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EXCLUSIVE BONUS CONTENT

The Wedding Night — This scene takes place immediately after the wedding reception in Chapter 19.

Content Warning: Explicit sexual content between consenting adults

They barely made it through the front door.

Beckett pressed her against the wall of the entryway, his mouth hot on her throat, his hands already working at the buttons running down the back of her dress. Claire gasped, arching into him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“We have a perfectly good bedroom,” she managed.

“Too far.” His voice was rough, wrecked with want. “I’ve been thinking about getting you out of this dress for six hours. I’m not waiting another second.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“I’ve been patient for ten years.” He found her mouth, kissed her deep and dirty, his tongue sliding against hers. “Tonight, I’m done being patient.”

She shivered. “Then stop talking and show me.”

He growled—actually growled—and spun her around to face the wall. His fingers made quick work of the remaining buttons, and the dress slid down her body to pool at her feet.

Underneath, she was wearing the lingerie she’d bought specifically for this moment. White lace, barely there, designed to make him lose his mind.

It worked.

“Fuck.” The word was reverent. His hands traced down her sides, over the curve of her hips, across the lace covering her ass. “Claire. You’re—”

“Your wife,” she finished, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m your wife, Beckett.”

Something snapped in his expression. Dark. Hungry. Possessive in a way that made her knees weak.

“Yes,” he said. “You are.”

He picked her up like she weighed nothing—one arm under her knees, one around her back—and carried her up the stairs, his mouth never leaving hers. They bumped into the wall twice. Knocked over a picture frame. Neither of them cared.

The bedroom door was barely closed before he was laying her on the bed, covering her body with his, his still-clothed weight pressing her into the mattress.

“Too many clothes,” Claire complained, tugging at his shirt. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Patience.” He grinned against her throat. “Is a virtue.”

“I will murder you.”

“After I make you come. Murder me after.”

He kissed down her body—throat, collarbone, the swell of her breasts above the lace. His mouth closed over her nipple through the fabric, and she arched off the bed with a cry.

“Sensitive,” he murmured, doing it again. “I love how sensitive you are.”

“Beckett—”

“I love how you say my name when you’re desperate.” He moved lower, pressing kisses to her stomach, her hip bones, the inside of her thighs. “I love how wet you get for me.”

His fingers hooked in the lace of her panties, dragging them down her legs with agonizing slowness.

“Beautiful,” he said, looking at her spread out before him. “My beautiful wife.”

“Beckett, please—”

“Please what?” He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, so close to where she needed him. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth. Please. I need your mouth.”

“Good girl.”

He gave her what she asked for.

His tongue was relentless, working her with a skill that still amazed her after all these months. He knew exactly how she liked it—slow strokes to build the tension, faster when she was close, his fingers sliding inside her to find that perfect spot.

Claire fisted her hands in the sheets, her hips rolling against his face, chasing the pleasure he was giving her. He held her down with one arm across her stomach, keeping her still, keeping her at his mercy.

“You taste incredible,” he said against her. “I could do this for hours.”

“I won’t survive hours.”

“You’ll survive as long as I want you to.” He sucked her clit into his mouth, and she screamed. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

The orgasm built fast and hard, coiling tight in her core. She tried to hold it off, tried to make it last, but Beckett wasn’t having it. He added another finger, curved them just right, and she shattered.

“Oh god—Beckett—fuck—”

She came apart under his mouth, pleasure crashing through her in waves, her whole body shaking. He worked her through it, gentling his touch as she came down, pressing soft kisses to her trembling thighs.

“One,” he said, climbing back up her body. His chin was wet. His eyes were dark. “I’m thinking at least three more. It’s our wedding night, after all.”

“You’ll kill me.”

“What a way to go.”

He kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. She fumbled with his shirt buttons—why were there so many buttons—finally giving up and just yanking. Buttons scattered across the floor.

“That was expensive,” he said.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Or you could just—” He lost the thought as she got his pants open, her hand wrapping around his cock. “Fuck. Claire.”

“My turn.” She pushed at his chest until he rolled onto his back, then straddled him, positioning herself above him. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Yeah?” His hands found her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. “What were you thinking about?”

“This.” She sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch, both of them groaning at the sensation. “Being full of you. Being yours.”

“You’ve always been mine.” He thrust up into her, and she gasped. “From the moment I saw you, you were mine. You just didn’t know it yet.”

“I know it now.”

“Show me.”

She rode him, starting slow, finding her rhythm. His hands guided her hips, helping her move, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her feel seen. Known. Claimed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, sitting up to wrap his arms around her, changing the angle. The new position put pressure exactly where she needed it, and she whimpered. “So fucking beautiful, taking me like this.”

“Beckett—”

“I’ve got you.” He thrust up harder, deeper, and she cried out. “I’ve got you, Claire. Let go.”

She let go.

The second orgasm hit her like a freight train, pleasure exploding through her nerve endings. She buried her face in his neck and screamed, her whole body clenching around him, dragging him over the edge with her.

“Claire—fuck—” He groaned her name as he came, holding her so tight she couldn’t breathe, both of them lost in the shared release.

They collapsed together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts. Claire lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow, feeling utterly wrung out and completely content.

“That was two,” she mumbled.

“I said at least three.”

“I need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.” His hand stroked down her back, lazy and possessive. “We have all night. We have the rest of our lives.”

She lifted her head, looked at him. Her husband. The man who’d waited ten years. The man who’d built her a home with his own hands.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.” He kissed her softly. “Mrs. Thorne.”

“Say it again.”

“Mrs. Thorne.” Another kiss. “My wife.” Another. “Mine.”

“Yours,” she agreed. “Always.”

They lay there in the quiet, letting the moment stretch. Outside, the stars wheeled overhead. Inside, the house Beckett had restored held them safe.

“Ready for round three?” he asked eventually.

“Already?”

“I’ve been dreaming about this night for ten years.” His smile was slow and wicked as he rolled her beneath him. “We’re not sleeping until I’ve made up for every single one of them.”

“That’s a lot of making up.”

“Good thing we have time.” He kissed her throat, her collarbone, the space between her breasts. “Good thing we have forever.”

Forever. The word wrapped around her like a promise.

“Then stop talking,” she said, pulling him down, “and show me what forever feels like.”

He showed her.

Three times. Four. Until the sky began to lighten and they finally fell asleep, tangled together, thoroughly exhausted, completely happy.

Husband and wife.

Built to last.

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