Wedhead by Kayt Miller

 

Chapter One

The secondI hear the knock on the door, I race to it, yank it open, and grab the guy on the other side. In mere seconds, I’ve got him inside the room and pushed up against my hotel room door, my lips on his.

“I missed you so much,” I pant between frantic kisses.

“Me too, love.” He kisses me back, then stops and asks, “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” His hands slide down my back to my bottom, which means I’m about to get lifted. Helping him, I get up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. Once I’m off the ground, I feel him. He’s already hard. “God, I need you,” I say as I kiss down his neck. Working my way back up, I find his earlobe and bite it gently. “Please?”

“I’d do anything for you. You know that, Quinn,” he says as he begins the trek to the bed.

I’m lowered onto my back. “I do. I know you would.” Pushing myself up to sit, I reach out and tug on his T-shirt. “Off. Take everything off.”

He looks down at me and points at my robe. Quickly, I untie it and pull it open. I’m no longer the least bit self-conscious about my body around Cooke. Especially since it’s changed so much.

“God, you’re fucking spectacular.” Cooke’s gaze is heated. He’s focused on my chest, but not for long. His eyes move down past my stomach and new stretchmarks to my center. The whole thing turns me on more than I already was. And believe me, I was turned on.

“I need to feel you inside me, Cooke.”

“Oh, you will. All. Fucking. Day.”

Yay! I was hoping he’d say something like that. I love dirty Cooke. “Fuck me hard, babe.”

“Jesus,” he mutters as he slides over me, forcing me onto my back. “You’re a naughty little minx, love.”

“I know.” I place my palms on his lean hips and slide them around until I’ve got one hand on each of his beautiful ass cheeks, then squeeze. “You’d better hurry. Mom’s going to be here soon with Harper.”

“Feeding time,” he says, staring down at my breasts. They’re starting to get engorged, but I’ve got some time. “Are you in pain?” he asks, looking concerned. He knows how painful it can be if I wait too long.

Shaking my head, I bring my right palm around and grasp him in my hand, pumping up, then down. Cooke moans. “Love….”

“You need to hurry it up, stud.”

“Fine.” He looks down between us and places himself at my entrance. I’m already drenched. Heck, just seeing Cooke Thompson makes me wet, so after kissing and touching him, I’m primed and ready for him. “This’ll be a quick, hard fuck, but tonight, I’m taking my time,” he says, his voice husky with lust.

“Finally.” I sigh as he slides inside. “Yes. I needed this.”

“You achy, baby?”

I nod. “So achy.” He loves when I say that. It makes him sort of crazed.

“I’ve got you, love.”

And he does. This man, the one I’m about to marry in just over three hours, has always “got me.”

Always.

Cooke does as promised, making it quick and hard, but he doesn’t finish until I’ve had an orgasm. The man always makes sure I’ve had at least one. He prefers for me to have a minimum of three, but one will do for now.

“Wow.” I sigh as he rolls onto his back. I turn so I’m wrapped up in his arms. “Thanks.”

I guess he thinks that’s funny because he laughs. “My pleasure. Then his face gets serious. “I was worried after getting your text.”

“Sorry.” Not sorry. “It’s been days and days. I needed you.” Even though Cooke really wanted to stick with the tradition of not seeing each other on the wedding day, I was never on board with that. So, I had to play a little dirty. I sent him a text, essentially giving him a distress call. It went something like this.

Me:I need you. It’s urgent.

“I stopped my workout and ran up here.”

I knew he would. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” I mean that. “Next time I send you a sex SOS, I’ll be sure to clarify.”

He laughs. “A sex SOS?”

“That’s what this was. With my mom staying with us and your mom and Saffie two doors down in the guest condo for the last two weeks, we haven’t had a second alone.”

“Don’t remind me.” He slides his palm over my breast to my back and down until he’s cupping my bottom again. He’s got a thing for my ass. I don’t mind it.

