"Why does this thing have so many buttons?" I ask.

Monica shrugs, laughing softly. "Buttons look more elegant than zippers," she tells me. "At least that's what all the bridal magazines said."

I sigh in frustration, trying to unhook what might as well be a million tiny buttons. "Did those magazines also mention what a pain in the ass it'd be for husbands to undress their wives on their wedding night?"

I smile to myself. Wife. Monica is my wife. We're married and I couldn't be happier. I lean forward and kiss her neck, my hands stopping their task to come up and hold her shoulders.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asks softly, her head tilting to the side to grant me better access.

"Anything," I mumble.

"Why did you run off?"

My entire body freezes. I knew we'd have to talk about this; I just didn't realize it would be on our wedding night.

I'm such a screw up. Damn it.

"Monica…" I say, pressing my forehead against the back of her head. "I don't…I…"

She turns to face me, her eyes filled with tears. "Seriously, you were fine yesterday. What happened?"

I pull her close to me, hugging her tightly. "I'm so sorry. I panicked."

"Why couldn't you talk to me about it?"

"I didn't want to upset you."

"So running off before our wedding was a better alternative?"

I sigh and sit down on the edge of our bed, drawing her on to my lap, holding her close. "You're right; I should have talked to you."

"Twenty-four hours ago, you were fine. In fact, we both acknowledged that you hadn't freaked out. Were you lying to me?"

"No!" I exclaim. "I was fine. Then about five seconds later, I heard the new message you put on our answering machine."

"The one about us being the Bings?"

"Yeah. And all I could think about was how badly I was going to screw this up, about how bad the Bings are at marriage. I couldn't do that do you."

"So all through our rehearsal dinner, you were freaking out? You were freaking out and you didn't think you could tell me about it?"

I look up in to Monica's face; tears are trickling out of the corner of her eyes, and I feel my heart break at the pain I'm causing her. I've only been a husband for a few hours and I already suck at it. I reach up a hand to wipe away her tears, and she leans her cheek into my palm. I take that as a good sign.

"You know how I am, Monica. I get stupid and think that no one could possibly understand how I feel about things. You were so excited about today; I didn't think you'd understand why I was having doubts."

"You know…you were the one who decided you were ready to do this."

"What are you talking about?"

"I never pressured you for marriage. Not once. I never once said that I expected us to get married, did I?"

"Well, no—"

"All of our really big relationship steps were instigated by you, remember? You said the first 'I love you,' you asked me to live with you…you let me believe that you weren't ready for marriage even though you went to check out the wedding hall. Hell, you even thought I was pregnant and you married me anyway. If you weren't ready for any of that stuff, why did you ask me to marry you?"

"Whoa, Monica, I was ready. I am ready. I just freaked out. I let my old insecurities take over. The guy who almost ran out on you isn't the man I've become over the last few years. I love you. I've never loved anyone as much I love you, and I never will. I wasn't lying when I said that seeing you walk down the aisle made me understand that being married to you isn't going to be hard, that it's only going to be scary in the best way possible."

She takes my left hand in her right, her fingers fiddling with the new wedding band that resides there. "If you thought I was pregnant, why did you show up?"

I grin and lean up to kiss her. She responds readily, which I take as another good sign. Maybe I haven't managed to completely screw up my marriage already. "I found the cutest little onsie in the gift shop downstairs. It said 'I Heart New York.' And I thought in a few months, we could have this tiny little person in our lives, and it didn't scare me as much as I thought it would. I realized that we're not going to be 'The Bings;' we're Chandler and Monica. We're the perfect couple. There's nothing we can't get through if we stick together. And no matter how scary all of this is, being without you scares me more. You're my other half. You're the only woman crazy and strong enough to love me. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

She buries her face in my neck as she cries and I hold her tight. "I'm sorry," I whisper into her shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry. I hate that I did this to you on the happiest day of our lives."

Monica pulls back to look at me, her eyes red-rimmed, her chin quivering, still the most insanely beautiful woman to ever walk the planet. "Are you really happy, Chandler?"

"Happier than I can even express. There aren't words that exist to say how happy I am. This is the best thing I've ever done."

"Just promise me you won't do something like this again, okay? If something scares you, let me know. We're in this together, you know—forever. You're stuck with me for the rest of my life because I am never going to let you go. Never. You are the love of my life. Anything that comes up, we take it on together. Deal?"

"Deal," I answer with a grin, and she leans down to kiss me.

