By the time we landed in Vegas, we were completely on the same page.

I hear the front door unlocking so I flip onto my back. “Gotta go,” I say to my mother. “Ryle just got home.” He closes the door behind him and then I grin and say, “Wait. Let me rephrase that, Mom. My husband just got home.”

My mother laughs and tells me goodbye. I hang up with her and toss my phone aside. I bring my arm up above my head and rest it lazily against the arm of the couch. Then I prop my leg over the back of it, letting my skirt slide down my thighs and pool at my waist. Ryle drags his eyes up my body, grinning as he makes his way over to me. He drops to his knees on the couch and slowly crawls up my body.

“How’s my wife?” he whispers, planting kisses all around my mouth. He presses himself between my legs and I let my head fall back as he kisses down my neck.

This is the life.

We both work almost every day. He works twice as many hours as I do and he only gets home before I’m in bed two or three nights a week. But the nights we actually do get to spend together, I tend to want him to spend those nights buried deep inside me.

He doesn’t complain.

He finds a spot on my neck and he claims it, kissing it so hard it hurts. “Ouch.”

He lowers himself on top of me and mutters into my neck. “I’m giving you a hickey. Don’t move.”

I laugh, but I let him. My hair is long enough that I can cover it, and I’ve never had a hickey before.

His lips remain in the same spot, sucking and kissing until I can no longer feel the sting. He’s pressed against me, bulging against his scrubs. I move my hands and shove his scrubs down far enough so that he can slide inside of me. He continues kissing my neck as he takes me right there on the couch.

• • •

He took a shower first, and as soon as he got out, I jumped in. I told him we needed to wash the smell of sex off of us before we had dinner with Allysa and Marshall.

Allysa is due in a few weeks, so she’s forcing as much couple time on us as she can. She’s worried we’ll stop coming to visit after the baby is born, which I know is ridiculous. The visits will just grow more frequent. I already love my niece more than any of them, anyway.

Okay, maybe not. But it’s close.

I try to avoid getting my hair wet as I rinse off, because we’re already running late. I grab my razor and press it under my arm when I hear a crash. I pause.

“Ryle?”

Nothing.

I finish shaving and then wash the soap off. Another crash.