Tears sting my eyes as I say “I do” and look up at the man who’s given me everything. 

Gunner’s own face is a mess of emotions, his midnight gaze swimming with so much love and tenderness that it steals my breath away. 

The officiant gives the go-ahead, and my husband crushes his lips against mine. He tastes like mint and home and sea salt, and I melt into his touch.

Our friends whistle from their seats as Gunner’s warm, calloused palm comes around to cup my nape and his other slides down to my waist. He pulls me flush against him, deepening our embrace, and I feel my inner thighs growing damp despite the crowd of onlookers. 

We break apart as waves crash against the shoreline, and I shiver as the sea spray mists my skin.

“My mate,” Gunner rumbles, pressing another soft kiss to my lips. “My wife.”

Wife. 

“I like the sound of that,” I whisper, my voice husky from the ache that’s building between my thighs.

Even with the chaos of planning our elopement and the normal wedding headaches, my mate has been more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him since we landed in Bermuda.

“Can we start the honeymoon now?” Gunner asks, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

I shiver despite the sun warming my skin. “We did plan a reception,” I remind him.

Gunner shrugs and takes my hand, leading me down the aisle of sand that parts the rows of seats. “They won’t miss us for half an hour.”

The whistles and claps from Gunner’s pack brothers are deafening, and I have a feeling they know exactly what we’re up to.

My gaze drifts to Opal, who’s being passed around by Fran and all the females in the pack. I get a twinge of sadness that my dad isn’t here to see me get married, but I’m heartened by the fact that my sweet girl now has plenty of family to look out for her.

Gunner quickens his pace when we clear the crowd, leading me down the beach toward our private cottage. I kick off my shoes and hike up my dress to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about being mated to a wolf shifter, it’s that they can be incredibly single-minded.

The salt-scented breeze ruffles my hair, which my new friend Anna arranged in a pretty half-up, half-down style. Blue sky meets white sand and turquoise waters, and soon our cottage comes into view.

Gunner pulls me inside, not bothering to shut the huge sliding door. The warm air makes the gossamer canopy over the bed flutter, and something about the open air intensifies my desire.

The moment we’re alone, Gunner crushes me against him again, his tongue gently parting my lips as he tucks a stray curl behind my ear.

“I promise not to mess up your hair,” he whispers, planting a light kiss along my jaw that makes my knees buckle.

“Good,” I say, suddenly breathless. “We’ve barely gotten those wedding pictures we paid for.”

“Don’t need them,” he growls, tossing me onto the bed. “There’s no way in hell I’ll ever forget how you look in that dress. I’ve thought of nothing else except peeling it off you the moment you walked down the aisle.”

My whole body heats as he undresses me with his eyes, which are already that pale blue I’ve come to associate with the Gunner who is absolutely feral with lust. 

Liquid heat spills between my legs, and I clench my thighs together to keep them from trembling. 

“What are you waiting for, husband?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

Something about my question seems to snap the last of my mate’s self-restraint, and he pounces. He captures my lips in a bruising kiss as his fingers hook the straps of my gown and slide them down my shoulders, baring my breasts. 

“Husband. God, I love the sound of that,” he rumbles, kissing the swell of my exposed skin and sucking my nipple into his mouth.

My head falls back as I cry out, arching into his touch as he peels the dress from my body.

I’m not wearing anything underneath, and when he slides the beaded fabric down over my hips and catches sight of my bare, glistening folds, a low, animalistic growl slips out of him.

“You weren’t wearing any panties?” he rumbles, his eyes flashing in that dangerous way that tells me I’m about to receive a delicious punishment.

“I figured, what’s the point?” I say, feigning an innocent expression. 

But there’s nothing innocent about the slickness between my thighs or the throbbing ache in my core.

“Fuck me,” Gunner grits out, tossing my dress onto the floor and dragging his gaze up to my face. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

He reaches down to palm his erection, which is straining through his pants. “Do you see what you do to me?”

A soft whimper slips out of me as my core pulses with need.

“No panties on your wedding day?” He tsks softly as a slow grin works its way across his face. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Anticipation has my heart racing, and when he brings his hand down to swat my aching pussy, I let out a shriek of surprise. 

A mild jolt of pain cuts through the pleasure coursing through my body, and Gunner spanks me again.

This time, I scream, bucking my hips — my body begging for his touch despite the sting still tingling over my skin.

For a second, I think my husband is going to deny me. To draw this out and make me beg. But it seems that the image of me standing at the altar completely bare beneath my dress has unraveled something inside him, and his wolf won’t let him wait.

Shoving my legs apart, Gunner spreads my swollen, wet folds and licks a trail up my slit. Little bolts of pleasure erupt at the base of my spine, my whole body quivering beneath his touch.

Gunner reaches up to cup my breast, rolling a nipple between his skillful fingers. At the same time, his tongue plunges inside of me, and a hoarse cry rips from my throat.

“If I’d known you were standing up there all wet and ready for me,“ he moans, “I might have ripped that damned dress off you and fucked you right there in front of everybody.”

I shudder at his filthy words, secretly delighted.

If I’m being honest, I love my mate’s possessive streak. The wolfish impulse inside of him that urges him to stake his claim. To tell the world I’m his.

Now, I’m not just his mate, but his wife as well.

I moan as Gunner’s fingers replace his tongue, each stroke coaxing ripples of pleasure from my body. Then his thumb finds my clit, making infuriating circles over that sensitive spot until the ache between my thighs is almost unbearable.

My cry echoes in our small cottage, sending a flock of seagulls squawking outside on the beach.

Gunner continues with slow, languid strokes, drawing out each wave of my pleasure. 

When I’m thoroughly boneless, I roll onto my knees and slowly undo the buttons of his shirt.

My heart beats faster with every inch of golden skin I uncover, and when his shirt is hanging open, I slide it down his broad shoulders and sit back to take in the view. 

My husband — my mate — is utterly stunning. His chiseled chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his abs rippling as if my gaze is a physical touch as it travels down to his tented pants.

“Your turn, wife,” he says in a low growl.

Wife. The word sends a fresh rush of desire pulsing between my legs, and I make quick work of his belt and pants.

When he is completely bared for me, I wrap my hand around his thick length, guiding him to my center. 

Gunner presses a tender kiss to my temple before sheathing himself inside of me. I cry out at the sudden fullness, my body stretching to accommodate his size.

By now, our bodies are well acquainted. And yet each time we make love, Gunner seems to find new depths within me. New ways to wring out exquisite pleasure with every touch. 

I hiss as he pulls out, withdrawing until just the tip of him is inside me. My body instantly mourns his loss, but then he plunges back in — hitting the very end of me. 

I moan at the feel of him, the taste of his skin on my lips. The way my whole being comes alive in his presence. The love overflowing in my heart.

Gunner’s arms quiver as he holds back his release, plunging into me again and again until I feel the surge of another orgasm building.

“Come for me, angel,” Gunner breathes. “Be a good little wife and come all over my cock.”

I whimper at the filthy words coming out of his mouth and shudder as my body obeys. My walls pulse around him as warmth surges through me, and I scrape my nails up his back as he empties into me with a shout. 

Liquid heat trickles down the inside of my leg. I know his pack brothers will be able to smell him on me, and I feel a surge of primal satisfaction that I have left my mark as well.

We collapse on the bed in a heap of limbs, the thunder of our heartbeats merging until I’m not sure which belongs to whom.

Whatever I call him — lover, husband, Gunner, mate — it doesn’t matter. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted and so much more.

​

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