He looked depressed as he set them down in front of the bed. “Well, this is it.” I placed my hands on his chest and caressed him gently. “It’s only one night.” “The measurement of time is subjective.” “The next time we sleep together, I’ll be your wife.” He moaned. “I can’t wait for that.” “So you can’t play with yourself.” “My orgasms work around the clock. I’ll have a woody all night.” “It’ll feel that much better when we’re on our honeymoon.” He rubbed his nose against mine. “I can’t wait to be your husband. I want everyone to call you Mrs. Preston all the time.” “I don’t want to sound old. I’m not your mother.” “But it gets me hot.” “That I’m old and sound like your mother?”