“So, I sent you a sex SOS.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.”

“You aren’t upset that I broke the time-honored tradition of not seeing the bride before the ceremony?”

“A little,” he admits. “But since we haven’t done anything traditional from the beginning, it’s fitting that we do our own thing today.”

He’s right. We met two years ago, to the day, on a video phone call. We spent the first few months of our relationship as friends. Then he came to visit me when I needed him most, and that’s when he let me know he liked me. You know, liked me, liked me. After that, it was a long-distance thing with him in London and me here in Iowa.

During that time, Cooke suffered a career-ending leg injury while playing his beloved rugby, we broke up and got back together, and let’s not forget the murder. While all that was going on, our friends have been in and out of relationships, some with each other, and, well, we had a baby two months ago. A beautiful little girl we named Harper. Harper Mae Thompson—Mae after my grandmother. Harper’s the love of our lives. Sure, we love each other, but combined, there’s no baby who is adored more than ours. I swear.

Sure. I know that’s what every parent says. And that’s just fine.

We didn’t mean to get pregnant, but we weren’t trying very hard to prevent it either. I mean, I was finishing up school, and Cooke was done playing rugby. Now he’s got a job as a commentator for a British sports network now. They pay him a ridiculous amount of money. I mean it. It’s ridiculous. Not only that, but he’s got more endorsements now than he did when he played. He’s still sexy-hot—trust me—and in demand. And now, after his most recent sports magazine cover came out, he’s getting calls left and right for more.

It’s no wonder. He was photographed holding Harper.

Don’t worry, we made sure the photos didn’t show her face. Shirtless—because of course he was—Cooke held her in his big arms with her head tucked into his neck and shoulder as he looked down at her adoringly. It wasn’t even a staged shot. They were switching out a light or something when he took her from my arms and did what he always does when she’s in his arms: he snuggled her in close, smelled her hair—because babies smell amazing—and gazed down at her like she was the best thing since sliced bread.

He’s right. She is.

Anyhoo, they took a photo of that little moment, and bam. The magazine said that sales by female consumers quadrupled just from that cover. I get it. There’s nothing sexier than a man and his baby. Robbi said they’re called DILFs, and I have no reason to argue with her.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks softly.

I look up at him and smile. “I’m so ready. You?”

“I’ve been waiting for this day for two years.”

“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head. “No way.”

“Yes. It’s true, love. I knew the second you popped up on that screen with your hair all over the place and your glasses askew.”

That makes me smile. “Askew.” I love that word now. Still…. “I looked terrible.”

“I thought you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.”

Me too. I thought he was pretty. Heck, I ran downstairs the next morning and blabbed to Patsy about the English hotty who called me on FaceChat. “Well, I don’t know about all that, but I do believe it was fate.”

“It was indeed.”

“Which reminds me. Did Maxwell make it?” His “mate” Maxwell Quinn, the reason for the wrong number that night, has become a fixture in Cooke’s life. Though not necessarily a good one because he’s a tad annoying.

“He’s here,” Cooke says, sounding a bit like Eeyore. “I should have left him off the guest list.”

“Why? You invited every single person you know. Why would you leave him out?”

“Hey.” I feel a little pinch on my butt. “I just wanted as many people here to witness this auspicious occasion as possible. We’re only doing this once, love. I was just trying to—”

I pat him on his still hard stomach. Even over a year after quitting the sport he loves, he’s still in amazing shape. It’s annoying but also very, very nice. “I know. And you’ve done a brilliant job planning everything.”

He has. Sort of. For the most part.

Yep, that’s what I said—Cooke planned the wedding. The minute he proposed for a second time via FaceChat (the first time was at his flat in London) and I said yes (again), he started planning. Since I was pregnant and not feeling my best, he hired a fancy wedding planner from London named Bridget and proceeded to drive her bonkers for ten months. It got so bad, she threatened to quit several times. I finally sicced his mom on him after Bridget dubbed him “Groomzilla.” No joke. She actually called him that. To his face. It was awesome. It makes me giggle whenever I think about it. Right now is no exception.

