Page 37 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

sharing joys and pains

Grant

Three weeks later.

We just won our home opener by a huge margin—five to one, with a second-string forward scoring two of those goals. We played a more comprehensive game, with more subs than usual, and I’m thrilled to see the work we’ve done paying off.

At the post-game press conference, Coach Brown talks about the effort to prepare the next generation of Crush winners by having them play more minutes.

Evan jumps in and heads off the inevitable question about whether or not the starters are miffed about not getting the usual amount of playing time, telling the media types that these are all professionals who are all on the team for a reason.

The team is not one individual person or even a line of players.

He does a nice job of supporting the second- and third-string players while still assuring the public that they’ll see plenty of their favorite players on the ice this season.

Devon waits at the back of the room, nursing a glass of seltzer water.

She looks amazing in a Crush sweater and denim leggings, the swell of her belly prominently bigger than when I proposed to her at the season opening presser.

I can’t get enough of looking at her, honestly.

She thinks she looks hideous, but all I see is a beautiful woman lovingly growing our babies. What could be sexier?

As things wrap up, I congratulate the guys and head out, my hand on Devon’s back as I usher her to a side entrance, where a sleek, black limousine awaits.

Devon looks at me with some confusion. “I don’t recall it being prom night. Otherwise, I’d have worn something much more sparkly.”

I laugh as we slide in, side by side, on the leather seat. “Trust me.” I take her left hand in mine and bring it up to my lips for a kiss, her diamond ring winking at me at eye level.

We talk about the game as we ride along, and when we finally stop, and the door opens, Devon bursts into laughter.

We are stopped in front of a cheesy Las Vegas wedding chapel.

“Really?” she asks, still laughing. I hold both of her hands as we stand outside the doors, the foot traffic of tourist Vegas moving around us as if we don’t exist. “Look, I don’t want to wait, Devon.

I want to be your husband. We can plan something more traditional after the babies are born for our families and friends to celebrate with us, but the event is not as important to me as the act of making us husband and wife. And I don’t see any reason to wait.”

“Well, I might’ve worn something other than Vans and stretchy jeans.” Devon looks somewhat shell-shocked, but I sense happiness, too, which is good for me.

“I think you look perfect. You look like the woman I love. My gorgeous baby mama who I’d love to make my wife if you’ll let me.”

She looks at the door, then at me, then at the door again. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

With a hoot of celebration, I usher her inside, where a staff member greets us.

“Congrats on the win tonight,” she says, eyeing Devon’s Crush sweater.

“And welcome to the Little Chapel of the Desert. You have a choice of who will marry you tonight. Elvis, Jerry Garcia, or Wonder Woman. Any preference from those three?”

We both look at each other and say at the same time, “Wonder Woman.”

We’re led back into the chapel, where we watch another couple get married by a bearded man who looks only slightly like Jerry Garcia.

Devon laughs silently beside me the whole time.

When it’s our turn, we head up to the altar, joined by a passable Wonder Woman, who looks more like the original than the current.

Still, when she talks about building a partnership, about finding someone who allows you to be yourself, about finding someone you can share your joys and pains with—well, we both get a little emotional.

After our I do’s are finished, I kiss her more voraciously than is probably appropriate in public. Devon Pearson Gerard is now my wife.

When I came here for my interview, I was seeking an escape, a new challenge, a way to move beyond my past. What I found was a home and the rest of my life with a partner who loves me and who is giving us a beautiful family.

I’m the luckiest fuckin’ puck of all.

Back in the limo, Devon hits the button to separate the driver from the back end of the car before pulling off her shoes, and then her jeans, and lastly, her underwear.

“Look at you, Mrs. Gerard, gettin’ your sexy on.

” She ignores me, her fingers going for my pants and unbuttoning them instead, freeing my hardening cock from my boxers.

She’s on me like an animal, her pussy wet and ready to be fucked as my wife for the first time.

I help her to get into position to straddle me as we kiss more hungrily, the need to connect physically overtaking everything else.

Touching Devon’s belly, now protruding as her sweater rides up, I whisper, “Cover your eyes, kids,” and she smacks me playfully.

“All that talk about partnership and sharing your joys and pains,” she says as she starts to ride me. “I didn’t expect to feel so…moved.”

“Moved to sex me up in the back of a limousine,” I growl as I pull her jersey over her head and bury my face in the warmth of her now even more spectacular tits. “Let’s get married every day.”

She moves on top of me like her life depends on it, until her pussy clenches and her head flops backward, her breath stopping. I hold her hips, enjoying the wave of her orgasm until she comes back to reality, moving again, even faster this time.

“I would,” she says, breathless. “I love you so much. I’d marry you every day.”

That’s it. I lose myself in her, pulling her close, my face at her neck as I come.

“Oh my God,” Devon says as we both try to catch our breath. “That was…”

“Yeah, this woman I just married must truly love me to do all that in the back of a moving vehicle.”

“Mm-hmm.” She climbs off me, pulling her clothing back on and sorting herself out, the whole time looking very pleased with herself, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

I can only think again about how lucky I am.

Soon after, the limo stops in front of the home we now share together.

Our first home together, but certainly not the last. We’ll need more room for the kids as they grow, for sure.

I’ll want a big backyard with a pool and a basketball court, and Devon wants to start a culinary greenhouse.

Plants have to be protected more from the heat than the cold to grow well in the desert, so we need a large property, also a place to park her silver Ford F150 farm truck.

I haven’t forgotten her dream car. We’d like to have a home gym for boxing and yoga, and even a test kitchen for Devon’s business once she gets that rolled out.

Step by step, of course, but big plans are in the works for the Gerards of Las Vegas.

It has been so mind-blowing planning these things with Devon.

From the start, our thoughts and desires aligned so easily, something I know now I never really had with my ex (she who shall not be named).

Devon and I just work…like a team. We’re both thoughtful of each other’s needs and wants, and it’s an extraordinary thing.

She is my forever, which is abundantly clear.

We stumble out of the car, holding hands, running for the front door.

I unlock it and make a big show of picking up my wife to carry her over the threshold.

She squeals and swats at me, telling me she’s an elephant, too heavy for me to carry.

I pay her no attention, kissing her protests away as we step inside.

“What now?” I ask.

“I don’t know. We’re a boring married couple now. I guess I’ll work on book edits and you can, like, watch highlight reels?”

I have to stifle my laugh. “I think I have a better idea.” I kiss my new wife while carrying her down the hall. “Bedroom, Mrs. Gerard.”