Page 55 of The Final Game

Chapter 23

I’m officially a married woman.

Which means if Channing Tatum somehow finds me and falls desperately in love with me—as I know he would—I would have to turn him down. I wonder if that’s the real reason Chris wanted to get married.

I didn’t need to be married to be loyal. Even while being his girlfriend, I wouldn’t leave him. Not even for Channing Tatum.

My husband is hot. Smoking fucking hot.

My smile widens as I watch him, lying on my stomach with my chin resting on my hands, propped up on my elbows. He’s sprawled on his back—who the hell sleeps on their back?Weirdo—with his hand flat on his toned, bare stomach. I can’t resist leaning over to flick my tongue against his cheek.

One eye snaps open, and he lets out a low chuckle, his morning raspy voice sending a shiver through me. “Did we get a dog, or did you just lick me?”

“It was just me,” I confirm.

He laughs, opening his eyes fully before turning on his side to face me. He pulls me into him, our bodies plastered together. “Good morning, wife,” he murmurs, kissing me lightly.

I arch a brow. “Is that my new nickname?”

His shoulders shake with a quiet laugh. “You know you’ll always be my pretty girl,” he says, with a smirk. “But I can’t fucking help it. I love calling you my wife.”

A needy noise leaves my lips when he kisses my neck, nuzzling his head into me. “I love hearing it,” I tell him.

He hums against my skin, rolling me onto my back as he kisses my neck, my chest. Not one ounce of my skin goes untouched by him. “We’re married,” I murmur as he continues his slow kisses.

“I know,” he says, lifting his head with an amused look in his eyes. “I was there.”

My lips lift in a smile as I let my hands slide to his neck, gripping his hair between my fingers. “You’re my husband,” I say, trying out the words. I’ve only said it a couple of times, and it still sounds so weird, so new… but so right.

“And you’re my wife,” Chris says, kissing my arm before he lifts my hand and kisses right on my wedding band.

I can’t help but think of how long I’ve known him. I practically grew up with him. My life was entangled with him, until we were ripped apart senior year of high school. I wonder what my life would have been like if I never met him. If he didn’t come back to me.

“Did you think we’d be here?” I ask him, curious to know his answer. “When we met, sixteen years ago, did you think we’d be married?”

He arches a brow. “Seeing as I was twelve, probably not, but when we got older …” He trails off, his eyes meeting mine. “I hoped for it,” he says, making my heart ache. “I wasobsessed with you. Crazy in love with you and you barely looked my way. Not how I wanted, anyway.”

My frown is instant, remembering all the years I was oblivious to Chris’s feelings for me. I wish I knew. I wish someone slapped me in the face and told me he was everything I wanted. It wasn’t until our senior year of high school, that I started to develop feelings for him. And when I finally fell in love with him… everything turned to shit.

“I guess I just lost hope,” he continues, his eyes tinged with a sad look. “As we grew up, and I saw you dating other people… I didn’t think it would ever happen,” he admits.

I can’t even imagine a world where we’re not together. I can’t even begin to understand how I ever looked at him and didn’t realize how much I loved him.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” I tell him, feeling his soft hair between my fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t figure out my feelings for you sooner.”

He shakes his head slightly, lifting my hand to his mouth as he kisses my wedding ring again. “I would have waited an eternity for you.”

Fuck. My eyes start to tear up, and ugh. I blink back the tears, letting out a laugh. “You’re being way too romantic,” I tell him. “Fuck me. I’m horny.”

Chris tips his head back with a laugh, shaking his head down at me. “You’re insatiable.”

“You should have known that before you married me,” I tell him, rolling him onto his back so I can straddle him. “Now you’re stuck with me,” I tease, reaching down togrip his cock, which is already thick and hard in my fist. “You’re hard?” I ask, arching a brow.

He chuckles. “You’re here.”

I stroke him slowly, loving his answer. “And that’s all it takes?”

He nods, groaning when I start to stroke him a little harder, a little faster. “You look at me and my body aches for you.”