love you and can hardly wait to get you alone…husband.”
“Call me that again.”
“Say please.”
Rhys threw his head back and laughed. Then he said, “Pretty please with sugar on top, plus a cherry.”
“You got mine when I was sixteen.”
“I damn sure did.”
When the song reached its midway point, Rhys surprised me by picking me up underneath my arms and spinning me around. Seconds later, he held me against him—his arms wrapped tight around my waist and my arms around his neck, looking down at him looking up at me. Then I kissed him.
He was mine.
All mine.
And I was his forever.
CH 49 - #honeymoon
Riley
Song: “Let’s Make Love” by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw
RHYS AND I arrived at the Garden District B&B in New Orleans as the sun was setting. It was a beautifully restored, pastel-green Victorian home built in the late 1860s. The place oozed Southern charm and character, inside and out, and I was thrilled that Rhys and I were staying in it for an entire week.
Our room had a balcony view of Magazine Street, the old oak trees that lined it, and the black wrought iron fences adorned with Mardi Gras beads. The inside of our room had a 12-foot ceiling, a chandelier, pine floors, a four-poster bed, a quilted bedspread, and every amenity one could ever want.
After Rhys and I unpacked our suitcases, I went into the bathroom to change clothes. When I walked out, Rhys shook his head at me and smiled.
“You keep taking my breath away,” he said, coming up to me.
“So you like my nightie then?”
“Yes! It’s sexy as hell.”
Macie was the one who’d found and bought it for me. It was made of white lace and white mesh, had a deep V-neck that reached down between my breasts, and slits up the long, flowy sides. My panties were made of white lace, and the crotch was already damp from my wanting Rhys so badly.
The last time we had sex was in September, days before he showed up early at my duplex, saw me talking to Chad in my front yard, and then ended things with me. After my car wreck, he and I discussed waiting until our wedding night to be together again. We both felt it would be even more special.
“Would you like a glass of champagne?” Rhys asked.
“I would love to have one.”
After popping the cork and filling two glasses for us, he handed mine to me. “To you and me, my beautiful,” he said, clinking his glass against mine.
“To you and me, my handsome.”
We took a sip and set our glasses on the table near us.
“This may sound silly, but I’m nervous about us having sex again,” Rhys admitted.
“It’s not silly. I’m also nervous.”
“I think it’s going to feel different with us being married.”
“I think it is, too.”
