Stevie-lou’s POV.

The presidential suite smelled like roses and expensive linen. The suite was bathed in low, warm lighting, gold accents reflecting off glass. Smith had his hand on my waist the moment the door shut behind us.

"God, Petunia…" he whispered against my neck, his voice thick with emotion and desire. "I’ve waited so long for this night. I’m losing my damn mind."

I forced a laugh, soft and shy, the way I knew he liked. “We’re married now,” I said, tilting my head, brushing my fingers through his thick hair. “You don’t have to wait anymore.”

His lips crushed against mine, hungry and possessive. He backed me up...