Page 370 of Seasons of Love
I picked up our wedding photo. We were as in love now as we were then, maybe even more so. I hoped, wherever my grandmother was, she looked down at us and saw how happy and loved I was.
Strong arms wrapped around my waist.
“Hey, baby,” Mal whispered before placing soft kisses behind my ear and all the way down my neck, pulling my shirt aside so he could carry on to my shoulder.
“This isn’t how packing gets done,” I teased even as I leaned back against his chest.
My brain tried to get control of the situation and tell me we had work to do, but when I was in Mal’s arms, the only thing in control was my heart.
One of his hands snaked down past my stomach to cup my half-hard cock.
“Hmm, I like what you’re packing. How about I give you a hand?”
I put the photo back down, turned around, and placed my hands on his chest. Mal’s heart was steady, though maybe a tad fast because he was clearly in the mood for sex.
“How about we finish packing, order some food in, and then you can fuck me all the way to the east coast,” I said.
He gave me a his smile I knew was only for me before claiming my mouth with a promising kiss.
God, I loved to kiss my husband.
From the moment I had my first stolen kiss with Ryan Schmidt in a supply cupboard at school when I was fourteen, I knew I’d found my new addiction.
I craved being so close to someone I could feel their heart beating against mine. I loved that feeling of losing yourself within a kiss because once you closed your eyes, all you could do was feel, and that was like a drug to me.
Everyone I’d kissed, from boyfriends to hookups, had their own taste. Some had been great and some not so much, but it wasn’t until I kissed Mal that everything changed.
Kissing Mal wasn’t just about how he always tasted like mint because he was addicted to the tiny candy pieces they gave out at reception. Kissing Mal was like levitating above the ground. Feeling so weightless that you became free from the shackles of being human.
“Fuck, Mal. You know I can’t say no to anything when you kiss me like that,” I said, trying to establish a regular breathing pattern, even as he nibbled on my bottom lip and peppered my chin and neck with kisses.
I felt his chuckle against my too-hot skin. “It’s good to know that after two years of dating and two of marriage, I can still take you apart at the seams.”
“Baby, I could be eighty-nine, and the effect would still be the same.”
He stilled, so I pulled my head back to look at him.
“What’s up?”
“When you’re eighty-nine, I’ll be long gone. Hell, I might even be gone by the time you’re seventy-five.”
Ugh, I hated when he brought up our age difference. Fifteen years wasn’t even that big of an age gap. Yes, Mal had more gray hair than the mousy brown I’d seen in some of his younger photos, but he was a healthy and fit man who could give many guys my age a run for their money at the gym.
Besides, it was this Mal that I loved. I never even considered that I could have met him a decade earlier. And if I had, would we have had the same connection? The same love story? What was the point of wondering?
“What are you doing with me, Griff, when you could find someone much younger and with less annoying habits than me?” he said, equal parts teasing and needing reassurance.
“True. Do you have any idea how many lost socks I found at the back of the underwear drawer? I could open a shop,” I said, pursing my lips. “Let’s not even mention you're weird fetish with vegetarian pizza.”
“Hey, veggie pizza is the one that rules them all.”
“And those aren’t your worst habits,” I said, pointing at his chest. He put his arms back around me, locking his hands around my waist so I couldn’t go anywhere.
“Oh really? What other habits make me such a terrible husband?”
I put my finger on my chin. “For starters, you treat all your staff nicely.”
“How terrible of me.”
