“I really like it when you call me your wife.” Her green eyes darken, a sure sign she’s aroused. “You should return the favor, you know, and get na**d, too.”

“I need to get you completely na**d first.” I drop her on the bed, smiling when she bounces on the mattress.

“I’ll help you with that.” She flashes me a wicked smile as she reaches for the little strings that wrap around her h*ps and starts pushing the bottoms down those smooth, tanned legs of hers. That swimsuit I bought her earlier is almost indecent. It barely covers her and it cost a fortune.

Worth every dime I spent.

She looks f**king amazing. She’s a tease with the suit on and a siren with it off.

And now the suit is most definitely off. She’s flung the bikini bottoms onto the floor along with the top and then leans back against the pillows at the head of the bed, elbows propped, legs bent at the knees. She spreads them the slightest bit, offering me a view of all that she has, and that’s it.

I’m done for.

A throaty laugh escapes her as I hurriedly shove my swim trunks off me, kicking them away. My dick is painfully hard as I join her on the bed. Last night had been amazing, nonstop sex, with us falling asleep and waking up a few hours later only to go at it again. We’d been so busy with other stuff, especially this last month, it’s like we were making up for lost time.

My life has been nothing but go, go, go since I signed with the Niners. The intense training and practice wore me completely out. Then with all the planning of the trip and wedding, the packing, and the long flight, we’d both collapsed into bed the first night we got to the island.

The emotional sunset ceremony on the beach, the realization that this was it, we were officially married, revved up my energy level big time. It seemed to do the same for her, because holy hell, we were crazed for each other.

Our connection was stronger than ever. Last night, the sex had been ferocious, intense, all-consuming. I feel that way every time I see her, touch Fable, kiss her.

I should be exhausted but I’m not. My body is on high alert, my skin so tight and hot I feel like I’m going to burst as I let my gaze rove over my new wife’s sexy-as-hell body. Damn, she’s beautiful. Will I ever grow tired of looking at her? Touching her? Kissing her? Fucking her?

No. Never.

“Come here, Drew,” she says, her voice a husky whisper, and I crawl up the bed, crawl up over her. She spreads her legs and I settle in between them, my h*ps nudging against hers, my insistent c**k rubbing her soft belly. She slips her arms around my neck as I bend my head to kiss her, drink from her lips, taste her tongue. Her hands bury in my hair as I break away from her to trail kisses down the length of her neck, her collarbone, her chest, the tops of her breasts.

I can feel the slight tremble run beneath her skin, feel her racing heart as I kiss a path down the fragrant valley between her breasts. Her fingers curl in my hair when I lick her nipple. Those same fingers pull hard when I suck her nipple between my lips.

God, she tastes amazing. Her legs curl around my hips, her feet slide along my legs, and I want inside her. Now.

But I also want to make it good for her and draw this out. So I do.

“Drew.” She whispers my name but I ignore her, continue my path with my lips along her skin. I kiss her stomach, lick her belly button, and make her giggle. The heat between her legs radiates toward me, drawing me closer, drawing me in, and I shift down, my head between her legs, a little chuckle escaping me when she spreads them at the perfectly precise moment.

Resting my hands on the inside of her thighs, I spread her wider, then bend down, planting a chaste kiss on the center of her. Another giggle escapes her and she pulls my hair, then pushes my head.

Down.

“You want this? You want me to make you come?” I ask because I’m feeling evil, still wanting to draw this out.

“Yes,” she breathes with a little nod, her gaze meeting mine. Those pretty green eyes are wide and fathomless, seeing everything, all of me, and not shying away. Not running away, either.

I’m a lucky son of a bitch to have found her. A smart one, too, since I just made her mine in the most legal sense.

Without another word, I lean in and devour her. Search her pink folds with my lips and tongue, suck her, lick her, slide a finger inside of her, then another, f**king her with my mouth and fingers until she’s a writhing mess, my name falling from her lips when the orgasm slams into her.