"So, can we go back to the part where you're trying to take off my dress?"

I blink at her in shock. "So…we're okay?"

"Is there anything else you're freaking out about but neglecting to tell me?"

"No."

"Then we're okay. We've talked about it, we've resolved it, we're moving on. We have a wedding night to attend to, and I can't speak for you, but I'm hornier than hell."

A surprised laugh bursts out of me. "You're not the only one, babe, trust me."

She wipes her eyes and hops off my lap, turning her back to me, moving her hair to the side as she looks over her shoulder. "This dress isn't going to remove itself."

Happily, I stand and return to the buttons on the back of her dress. "I might have mentioned this already, but you look beautiful today. I think you were born to be a bride."

She smiles at me, her cheeks turning a little pink. "You clean up pretty good yourself, you know."

I shrug, finally managing to get the hang of the buttons. "Yeah, maybe. But you…wow. You're absolutely stunning. Like, no one should ever bother wearing another wedding dress because they're never gonna hold a candle to you stunning." I take a moment to run a finger down her spine, watching her shiver, but she says nothing. Once in a while, I have the ability to render her completely speechless.

I continue along with the dress, taking my time now that I've figured it out. "So, are there any fancy undies you want to warm me about? You know how I get when you surprise me with that stuff, and if there was ever an occasion for the good stuff, it would be our wedding day."

She shrugs, being just a little too casual for me to entirely believe her. "Nothing in particular. No bra, obviously—"

"What?!" I exclaim.

"How exactly would a bra get under this dress?" she asks me. "It has no back. There's some stuff built in to keep everything in place, but other than that…"

"Commando on our wedding day? Hot." I lean forward and kiss her shoulder blade.

"Not completely. But I don't know if you could call what I'm wearing 'underwear', really."

I swallow heavily, feeling my body respond enthusiastically. "Anything else?"

"Nah. Just your basic thigh-high stockings and ridiculously high stiletto heels that I'm not sure how I've managed to stand in for this many hours."

"If you're trying to kill me, you're well on your way."

"Just trying to get this dress off faster, big guy."

"Well, you might want to ease up because I'm very close to actually ripping it off of you."

"Tear it and you won't live through the night."

"Then oh dear God stop with the torture."

"You asked."

"Not for details!"

"Less talking, more unbuttoning."

The tiny little buttons suddenly become much more complex as my hands start to shake with anticipation. It's been a while since we had sex and I suddenly don't know how much longer I can wait.

Finally, miraculously, the dress falls from her shoulders into a heap around her ankles and I have to close my eyes for a moment, take a few deep breaths, before I can look again. It doesn't matter how many times I've seen this woman naked over the last several years or if we've had sex hundreds of times—each and every single time leaves me weak in the knees.

I slowly open my eyes to see her still standing there, patiently, her back to me. She's definitely braless; there's nothing but an expanse of smooth back before me. My eyes drift down. She wasn't kidding when she said it was barely underwear—there's a tiny amount of white lace that only comes down partially over her ass. I hear myself whimper and feel no shame. As promised, her legs are covered in thigh-high stockings and on her feet are the aforementioned ridiculously high heels.

To say that I'm turned on would be an understatement.

I reach out for her, but she deftly steps over her dress and out of my reach. "Will you hang up my dress for me?"

"Monicaaaaa," I whine.

"Please?" she asks again, turning to face me, and I actually groan. My wife is so unbelievably hot.

Without further argument, I grab her dress and bring it to the closet. Not surprisingly, there's already a padded hanger waiting. I do the best I can, but I know at some point tonight she'll be over to hang it to her liking, that getting me to hang it for her was most likely a way for her torture me. I turn back toward her, unbuttoning my vest, and she's waiting patiently where I left her. Mostly naked. I try really hard not to run over to her, and only mostly succeed.

"So," I say, standing in front of her, loosening my tie, and that's as far as I get before she launches herself in to my arms, her lips attacking mine. I wrap my arms around her as we tumble backwards onto our bed, her hand coming out to break our fall. She releases my lips and smiles at me.

"Hi husband."

My grin matches hers. "Hi wife." I catch her off-guard and flip us over, pressing her into the mattress. "It's been a while. Anything in particular you have in mind?"

"At the risk of sounding less than romantic, I think I need something quick and rough and maybe a little dirty."

I love it when she's in one of these moods.

Hell, I love it when she's in the mood, period.

