Page 21 of A Game of Ruck (Carolina Rugby #2)

The second Annabeth says yes, I look straight at her father.

Marco nods, subtle but sure, and next thing I know, a preacher is stepping up like we’ve rehearsed this a hundred times.

But we haven’t.

Not even once.

Because this?

This is real.

And when Annabeth turns to me, breathless and wide-eyed, asking, “You want to marry me now? Here?” with that gorgeous voice cracking just a little, I don’t hesitate.

“You ran from me once, Angel. Never again. I want you signed, sealed, delivered. Mine.”

I reach for her hand, squeezing tight.

“We can still have a destination wedding later, with the kind of reception that’ll make Lisa’s look like a $3.

99 all-you-can-eat buffet— no offense to buffet dinners —but right now, I need to marry you.

I can’t wait another second to make you mine.

Tell me you will. Say it,” I beg, not even a little bit ashamed that everyone can hear me.

She stares at me, lips trembling, eyes shining.

And then she laughs, nodding fast.

“Yes. Okay, first, I don’t need anything else later. I’ll marry you here and now, and I’ll mean it forever, you crazy man.”

“Yeah?” I ask, choking on emotion.

“Definitely yes. Let’s do this!”

Cheers explode around us.

Daniela is screaming.

Finley wipes a tear while still managing to take twenty photos a second.

Even Coach Dane is clapping like I just scored the game-winning try again.

We get married right there on the pitch.

Me, muddy, bloody, wearing my half-dried, game day uniform.

Her, glowing like the sun in a dress that she says is a little wrinkled from sitting, but I say it is perfect on her, anyway.

And with Marco Martinez standing a few feet away like a proud lion watching over his cub, I sign the prenup.

Right then. Right there.

“No, Papa, tell him no!”

“Mija, I absolutely will not. Let the man sign.”

“It’s fine, Angel. Don’t worry about it. He’s just looking out for you,” I say and nod my appreciation.

Honestly, I’m glad someone is. Lord knows, no one else I met at that shitty wedding cares one fig about this woman.

But that doesn’t matter now, because she has me.

And like I told her—like I keep telling her—I don’t give a single damn about her money or her father’s money.

I’ve got my own.

I built my life from the ground up.

I chose the name Warden for a reason.

What I make playing rugby is pennies compared to what I made investing in Mitchell Knight’s startup.

My financial portfolio’s in killer shape—I’ve got accounts with numbers that start with a digit and end with eight zeroes.

But dollar signs mean zilch to me.

She is my future.

My everything.

After the ceremony, the guys soak me with Gatorade, just like they promised.

We all laugh as we eat enough food to fuel a whole season— Marco had it catered by some swanky new restaurant, of course —and finally, finally after god knows how many bad speeches and well wishes, I get to take my wife home.

Home.

Freshly showered after five minutes in the locker room, and still riding the high of the day, I scoop her into my arms outside our brand new house.

It’s right next to the Carolina Rovers’ new stadium site in Consequence. Something I did in the week we’ve been apart.

The area is still pretty much under construction, but our place is move-in ready.

Stone facade, big porch, backyard built for dogs and kids and lazy Sunday mornings.

“You’re gonna get me used to this if you keep picking me up everywhere,” she murmurs, laughter dancing in her eyes as I carry her over the threshold.

“Oh, I plan on getting you used to a lot of things, Mrs. Warden,” I growl, setting her down gently and letting my hands slide over her waist.

Her new last name sounds like a prayer on my lips.

“Ooh, I like how that sounds,” she teases.

“Not as much as I do. Come here.”

I pull her into my arms and kiss her like she’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning all day without her.

Because tonight is our wedding night.

And I plan to make it unforgettable.

With a sigh, Annabeth breaks our kiss. Her big brown eyes flash to mine and she takes off running with a squeal.

It takes me a second, but I give chase.

“Where you going, Wifey?”

Her laugh is still echoing off the hallway walls when I follow her and kick our bedroom door closed behind us.

Our bedroom.

Ours. Not a hotel suite. Not a borrowed fantasy.

This is real.

She’s mine.

My wife.

Annabeth turns toward me, cheeks pink and eyes shining, and I swear the air in my lungs turns to fire.

I stalk toward her like the predator I am, and she doesn’t back away.

No. My girl lifts her chin, daring me to make good on every promise I whispered during the reception and the entire ride home.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs, shy and breathless.

“You’re goddamn beautiful,” I growl, cupping her face and kissing her slow—deep and wet and hungry, like she’s my first meal in what feels like forever.

“A week is too long, Angel.”

“Mm hm.”

Her fingers grip the hem of my shirt, tugging it up, and I let her.

Let her lift it up, clutching at my skin like she’s desperate to feel it.

And fuck, but I am so there for it. I want this woman with a vengeance. I burn for her, need her to want me too.

And I love watching her come into her power. She touches me with confidence now. With ownership.

And fuck, but that turns me on.

I love seeing how she yearns for me. Just like I yearn for her.

But then I take over. Because this is our first time as husband and wife . And I want her to feel that.

Every second.

Every inch.

My cock throbs at the sight of her and I can’t wait to strip, too.

I drag her dress off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet like the offering it is.

She’s breathless, blushing, her body trembling just a little— and fuck if that doesn’t make me harder.

Finding the clasp at the front of her bra, I pop it open with one hand, and those perfect tits spill free, nipples already stiff from anticipation.

My mouth waters, but I want more.

So I grip her panties at the sides, and I rip them clean off her body like a savage.

She gasps, her hands flying to my chest like she doesn’t know whether to stop me or pull me closer.

I tower over her, chest heaving, staring down at the flushed goddess in front of me.

Her pupils are blown wide.

Lips parted, pink and kiss-bruised.

Her hair is a wild halo of curls around her shoulders.

She looks like temptation incarnate.

She looks like mine.

“Get on the bed, Angel,” I rasp, voice thick with need. “Let me see what’s mine.”

She backs up, crawling onto the mattress like a dream—hips swaying, thighs parting.

And when she spreads out for me, bare and beautiful in the low light of our bedroom, I nearly lose my goddamn mind.

I tug my shirt off, and push my pants down, kicking the restrictive things off. My cock springs free and it’s already aching.

Her eyes drop to it, and she moans, biting her lip like she’s trying to decide if she’s nervous or eager.

Lucky for me, she’s both.

And I love that. I live for it.

I climb onto the bed, crawling over her, one arm caging her head as the other runs slowly down her body.

I skim over her breasts, pausing to roll a nipple between my fingers until she whimpers.

Then lower, past her ribs, her belly, to the slick, throbbing heat between her thighs.

She’s soaked for me. Already.

And all I’ve done is look at her like I want to devour her.

“Luca,” she breathes, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I whisper against her lips, teasing her clit with the head of my cock.

“It’s not,” she gasps. “I want all of it. I want you.”

“Then you’ll have me, Angel,” I growl. “Every goddamn inch of me. I belong to you. And you, you’re mine now.”

And then I push inside her— deep, slow, steady —until she gasps my name and digs her nails into my back.

And just like that, I’m home.