Her body quivers beneath my lips, around my fingers, and then I’m pulling away from her, settling on my knees before her as I curl my hand around my c**k and guide myself inside her still pulsating body. She stiffens beneath me, still so overcome with her orgasm I don’t think she realized I was about to enter her until it was too late.

But she’s not protesting. Her softening, welcoming body accepts me readily and I slide deep, as deep as I can get, pausing above her so I can stare down at her flushed face. Her eyes slowly open and she stares up at me for a long, quiet moment. I don’t move, don’t dare make a sound, just savor the feeling of being buried deep inside my wife, the two of us now one.

Complete.

Turning her head, she kisses my wrist. My hands are planted on either side of her head, my arms stiff, my muscles quaking. It’s taking everything within me to hold back, restrain myself. All I want to do is thrust again and again. Fuck her straight into the mattress until she’s gasping and screaming my name, our sweaty bodies clinging to each other until we finally come down from our high.

“Harder,” she urges as if she can read my mind and yet again, I’m pretty sure she probably can. I feel like I can read hers, too. It’s damn scary. It’s also comforting, to know you have that other person out there who’s just for you. Before meeting Fable I’d been suffocating with loneliness, not really living, just going through the motions. I didn’t believe I deserved anyone. I felt incomplete. A piece of me was missing all those years, especially the last few before I found her.

And I quickly realized she was that missing piece, the one that fit me so perfectly, I’d have to be a fool to let her go. Which I did. I ran away like an idiot and then found her again by pure dumb luck, or fate, or whatever you want to believe.

It doesn’t really matter, because now we’re together and nothing can stop us. Our biggest obstacles are past us. We can move on and forge a life together. It might be a little rough while we live separately during the regular season, but we’ll see each other as much as we can. Besides, it’s only for a couple of months. And then it’s only a couple of years until Owen graduates high school.

What’s the worst that can happen?

Chapter Four

Drew

We’re in Carmel, the scene of many crimes, so to speak, both literally and figuratively. I’m on edge and f**king uncomfortable because I’ve brought Fable here with me. She hasn’t returned since her one week as my fake girlfriend.

Now she’s here as my very real wife.

Dad wanted to throw a reception for us at his new home. Thank God he’d moved, or I wouldn’t have been able to go back like this. It would have been too uncomfortable, both for me and for Fable. I don’t think I could have endured it. I don’t think she could, either.

The new house is amazing. Not as large as the old one but considering he’s living here alone, Dad doesn’t need some grand mansion. He’s older now, traveling more, and he seems in better spirits. After what happened with Adele killing herself and his finding out what went on between Adele and me, he retreated into himself. We spoke, but it was difficult. He went to counseling. I even went to a few of his sessions, but damn, those had been tough.

There’s a lot of pain inside him over what Adele did to me. A lot of guilt, too, and I can relate to that. Putting us together in the same room trying to discuss it is extremely difficult. First of all, we’re guys. And second of all, we’re Callahan men. I think it’s hard for us to talk about our feelings.

Fine. I know it’s hard for us to talk about our feelings.

For the most part, we’ve moved past that. Our relationship had grown stilted, but now … now we’re okay. We’re what I would even consider close. As close as a father and son can be, what with living in two different cities and both of us constantly traveling.

So in honor of our recent wedding, Dad is having two hundred of his closest friends over at his house for a small reception. “Small” being a ridiculous word, but hey, I’m only quoting the guy. The house is packed. There are servers milling around with trays of food and champagne. There’s a full-service bar out on the patio and a deejay.

A freaking deejay.

Oh, and I can’t forget the giant wedding cake on the other side of the patio, a perfect white frosted tower covered with fresh purple orchids.

Wild.

“This is wild,” Fable says as she clutches my hand, the two of us standing in the doorway that leads out onto the patio, surveying everything spread out before us. “You said it was going to be small.”

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing, that this is wild.” I clutch her hand tight, our fingers intertwined. “And it was my father who said it was going to be small, not me.”