"You sure?" I ask, kissing her neck slowly. "I mean, it's our first time as husband and wife—you sure you don't want something romantic and meaningful?"

She sighs in contentment, and I can feel the hum in her throat under my lips. "I think it's pretty safe to say that, when it comes to us, it's all meaningful."

"Maybe you're right," I answer, sliding off her body and lying next to her, my left hand drawing lazy circles around her bellybutton. "So, give me some ideas." I feel her stomach muscles twitch under my fingertips and I smile. Three years and we can still turn each other on rapidly and fiercely.

Her breathing hitches as she shifts her hips toward me ever-so-slightly. "I'm not thinking anything crazy, obviously. I don't want to do anything that will cause either of us to be in debilitating pain during our honeymoon."

"Of course," I answer, leaning in to kiss her neck once more.

"So, we could…" Her mouth drops open and her eyes drift shut, so I make my move. I slip my hand under her panties and stroke her gently. Her hips fly off the bed for a moment as she lets out a high-pitched squeak. I grin, then slide my fingers into her.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh," she moans in a low voice. "You don't play fair."

"I'm okay with that," I tell her, leaning up to kiss her lips. I think she is, too; she moves her hips insistently against my hand. It's only been a matter of weeks, but it feels like forever since I've been able to touch her like this.

"More," she demands breathlessly and I can tell she won't last very long. I thrust my hand into her a little harder and she moans her approval. I kiss my way down to her breasts, alternating between them as much as possible.

I feel her inner muscles clench around my fingers. "I—I'm…" she whispers, and I know she's close. I latch onto her breast and pump my hand into her furiously; after three years together, I know the combination to this particular lock. Moments later, I hear her yelling out my name, her hands clutching at my hair, her hips moving against me frantically.

"You're so beautiful," I whisper to her as her hips start to slow down, her breathing still heavy, keeping my hand on her, my fingers still moving gently within her.

"You know," she pants out. "I should be ashamed that took less than five minutes."

"You said you wanted it quick and rough and a little dirty."

She huffs out a little laugh. "That I did. You listen good."

Wrapping my free arm tightly around her, I pull her close, kissing her firmly. She drapes her leg over my hip, rubbing her calf muscle against mine, and I suddenly become aware that I'm still fully clothed. I slowly disentangle myself from her, finally pulling my hand free, causing a little disappointed moan to fall from my wife's lips. "Where are you going?"

"To get naked," I answer, standing up.

She sighs in mock-resignation. "Fine."

I finally pull off my vest and tie as I head over to a chair in the corner of the room, my shirt close behind. I drape the garments over the back of the chair, fully aware that Monica won't be able to concentrate on much of anything if I make too much of a mess. I pull off my pants and hear her giggle. "Nice ass."

I pause in confusion for a moment before remember that "Just Married" is printed across the back of my new boxers. I shimmy a little for her, earning a bit more laughter, before I turn around.

I see her, and my breath catches in my throat.

"God, Mon," I breathe. "You're so gorgeous."

She laying on her side, looking at me at with her eyes at half-mast, her head propped up on a pillow, her right arm casually draped over her breasts. The whole pose is completely accidental, which makes it even more provocative.

"What?" she asks me.

"You look so…wow. Like one of those fantasy boudoir models."

"Really?" The grin on her face now is the same grin she's always worn when I tell her something else about how unbelievable she is.

"Oh, my God, you're perfect. I feel like there should be a photographer here now."

"So…be my photographer."

Just when I thought I couldn't get any harder, I feel my groin tighten considerably. "Excuse me?"

"Take some pictures. We have our camera around here somewhere, and I know there are a few extra disposables in my overnight bag."

She doesn't even have to finish that thought before I'm scrounging around. Desperation is a great motivator because I manage to find the cameras in record time. "You sure about this?" I ask, even as I try to figure out which angle I want to get capture first.

"It's just for us, Chandler. Besides; it's the only wedding night we're going to have. We might as well make it as memorable as possible."

I walk around to the other side of the bed, camera at the ready. Her head follows as she looks at me curiously. I answer before she can ask. "Wait 'til you see the view back here."

"My ass better look cute right now."

"Trust me, babe," I say, reaching out to run a hand over her soft backside for a second. "It looks great."

Monica's adventurous side has always been a huge turn on for me, and this is no exception. That I'm still upright is nothing short of miraculous. My incredibly sexy wife is letting me take pictures of her nearly naked. This doesn't happen in real life.