“You’re laughing about Groomzilla again, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” I kiss his chest. “I may laugh about that for the rest of our lives.”

He sighs and pats my ass. “I can live with that.”

“Good.”

Just then, I hear a knock on the door and the cry of one very hungry baby. “Oops. Get dressed.” No way do I want my mom to see him in all his naked glory. Cooke Thompson nude is for my eyes only.

Reaching out, I grab my robe and slide it on as I make my way to the door. Harper cries and my heart beats in double time. I can’t stand to hear her cry. It breaks my heart.

“I’m coming, sweet girl,” I say loud enough for her to hear. It doesn’t do a dang thing to stop the crying. Only feeding her will do that at a time like this.

Looking back, I see Cooke has his shorts on, and he’s tugging on his shirt. Good enough. Pulling open the door, I reach out as Mom holds Harper out to me. With a scowl, Mom says, “She’s very hungry.”

I’m not sure why, but seeing Mom’s face like that makes me giggle. “Sorry?”

She follows me into the room and sits on the sofa across from me. Cooke had the hotel place a rocker in my room for just this reason. Sitting down, I begin to rock as I pull my robe open. The second Harper sees what’s going on, she latches on and starts making her happy noises.

“She must take after Cooke, because you were never a fussy baby.”

I arch my brow at her. “I’m sure I wasn’t perfect.”

My mom shakes her head. “No. You were perfect.” Then she smiles. “But I’d say Harper is pretty damn close to perfect too.”

“Of course she’s perfect.” Cooke enters the living room of my little suite sounding a tad defensive.

“Nobody’s perfect,” I say to both of them. But when I look down at her eating like her life depends on it, I can’t help thinking she really is close with her light hair like her father’s and her bright blue eyes. I’m not really sure who she looks like just yet. I see both of us, but people who’ve seen her swear she looks like Cooke. I’m okay with that.

“So, you’ve pumped enough to last me the night and the morning, yes?”

“I have.” Mom and Dad are going to have Harper tonight while Cooke and I move into the honeymoon suite of this hotel. I know I’m going to worry because it’ll be the first night away from my baby girl, but Cooke keeps reminding me that if anything happens, we’re in the same building and can run down and get her if need be.

“Good,” Mom says, checking her watch. “You need to be down at the salon in twenty minutes.” She looks over at me. “Showered.”

I probably look crazy. Like I just had sex. Oops.

“I’ll be ready.”

“As soon as she’s eaten, Caroline will take over. She’s going to get her down for a nap.”

Caroline is Cooke’s mother. Between the two moms and Cooke, they’ve arranged Harper’s day like she’s a robot.

I’ve got news for all three of them. She’s not.

“If you can’t get her down, let me know.”

“It’ll be fine.”

If you say so.

Moving Harper over to my other side, I peek up at Cooke, who’s mesmerized by the feeding. Actually, the whole pregnancy and birth thing was something he took very seriously. He was frantic about making sure I ate healthy. Not only that, but he encouraged me to exercise, saying it’d help with the birth. I did it, sort of, along with everything else the doctors told me to do. The day I went into labor, I thought Cooke was going to have a coronary he was so stressed out. Because of that, I followed orders. Well, that is until she started to come out. Then all bets were off. Because, dang, that hurt. And I made sure Cooke knew. Needless to say, I wasn’t such a good patient during childbirth.

By the time Harper is finished eating, her eyes are droopy and her tummy is full. I feel better too.

“Here you go, Grandma.”

I’m about to hand her to my mom, but Cooke reaches out and takes her first, saying, “Let me have a cuddle.” I watch as he kisses her pink cheeks and brings her up until she’s snuggled into his neck and shoulder, just like on that magazine cover.

The sight makes me sigh because he’s so damn perfect. Well, perfect for me.