Oscar keeps passing these little quips about how she needs a wax or some garbage. Really, I think it’s because he’s jealous. Because he dreams of her sweet, little cunt when he jacks himself off at night. As if he thinks I don’t notice the way his eyes follow her.

My jaw clenches as I bend down, pressing my lips to the porcelain smoothness of her inner thigh. She’s so pale, she may as well be made of moonlight. My tongue slides along her white flesh, tasting the pulsing of her femoral artery.

“Victor,” she pleads, but I’m taking my time here. This is my night. The other guys can think whatever the fuck they want: it’s also my honeymoon. After this … I cannot for the life of me think of what happens after this.

I bite down and Bernadette thrusts her hips up toward the ceiling. To keep her still, I hold her pelvis in tight hands, one on either side, wrestling her writhing body where I want it. Hael bought us a ton of sex toys as a wedding present, but I’m not using fucking any of them.

It’s just my body and Bernadette’s. That’s all I want tonight. That’s all the demon in me craves. My flesh in her flesh, owning her, marking her. Protecting her. Because, ultimately, that’s the only thing I want to do.

That’s why I had to see her in that dress as soon as possible, to make sure she was still here, that she was relatively unmarked, that she was mine.

So, sure, I shoved the door in and cracked the drywall with the knob, but I went in there, looked at her, and I knew.

She really is the queen to my king.

“Victor!” she’d ground out, not at all like the pretty, near-submissive thing she is now. “The fuck is wrong with you?” I was shaking, and I didn’t want her to know. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag, looked her up and down. Did she know how damn relieved I was? Could she feel it?

“Fuck me.” That was all I said. Maybe I managed to sound calm, but probably not?

Bernadette’s body swathed in glittering black, just like it is now. Her emerald green eyes gazing back at me, just like they are now. I lift my head up to look at her, and then I dip my face down and taste her sweetness. I’m fucking ravenous. My hands clamp down on her pelvis even harder, keeping her still as my tongue dives deep and I take exactly what I want without bothering to ask for it.

“Vic,” she moans, thrashing around, fingers clawing at the bedspread. That’s where her words stop, and her true pleasure begins. I close my eyes, savoring her taste, lapping her up like candy. There will never be enough for me, a moment where I’m satisfied and ready to move on. Once you’ve found your girl, you just fucking know.

Bernadette asked how many girls I’ve been with. I have no idea. I didn’t count. I don’t care. There is only one girl in this world that I need, and it’s always been her. My tongue slides up between her folds to find her clit. It’s already swollen and desperate for my touch; I very purposely lick around it until Bernie’s quivering and mewling for more.

A smirk chases across my lips and triumph surges through me.

Mine.

It’s an urge as old as the sun, impossible to resist. Sometimes, I hate myself for it. Maybe I should be more … enlightened or something? But then I drop my mouth back to Bernadette’s heat, and my brain goes on hiatus. There is nothing but me, my demons, and the stiffness of my cock.

“I want to tell you something,” I whisper against her thigh, loving the way her hands push at my head, like she wants me to stop. It’s a bunch of bullshit though, just a game. Bernadette Savannah Blackbird most definitely does not want me to stop what I’m doing. I lift up on my forearms just enough so that I can see her face. Her eyes are closed, face flushed, one arm thrown across her forehead.

With her skirt pushed up around her hips, I can see the dragon tattoo on her hip, the one with all the lotus blossoms that turn into its pink scales. I scoot forward so that I can press my mouth against it, sucking and kissing my way across her ink. I want my fucking name tattooed on her body, somewhere prominent, like her chest.

It kills me that Aaron has her name tattooed on his body, and I don’t. I’ll need to correct that—and soon. Aaron. Little piss-ant scamming on my girl. I should beat him to a pulp, but I know that I can’t. Not if I want to keep Bernadette.

“What?” It’s the only word she manages to get out and even then, it’s strained as fuck. I grin, and I don’t hold back on the cocky since I know she can’t see me and get pissed off about it.

“When Hael said I don’t use condoms, you know he was teasing you, right?”

This gives Bernadette pause and she moves her arm away from her face to look at me.

“What?” she asks, panting, her beautiful thighs spread open for me. “Victor, don’t fuck around with me. You obviously don’t use condoms. You have never used a condom with me.”

“With you,” I repeat, looking her dead in the face. She has to know I would never blow my load in another girl. Not a chance in hell I’d put myself in the position Hael was in—despite his protests that he did use condoms with Brittany. But with Bernie … I’d love a baby. Maybe two or three. Maybe four. Maybe five.

“Fuck off,” she snaps, face flushing as she tries to kick at me. Too bad for her that I’m stronger, my muscles clenching as I hold her in place and she groans. “Vic, stop that. We’re already married; you can cut the crap.”

“No.” The word cracks the room like thunder. “You are the only girl I have ever fucked bareback. You tell me you heard me, or I’ll finish myself off in the bathroom with some Jergens and a tight fist.”

Bernie lets out a little scream of frustration as I drop my mouth back down between her legs, tongue flicking out to tease her clit.

“I heard you, okay?” she whispers, voice cracking. “I heard you.”

“Good.”

This time, when I go back to using my mouth on her cunt, it’s a full-on assault. I run my tongue from her taint to her clit and back again, nice and slow. She digs her fingers in my hair and tries to pull me up toward her, as if this is some kind of chore.

This is me-time, motherfucker.

Only a complete and utter moron would refuse his queen’s sweet heat. There’s a reason I hate the rapper DJ Khaled and it’s not just because his music sucks. Publicly announcing you don’t go down on women? Either you’re gay as hell—which is fine—or you’re a fucking idiot.

I chuckle and Bernadette groans, writhing as I suck her clit into my mouth. She accepts two fingers inside of her nice and easy, thrusting her hips in time with the rhythm of my hand. I work them in and out, enjoying the sight of her glistening juices against my tattoos. My lips tease her clit at the same time, increasing the gentle pulse of her body on my fingers.

When she comes, her entire body tightens up beneath my firm grip, her muscles squeezing my fingers. She isn’t shy about it when she cries out, raking her fingers through her hair as her back arches. Before Bernie even gets a chance to take a breath or relax, I'm sliding up and over her, removing my fingers from inside of her and then yanking down the top of her dress to expose the pale mounds of her breasts.

The tattoo on her chest draws my attention; it's a pair of pink demon wings with a skull in the center. I'm drawn to it with my mouth, running the sharp arc of my tongue across my wife's collarbones.