Though she has, from time to time over the years, taken naked pictures of herself for me, so maybe it isn't such a shock that she doesn't mind me doing this.

I move back to the other side of the bed, the one photography class I took in college letting me believe understand lighting and angles. She just smiles up at me as I stand over her and squat in front of her, doing my damndest to make the most out of this experience.

I stop what I'm doing for a moment to lean in and kiss her. "I love you," I whisper.

She grabs the back of my neck and pulls my lips back to hers, kissing me deeply for a few minutes, our naked torsos coming to rest against each other, all thoughts of pictures gone from my head. "I've got another angle for you," she whispers against my mouth.

"Huh?" I pull back and blink rapidly, trying to force my mind into focus.

She slides out of my grasp and rolls on to her back, draping her left arm across her breasts, her hand only barely covering a nipple, her wedding band and engagement ring catching the dim light of the room. She bends one knee up a little and waggles an eyebrow at me. "Hot, huh?"

I swallow heavily and nod. "The hottest." I quickly take a few more pictures before moving to stand on the bed, looking down at her. "Why are you so incredible?"

I can actually see her pupils dilate just moments before she rises on to her knees, hooking a finger into the waistband of my boxers, batting her eyes at me. "I don't have any money, Mr. Photographer. However will I pay for these pictures?"

"I'm sure we can make some sort of…arrangement," I answer, using my cheesiest porno voice. With her ever-surprising strength, Monica pulls me down on to the bed, then on top of her. Her fingers continue to toy with my waistband of my underwear.

"These new?"

I shift my hips in to her, enjoying the hiss that rushes out of her lips as I hit a good spot. "These old things?" I ask, trailing my fingers down her leg. Aside from "Just Married" written on the back, the front looks like a tuxedo. "Joey gave 'em to me. New," I clarify instantly.

"They're cute," she whispers as her hand slides into my shorts, stroking me gently.

My entire body convulses for a second and I screw my eyes shut, breathing deeply. It really has been too long; my body seems to have completely forgotten just what her hands can and will do to me. Instead of showing me mercy, she holds me a bit more firmly, with determination.

"Monica," I warn, my voice much lower than normal. "You might want to ease up, or this will all be over too fast."

She presses her lips against mine for a moment, ignoring me. "You telling me that you don't have anything in reserves? After all this time, you've only got one in you? I'm not asking for another night of seven times." She gives me another squeeze and I groan loudly. "Are you going to say that your wife can't turn you on more than once in a night?"

"I would never say something as ridiculous as that," I answer, my breathing still ragged.

"Good. So shut up." With that, she pulls her hand out of my shorts and stands up abruptly. She grabs the waistband of the boxers and pulls them down over my legs, tossing them over her shoulder. Wasting no time, she kneels beside me on the bed. I reach out for her, but she bats my hand away.

"What're you doing?"

She smirks at me, then moves all over her hair over one shoulder as she bends over and takes me in her mouth.

It takes every ounce of my control not to buck my hips into her. "Ohhhhhhhhhh," I groan loudly.

I see the corner of her mouth quirk into a smile and her eyes flick over to me, and I can feel her humming in the back of her throat. She braces one hand on my thigh, the other gentle caresses my stomach. I watch myself disappear in and out of her mouth for a few moments before my eyes roll back in my head; I can't watch this. Talk about sensory overload.

We don't do this a lot, despite how good she is at it; if given the choice, I'll pick sex with Monica any day of the week. I find it more fulfilling and a hell of a lot more fun. Never mind that my stamina goes right out the window when I see her like this. And right now, with the lacy underwear and the stockings and the shoes, she looks better than any fantasy I've ever had.

As gently as I can, I run my fingers through her hair, desperate for some sort of contact. I can already feel the familiar tightening in the pit of my stomach. I can't believe I'm this close already.

"Mon," I mumble. She either doesn't hear me or ignores me. "Mon!" I try again, taking a hold of the hand that's on my stomach.

Her head comes up, releasing me from her mouth. Her free hand immediately takes over. This isn't much better—the look she's giving me right now is practically enough to make me explode. She waits for me to speak, but I can say nothing, though I'm sure the wild-eyed expression on my face speaks volumes.

She smiles at me gently. "Let go, Chandler," she whispers before lowering her head once more.

