Three years after Ruby & Bennett’s wedding day

Ruby & Bennett are Thirty-Four Years Old

Before today, I didn’t know the proper gift for a third-year wedding anniversary. “Proper,” as in those classic gifts everyone and their mother tells you to buy. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to gift paper on year one. Maybe wood on year five? Jellybeans at year twenty?

Fun fact: The gift for the third year of marriage is leather.

I only discovered this because Bennett waltzed into our living room at three in the afternoon with leather pants slung low on his hips, leaning against the doorway. His arm was propped on the other side and his white flowing linen shirt was open to display the beautiful tattooed chest, looking every bit like the sex pirate that he is.

“Oh ho ho. And what’s this all about?” I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

I’m far from indifferent. Not when his long, messy locks spill down over his shoulders, the mass of them curled around his face like the mane of a lion. Not when he’s giving me the type of smile that melts my soul down to my stomach.

“This,” he declares, “Is your anniversary present.”

“You dressed as a pirate?” I ask.

“No. Me dressed as a pirate in leather pants.”

“Did you mess up your hair more than usual?” I ask with a squint.

“Yarr,” he replies with a wink.

My face grows hot.

It doesn’t matter how much time passes, how long we’ve been best friends or even how long we’ve been having sex regularly with our wedding rings on one hand right above the pink line tattoo encircling our wrists.

That wink will still get me every time.

“It’s leather,” he says with his palms out. “See?”

“Leather?”

“The third-year anniversary gift!”

“Oh!” I say, snapping my fingers. “Wait, do people still do that tradition?”

“As of today, we do. Now come here.” Even with his happy smile—the kind that always reaches his eyes—it’s still a growling demand. One I intend to follow.

My feet guide me off the couch before I can stop myself. He looks like Jack freaking Sparrow, and I will bury my face into his strawberry scented mane even if I look weird in the process.

Good lord, I need some dignity here. My husband cannot just come out here in the middle of the day and demand my attention like this. I am woman; hear me roar, right?

“Now, listen here, Pirate. If you think I will just melt at the sight of—” 

But as he raises one eyebrow, I find my heart beating faster. My words caught in my throat.  

I back up, holding in a giggle.

He starts to laugh too. “You were saying, Parrot?”

“I was saying?” I ask innocuously.

He reaches out for my hand.

“Are you embarrassed?” he asks.

“Maybe,” I admit, then whisper, “Because I have a secret.”

He grins and teases his face closer to mine. “We don’t keep secrets.”

“But the secret is that I totally have a crush on you.”

“Oh my god, that is embarrassing,” he says, grabbing my hips on the last syllable for emphasis, jerking me toward him. A breath catches in my throat as he buries his palm into my hair. 

His eyes are darting between mine, his bottom lip pulled in.

“Seriously, is this my present?” I whisper, glancing up and down.

I mean, if it was—if having Bennett dress as a pirate actually was my only present for our wedding anniversary—I would absolutely be fine with it. He’s delicious. But from the twitch of his smile, I can tell this isn’t the only surprise. 

He tosses his head side to side. “Well, this and dinner on a pirate ship.”

I gasp, my hands clutching together at my heart. “Really?”

“We’re leaving in two hours.”

“Hell yeah!”

We both raise our hands at the same time to high-five, but afterward I hold his hand tight, not letting him move away.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“But this—” I trace my finger up and down in the air, a gesture that indicates all of him, from his strong biceps down to the leather pants that would look ridiculous if they weren’t already accentuating his obvious attraction to me. “This is still part of my present, right?” I ask.

“Why do you think I’m ready a couple hours early?”

“Cute. So, what’s the plan here?”

“Pillage. Plunder,” he says with a shrug. “The usual. All before dinner time.”

I laugh. “You’re going to plunder me?”

Suddenly, he grips my hips, twisting me around so my hands land on the wall with my back flush to his chest.

“If you wish,” he murmurs, shimmying down my leggings.

 It’s a work-from-home day, so I’m not dressed to impress. Theo finally convinced me to buy leggings for lazy days and I’ve been addicted ever since. However, what she failed to mention was how easily they come off at the urging of a husband’s large paws.

I’ll have to thank her later.

“What are you thinking about?” Bennett asks, kissing over my shoulders, across my spine, and lowering down to the dips in the small of my back.

“Nothing but you,” I breathe.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he croons, kissing over the exposed peak of my ass. He nips a fresh bite that sends all thoughts of Theo and yoga pants disappearing from my mind.

He trails a tongue down to the crease of my thigh, before moving closer in. 

Closer.

Closer.

And closer.

Bennett folds an arm around the front of my thighs, tugging my legs back so I’m hitched forward into a bend, positioning my ass out on display. 

“Want this pirate to plunder?” he growls.

“Okay, now you’re just being—” 

My words are halted by the long, languid roll of his tongue over my wet center, sending shivers down my spine and bringing weakness to my knees. 

I can’t hold back the breathy moans, and I don’t have to. Not in our own home. Not when he loves my noises. Not when he constantly craves new ones I can offer.

A small chuckle rumbles through him as he gives another slow stroke over me. He exhales over my skin sending goosebumps over my thighs. Then he laps me up again and again. Every stroke of his tongue caresses the right spot, and every kiss or suck is at the perfect moment.

People used to tell us that sex would suffer after a couple years of marriage. I nearly believed those voices too. I thought maybe Bennett would simply know me too well after some time. We’d get stagnant. We’d get boring.

But one whip of his tongue slightly higher—in a very new area—reminds me that we will never be those people.

It elicits a new sensation.

A new noise.

A new growl from Bennett that has me arching my back.

He slides two fingers inside me, dipping and retreating and pumping and curling as he continues devouring me on the outside.

I can feel a bead of sweat roll down my spine as my thighs tighten beneath me.

“There we go,” he murmurs. “My best friend is taking me so well.”

“I’m so close.”

“Then come for your pirate,” he demands, and my orgasm barrels through me, tugging at my stomach and tightening every muscle in my body. 

I hear Bennett stand from his crouch, feeling his large arms wrap around my waist, pressing my back against his chest. He softly kisses my freckled shoulder.

“How was that?” he asks.

“New.”

“And?”

“Fantastic.”

“Excellent.”

I run my palm over his cheek. “Just when you think you know a guy.”

He chuckles. “I love you, Rubes.”

“I love your tongue.” With a gentle grumble from him, I add, “And you. Always you.”

And then my best friend smacks my butt.

“Good. Now, get ready. Or else I be plunderin’ ye again.”

“Bennett!”

He smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes. The kind I love.

My pirate is full of jokes.