The afternoon has stretched past four by the time we reach the truck, turning the sky honey-gold. I open the truck door and help her in, catching the skirt of her dress so it doesn't snag. She clutches the leftover bag as though it might bite her. Nobody's given her things without a price tag in a long time.
I kiss her forehead before I close the door. Can't help it.
On the drive home, she holds the bubble wand Maggie pressed into her palm. Twirls the stem. Stares out the window with a soft, stunned expression. She glances at me. Each time, the ache behind my ribs spreads.
When we pull into my driveway, ours now, even if it doesn't feel real yet—she exhales. A breath full of nerves, want, and whatever she's been trying so hard to hide.
She steps inside first. Sets the bag on the kitchen counter, then drifts through the living room, fingertips brushing the picture frame of me and the guys. Her wedding dress sways around her thighs. The ring catches the light when she lifts her hand. I have to look away.
I lean in the doorway. My heartbeat is steady and loud. She bends over the frame, studying it, hair falling forward. She straightens and turns.
Her eyes meet mine. We're alone in the quiet house.
I close the distance. She holds her ground.
Then we sit on the couch. The moment she tucks against me the way she did last night, as though she's always fit here, my skin goes taut, each nerve firing. She rests her head on my chest. I circle her waist. Her palm presses over my heart.
Then she whispers. "Knox?"
Each nerve locks on. I slide up her thigh. "Yes, wife?"
Her thighs clamp together. It's a single, involuntary contraction she tries to hide by shifting her weight. Wife.
I tilt her chin up with my knuckles. "What's going on in your head?"
Her lips part. "All of it at once. I'm not sure how to hold this much."
I stroke the inside of her thigh, tracing the seam of her dress. "I've got you."
Her eyes flutter. Then I cage her in, bracing on the couch behind her head, and turn toward her. The air goes taut. Sheinhales sharply, her knees grazing mine as she leans into the cushions. She already knows what's coming. My arms on either side of her. My weight angled over hers. Mine.
Sloane looks up at me, mouth parted, breath unsteady. Her chest rises fast. The neckline of that dress pulls taut over her ribs. Vanilla from Maggie's lotion clings to her throat.
"Knox," she whispers again, barely audible. Her fingers dig into the couch cushion, knuckles white.
"Fuck, Sloane. You say my name like that and I'm gonna lose the last piece of control I've got."
Her eyes burn into mine. Wide. Trusting. Brave enough to tempt a man to sin. She takes a breath, and she chooses. "Then lose it."
The line snaps. I lean in and kiss the hell out of her. It's deep, messy, hungry. My mouth slants over hers, tongue pushing past her lips. She opens instantly, a soft gasp turning into a needy moan as her fingers fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, closer, closer.
Her back hits the cushions. I follow, braced above her, knees on either side of her hips. She arches under me, her body aligning with mine, heat rushing through us both.
"You have any idea," I growl at her mouth, "what this dress has done to me today?"
Dizzy, lips swollen, she shakes her head.
I run down her side, over her hip, gripping hard enough she moans. It pours straight into my bloodstream. "That dress has been killing me all day. I almost lost it twice before we left the house."
She shivers, nails digging into my shoulders. "Knox…"
"Yeah, baby," I murmur, kissing down her neck. Her pulse jumps under my mouth. "Feel what you do to me."
I guide her hand down, pressing it over my cock, thick and straining through my dress pants. Her palm trembles. She inhales sharply. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." My voice scrapes low, filthy. "Been like that all damn day."
Her thighs tense around me, drawing me in.