I can feel her tongue on me, her mouth hot around me, her teeth scraping gently, and I can't hold back anymore. My hips start to thrust erratically, nearly tossing her off the bed. "MONICA!" I scream, desperately clutching at the bedspread beneath me, needing to hold on to something. To her credit, she keeps her mouth firmly wrapped around me, riding out the storm with me.

I lose track of time for a few minutes because all of a sudden I realize she's curled up next to me, her soft hands stroking my chest, soft kisses being pressed in to my neck. My breathing is still erratic, my heart is still pounding, my body is still shaking.

What this woman does to me.

I force my eyes open and look down at my wife. "Hi," she says, her voice smug.

I can't help but laugh a little. Just "hi." She owns me and she knows it. "I can tell you one thing for absolute certain."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Married head is much better than non-married head."

She bursts out laughing. "I'll keep that in mind."

I roll over on top of her, kissing her slowly. Her legs wrap around me and she wiggles her hips a little.

"You're still ready for action, I'd say," she tells me, smirking a little.

"Well, what do you know? The soldier has not fallen. And there was much rejoicing." I stop all the chitchat by kissing her once more, and aside from the occasional soft moan or term of endearment, the room is quiet.

I pull away from her lips some time later, a little lightheaded, taking in deep breaths. I kiss my way down her neck, to her collarbone.

"Thank you for marrying me," she whispers.

I pause what I'm doing, looking up at her curiously.

"You've made me happier than I've ever been before, and I'm so happy to be your wife."

I'm not sure whose eyes grow misty—maybe it's both of us. "I'm so happy to be your husband," I answer, grabbing her hand, pressing a kiss to her ring finger.

She strokes my hair softly, and her eyes…I never knew you actually see love in a person's eyes until Monica. I always thought it was it a line used in cheesy movies or romance novels. But when she looks at me, I can see it. Even when we fight or I do something stupid, I can always see that she loves me.

It's pretty damn incredible.

"I love you so much," I tell her, my heart feeling as if it could burst.

"Ditto," she answers, running a finger down the side of my face.

I slowly turn my attention back to her breasts, taking one in my mouth and moving my tongue slowly over her nipple. She moans, and I can feel it rumble up through her chest. I smile smugly, bringing my hand up to play with the other one.

I become aware of a clicking noise; somewhat reluctantly, I lift my head from Monica's chest, only to see her looking at me with wide-eyed innocence, a disposable camera in hand. I raise my eyebrow at her, and she shrugs. "Wedding night keepsakes?"

I shake my head and kiss my way down her body, trying to remind myself to take the film from tonight to someplace we've never gone before. "Why are you still wearing underwear?"

"Probably because you haven't taken it off of me yet." She lifts her hips off the bed. "Care to do the honors?"

I grab the lacy excuse for a garment gently and tug it down her legs and over her shoes, tossing it somewhere in the vicinity of my own underwear. "Want me to take off the shoes and stuff?"

"I was kind of hoping we could leave them on."

And just like that, I'm fully erect once more. I kneel on the bed and she crawls over to me and straddles my thighs, camera still in hand. I wrap my arms around her as she rubs herself against me, both of us groaning at the contact. "You sure you want to take pictures of us having sex?" I breathe.

"We've filmed ourselves having sex—why is this any different?"

"Good point." I grab her hips and guide her down on to me, moaning as I feel her heat envelope me. Her head falls back as she groans, her arm out to the side as she clicks the button on the camera. I have no idea if she's actually capturing anything, and quite frankly, I don't care at this point. I'm making love to my wife for the first time, and my entire world has narrowed down to just Monica and making her happy. I slowly thrust myself into her, pulling her down on me at the same time. She leans forward and kisses me slowly, our lips matching the pace of our hips.

I hear the camera click again and peak out of the corner of my eye—she has it pointed at our faces. I shake my head slightly and reach my hand out to hers and knock the camera away. "Focus, please," I mumble against her lips. She chuckles, causing her entire body to shake, but wraps her arms around me, pushing herself against me.

"Oh, I've missed this," she groans. "Let's never do anything as stupid as a no-sex pact ever again, okay?"

I moan in agreement. "Sex good. Sex so good." I've already reached the point where complete sentences are nearly impossible.

Her hips rock against me, still slowly, and I'm amazed that we have as much control as we do.

She squeezes her thighs, grinding her hips in to me.

I grunt and push against her harder, running a hand down her stocking-clad leg.

She pulls my face back to hers, kissing me intensely, moving her body faster against mine.

"I love you so much," she whispers.

