Page 151 of Beautifully Reckless
Nothing on this Earth will stop me from giving her what she wants, so I lean in and press my lips to hers, feeling her melt into me.
Fuck.
She really is mine.
All fucking mine.
My wife.
My old lady.
My fucking property in the eyes of the underworld.
And that child growing in her womb? Well, if Abbey is mine then that little baby is too.
When we finally break apart, I lift her in my arms, ignoring my cooling seed running down my thighs, and take Abbey to my shower.
She cries for a few more minutes before the tears dry up and exhaustion has her knees buckling, so I hold her up, letting her lean into me.
I wash her. Every fucking delectable inch, including her hair, which turns the shampoo suds pinkish as more of the tint washes away leaving hints of her blonde strands showing through.
Once she’s clean and can barely stand any longer, I dry her and carry her toourbed.
Her naked skin presses warmth into my side as she curls into me, not even self conscious about the fact I didn’t dress her in one of my t-shirts.
She might feel differently about that come morning, but for now, she’s content, letting out a soft sigh as I pull her close to settle against my chest.
Then, she finally lets go, slipping into sleep.
For roughly an hour I remain awake listening to her even breathing. Loving the way she occasionally mutters incoherent words.
I’ve never heard that from her before. I’ve heard her thrashing in her sleep. Nightmares plaguing her. But never this.
I fucking love it.
My wedding celebrations still continue outside, my club brothers and Doxies making the most of why they are here, but eventually I manage to fall asleep too, far too comfortable with my wife in my arms to fight off what my body needs.
It’s the sound of my phone that wakes me hours later, sunshine streaming through the windows from my living area, lighting up part of my bedroom.
Abbey remains asleep as I roll over, using my free hand to snatch up my phone, reading the message that just came in from JD.
You’re needed in the barn, pronto. Smitty’s fucking words. Not mine.
I fucking groan.
The last thing I want to do is leavethisbed andmywoman to go deal with those fuckers. But I guess the sooner I get it over with, the sooner they’ll fuck off and give me some alone time with my new wife.
Leaving our marital bed feels like fucking torture. Just the thought of being away from my Abbey has me on the verge of going on a killing spree. But un-fucking-fortunatley, I’m still on duty until my club brothers leave, so I quietly slide my arm from under Abbey and slip from the bed, quickly getting dressed.
Stepping into the barn, I find my Prez, VP and JD standing around the bar, looking at Smitty’s phone screen.
“He’s coming now,” Smitty barks, clearly not fucking impressed with whoever he’s talking to on the video call.
“Who dares to call me from my fucking honeymoon?” I snap before I even know who’s on the call, and then want to fucking slap myself in the head when I see who it is.
Ewan Marx.
The head of the Marx Empire, and a man who doesn’t like to fuck around.