“Well, his idea of small and mine are completely different.” She looks around the room again, her eyes wide as she drinks in everyone and everything. The majority of the guests are around Dad’s age and filthy-ass rich. There are no other words for it. I see diamonds everywhere. Twinkling around women’s necks, flashing off their fingers, glinting off their wrists. They’re all perfectly manicured and groomed within an inch of their life, Botoxed and plucked and smoothed and fake tanned.

There are a few younger women here who I recognize. Daughters of Dad’s associates, girls I went to school with. They’re all perfectly groomed and manicured, too, much like the lawns that line the streets outside.

If I hadn’t met Fable, I would have ended up married to one of these women, I can almost guarantee it—some perfectly behaved girl who would’ve pleased Dad. Our marriage would have been a merger of sorts. Two powerful families brought together, a lucrative deal for both sides. A victory comprised of wealth.

Instead, I made Fable Dad’s new daughter-in-law, and while he acts as if he likes her, I wonder sometimes. I know she doesn’t always approve of what he does or says.

I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Dad is all smooth polish, while Fable is still a bit rough around the edges.

“Is all the food free here?” Speaking of rough edges, Owen stops at my side, his green eyes wide as he looks around the patio. “I’m f**king starving.”

“Owen, I will kill you where you stand if you say that word again out here,” Fable says between clenched teeth, her eyes narrowed, her fingers squeezing mine tight. I can’t blame her for being angry; we’re trying to make a good impression here, especially her.

Sending Fable a look, I reach out and pat Owen on the shoulder, though he doesn’t seem fazed by his sister’s chastising words in the least. “Of course it’s free,” I reassure him. “My dad’s having the party for us. Celebrating our marriage, and sort of a welcome-to-the-family thing for you and Fable.”

Owen’s face brightens. “Sweet. I need to tell your dad thanks. But first, I gotta go grab something to eat.” Without another word, he takes off, making his way toward one of the waiters walking around with a silver tray laden with appetizers. Owen is wearing black pants that we just had to buy him since he won’t stop growing and a white button-down shirt. He borrowed one of my ties and his hair is semi-tame for once. Trying to be a grownup but sort of failing at it.

My heart expands and I breathe deep, ignoring the little twist in my chest. I feel responsible for that kid, like he’s my own brother. I love him. Almost as much as I love his sister.

“We need to watch him,” Fable mumbles, shaking her head as she keeps her gaze glued to his retreating back. “He’ll probably try and snag glasses of champagne when we’re not looking in the hopes he can get drunk.”

No harm done in a little sneak of champagne, I want to tell her, but who am I to advocate drinking to her underage brother? Hell, look at their mother. She’s a drunken, drug-taking bitch who tried to convince Owen to run away with her a few months before we were married. And Owen almost went with her—he wasn’t going to tell us she contacted him until he got nervous and confessed all to his sister. Fable had been furious.

And also scared shitless.

“Don’t worry about Owen. I’ll watch him.” I pull Fable into me and she tilts her face up so I can drop a light kiss on her pursed lips. “You relax and try to have a good time.”

“Right.” She leans her head back the slightest bit so I can drink from her lips yet again. Yeah, need to get myself under control here. This isn’t the time or the place. “This house and these people intimidate the crap out of me, Drew. How am I supposed to act? What am I supposed to say?”

“Just be yourself,” I say, squeezing her shoulders.

She rolls her eyes. “Your dad doesn’t much like me, so that’s going to be kind of hard.”

I remain quiet, snatching a glass of champagne from the server walking by. She pauses, allowing me to grab another one for Fable, and I hand it to her, clinking the edge of the glass with mine before I take a drink. “Cheers, wife,” I murmur, giving her a little smile.

Fable returns it, then drains her champagne in one long swallow, a sure sign she’s nervous. “Why is there a wedding cake in the corner?” she blurts.

I burst out laughing. “I don’t know. Why is there a deejay? Are we going to dance later?”