I groan and fall slowly back against the bed, watching her on top of me, her steady movements turning me on even more. I focus on where we're joined, fascinated as always. I don't know what it is about this part that's always been completely spellbinding when I'm with her, but I can't get enough of it.

I slide my hands up her stomach, cupping her breasts, and she gasps, her hips jerking against me for a second.

I feel like I could do this for hours. Nothing has ever been more powerful or fundamental than being with Monica like this. She's my whole universe; she completes me. When I'm inside of her, I feel like I get to complete her in the most literal of ways, even if it's just for a few moments.

It hits me all over again that I get to spend the rest of my life with this woman.

This gorgeous, crazy, beautiful, wonderful woman.

And now she's my wife.

I can't believe I was stupid enough to almost leave this all behind.

Being married is the best thing ever.

"I love you, Monica," I gasp out.

Her motions still and she leans forward, draping her body across mine. "Forever and always."

My heart swells nearly to the point of breaking. I slide my hand across the back of her neck, pulling her lips to mine. We start to move together again, little moans escaping Monica's lips.

I slide my hands through her hair, keeping her lips in place, my hips thrusting up gently.

I don't think it's ever been like this before.

"Chandler," she gasps, pulling back a little.

"Mmm?" My lips chase after hers.

"Married sex is better than non-married sex."

I smile as she repeats my earlier sentiment. "Yeah, it is." I slide my hands down to the backs of her thighs, my fingers playing with the tops of her stockings. "It's way better."

She shudders against me, then our lips are fused together once more, her arms wrapped under my shoulders, my fingers digging in to her thighs, moving together a bit more frantically.

She tears her lips away from me, gasping for air.

"You're so beautiful," I breathe. "So beautiful."

She buries her face in my neck and moans. "Ohhhhhhhh." Her hips move faster against me.

I feel my eyes roll back in my head. "God, yessss."

She lifts her head from my neck and looks in to my eyes. I swallow heavily, the intensity of this moment overwhelming. I thrust up in to her harder, faster. I can't get enough of how she looks when we do this—the emotions that flit over her face, the way she bites her lip, the way her face contorts when we hit that fine line between pleasure and pain…it's all so incredible. And it's mine for the rest of my life.

"Chandler," she moans. "Oh, ohhh Chandler."

I love how she says my name. I grab her hips and pull her down on me firmly, holding her steady while I continue to move against her. "Mrs. Bing," I pant.

That does it—her mouth drops open and her hips pound against mine, her inner muscles gripping at me. "Oh, baby yes yes YES!"

I hear myself grunt as I lose control—I pound in to Monica, holding on for dear life, wordless noises falling from my mouth.

She continues to slam her hips against me, the pleasure feeling like it will never end. A scream rips from her throat as her eyes shut, throwing her head back. I move against her even faster, needing more, desperate.

She collapses against my chest, breathing heavily. I groan in frustration—I'm so close.

She rolls her hips against mine, clenching herself around me. "C'mon, baby," she whispers in my ear before taking the lobe in between her teeth, biting down.

I groan and flip us over, driving in to her against the mattress. She moans, clutching at my back. Most of me wants this so badly, but there's a part of my brain that won't let this end, that wants this moment to go on forever.

She thrusts her hips against me again, and I can't help but feel my ego swell with caveman-like pride. "Again?" I pant in to her ear.

"Oh, yeah," she breathes. "Oh, God, yeah."

I focus on her, on making her happy, on making this happen for her again. I breathe deeply, trying to take long, deep strokes, trying to hit all of her hot spots.

"I think I'm gonna fall apart," she tells me, her voice soft and high.

"I'll put you back together, baby," I whisper.

She locks her legs around mine, pulling me close, pushing against me fiercely. "Now!" she growls, and my hand finds its way to her pelvis once more. Her fingers dig in to my back as she cries out and her body tenses, and this time I go with her. I lose all track of time as the feeling washes over me again and again…my head is swimming, my breathing is erratic, and all that matters, all that will ever matter, is lying beneath me, holding on to me as if her life depends on it. My wife.

My wife.

My body finally gives out and I pant against her, spent. She whispers in my ear, words that my satisfied, passion-addled brain can't comprehend right now.

She pulls my face to hers and kisses me thoroughly, lazily, deeply.

"Married sex is sooooo much better," she mumbles.

"Married everything is sooooo much better," I counter, rolling on to my side, pulling her in to me.

"Mmmmm," she agrees, wrapping herself around me.

It really is.