"But then I bumped into you the next day on the subway. Wearing a wedding dress and examining the Times Square mosaic like it was your job."
"I really do love those mosaics," I mumble.
"Giving me shit about threesomes and coming up with every excuse you could think of not to go out with me."
"Oh, yeah, the threesomes." I laugh. "I was convinced you were going to ask me to some kind of kinky sex party."
"You wish." He flips us over so he's on top and tugs a nipple between his teeth. "But I'm not sharing you. You're mine."
"I like being yours," I tell him, lacing my fingers into his hair.
"So we're good?" he asks.
"So good," I agree. "Now stop messing around and give it to me."
"Give it to you? I don't think you're a good girl after all. I think you're a bad girl."
"Can't I be both?"
"I like the way your dirty mind works." He winks. "Now why don't you be a good girl and put your hands above your head."
I do. Of course I do.
His cock is heavy against my stomach as he cups my jaw and works his lips down the column of my neck. I love the way it feels when his dick is hard and pressed between us, so close to where I want it. I like the weight of it, the warmth. I shift my legs open and rotate my hips, hoping to appeal directly to his penis in my quest to get what I want.
"Ask nicely," he teases. Oh, I like this game.
"Please?" I ask.
"Try harder," he says, trailing his lips down to my tits. He's not teasing either, he can work me for what feels like forever. Toying with me, kissing every inch of my body. Pressing my tits together and sliding his cock between them, then sliding down to taste me while palming his dick in long slow strokes.
"Please give me your cock," I try.
"All those books you read and that's the best you've got?" He shakes his head and manages a look of disappointment, but his lip pulls into a small smile, giving him away.
"I want to feel you bare inside of me," I tell him, biting my lip. "I want you to fuck me like you own me, Max," I tell him, looking him dead in the eye. "Hold me down and take what you want."
"Jesus," he mutters and flips me over. A second later my thighs are spread wide and he's inside of me. I groan and keep my arms stretched over my head, palms spread against the headboard, my forehead against the pillow while he moves. It's so deep like this and I squeeze myself around his shaft and moan into the pillow. Over and over again he drives into me and when I try to snake a hand down to my clit, he grabs my wrist and bends my arm behind my back. He places his other hand on the back of my neck and squeezes lightly, so lightly, and I might have even more deviant potential than I thought because it only takes me another minute to come like this. The spasms seem like they go on forever, Max letting go of my arm and wrist and wrapping his hands around my waist as he continues to pump into me until he follows me over the edge.
"Remind me never to challenge you," he says after, when he's wrapped around me, my back to his front, his mouth to my ear. "You're going to kill me."
"It'd be a hell of a way to go though."
"Was that makeup sex? We didn't even have a real fight. Wow."
"Rational conversation," I remind him sleepily.
"So we got to skip the fight and go right to the make-up sex," he muses. "Fuck, I'm the luckiest man alive."
"Don't press your luck. We can still have a fight if you're that into it."
"No, I'm good."
"Thought so."
"I'm getting a sign made though. For over the bed."
"What?" I ask, turning my head to look at him.
"You know how people hang motivational shit over their bed like Always Kiss Me Goodnight?"
"Yeah."
"Ours will say, Skip the fight. Go right to the make-up sex."
"You really are the romantic in this relationship."
"That's why you love me."
"It is," I agree and then snuggle back into his arms and close my eyes, totally content with the fairy tale I found right in the middle of my ordinary life.
Epilogue
"So we're really doing this?" He grins at me, those dimples no less effective on me than they were the first time I saw them four months ago.
"We're really doing this," I agree, pausing to look at him. "Unless you don't want to?"
"Of course I want to, crazy girl. As long as this is what you want. I want you to have the perfect day. Fly your family in, go to Iowa, Vegas, I don't care as long as you're happy."
"Honestly, Max, I just want you." I gather the skirt of my dress in my hands so it won't drag on the sidewalk. "And this dress," I add with a grin. "The dress is really the only wedding detail I care about. I don't need a perfect Pinterest wedding. Just the perfect guy, the perfect dress and—"