How to Accidentally get a Husband - Part Five: No Going Back

Delaney Quinn came to Vegas to escape a picture-perfect life she didn’t want. She didn’t plan to marry a charming, cocky stranger with a killer smile and a heart too big for his own good. But after a night of impulsive choices and undeniable sparks, she wakes up with a ring on her finger… and a man who remembers everything.

Nate Carter isn’t asking her to stay forever. Just for one day.

One day to prove this wasn’t a mistake.

One day to show her that sometimes the most reckless decisions lead to the most unforgettable kind of love.

Part Five –  No Going Back

A night they chose. A morning they’ll remember. Now the question is—what comes next?

His mouth is warm and sure against mine, no hesitation now, just want. Need. Something real.
He deepens the kiss slowly, like he’s memorizing it, like this matters.
And God, it does.

His hand curves around my waist, the other threading into my hair, keeping me close. Not to trap me. To hold. To ask. To feel.

I shift in his arms, legs tangling with his as his lips trace a path to my jaw, my neck, back to my mouth again, like he can’t bear to stop touching me.

And I don’t want him to.

Not tonight.

There’s no rush or dare behind it. Just heat and intention and something deeper than I want. His mouth is soft but firm, his hands anchoring me gently as I move to straddle him, the hotel blanket pooling around us.

I expect heat. What I don’t expect is… reverence.

He takes his time, kissing along my neck, down my collarbone, hands tracing my hips like he’s memorizing them. Like he’s learning me. There’s something holy in the way he touches me, like he can’t believe I’m real.

And for the first time in a long time…I believe it too.

Every time I tense, he slows, like he feels the hesitation before I even move. His hand finds mine between our bodies, fingers lacing, anchoring me to the moment. Every time I start to pull away from what this means, he draws me back in. Not with force. With intention. With presence.

It’s not just about sex.
It’s permission.

To want.
To need.
To take.

His jeans are unbuttoned, my leggings shoved down and off. Everything rushed and clumsy now compared to the way it started, but now it’s careful. Focused. The kind of urgency that knows how to slow down when it matters.

He shifts his hips back, just enough to reach between us and free himself. The heat of him against my thigh makes my breath catch and then I see him.

“Jesus,” I whisper before I can stop myself. “You’ve been walking around with that all day?”

His laugh is soft, strained. “Yeah?” He leans in close, lips brushing my jaw. “Starting to think maybe you like my bad decisions?”

I grip his shirt, tugging him closer. “I like this one.”

He lines himself up then pushes in, deep and steady, and I gasp, more at the feeling than the shock of how intimate this is without stripping everything away. There is  fabric is still between us. The way our clothes stay half-on, like we couldn’t wait long enough to get undressed. Like we didn’t have to.

I feel every inch of him, the press and stretch, the heat and weight. His body curves over mine, his hand still tangled with mine, the other braced beside my head.

He moves with control, hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts that make my whole body tighten around him.

I don’t close my eyes or look away.

Because he’s watching me too.

And every time he sinks back in, it’s not just to make me feel good.

It’s to make me feel wanted.

I bite down on a moan, but he catches it with his mouth, swallowing the sound as he kisses me again. Deep. Lingering. One hand grips the back of my thigh, dragging it higher around his waist. The other stays on my jaw, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

“Delaney,” he breathes, like it’s a prayer, like saying my name makes this more real.

I arch into him, hips lifting to meet his next thrust, and he groans against my neck, his control unraveling by degrees. He stays slow, but it’s a needier slow now. More pressure. More friction. My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in when he rolls his hips just right. The rhythm stutters as my breath catches, then surges again, stronger, deeper.

There’s no cocky grin. No smug remark. Just his forehead against mine, sweat at his temple, his body shaking with restraint. I feel his whispered words in the way his hands move over me, down my ribs, over my hips, back up to cradle my face. Reverent. Almost awed.

“Let go,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And I do.

I let go.

With a cry I can’t hold back and a body that trembles under the weight of it all. His name is the only thing I can form, and even that breaks apart on my lips.

“Nate.”

He follows me seconds later, gasping into my mouth like I’ve knocked the wind out of him and maybe I have. Because when he collapses against me, his chest rising and falling with mine, we’re not just tangled.

We’re tethered.

…………

I wake to the sound of silence.

The kind wrapped in warmth and slow breaths, with the soft hush of a city far below and a sunrise that hasn’t quite reached us yet. The bed is still warm beneath me, the sheets tangled around my legs, and Nate, God, Nate, is beside me.

Sleeping.

One arm thrown lazily across my waist, the rise and fall of his chest steady, content. His hair is tousled, his lips parted just slightly, like even in sleep he’s still caught between whatever just happened and whatever comes next.

I don’t move. Not at first.

I just watch him.

Study the way his brow is soft when he’s not awake and teasing me. The way his body curves toward mine like it’s instinct. Like we were meant to end up here all along.

My fingers brush the sheet where his ring rests against mine, still on. Still shining in the sliver of light cutting through the curtain.

A sham of a marriage. A real moment.

And suddenly I don’t want to go back to the way things were before. I don’t want to file paperwork and undo this thing that doesn’t feel like a mistake.

I slide closer, careful not to wake him, just close enough to feel his breath on my shoulder. It’s terrifying how safe I feel in a city built on chaos. How easy it is to imagine waking up like this again.

And again.

My phone buzzes somewhere in the room. I ignore it.

Instead, I tuck my head under Nate’s chin and breathe him in. Vanilla and cedar and something stubborn and steady I can’t name.

This wasn’t part of the plan. Hell, none of it was.

But lying here, wrapped in his warmth and the quiet ache of something that feels like hope, I start to wonder…

Maybe the best things never are.

His eyes blink open slowly, like the morning took its time coaxing him out of sleep.

He stretches, muscles shifting under the sheet as he shifts onto his side, face inches from mine. His smile is lazy. Gorgeous. And completely unbothered by the fact that I’m staring at him like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Morning, wife,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

It shouldn’t make my stomach flip.

But it does.

“Morning,” I whisper back.

He lifts my hand, presses a kiss to the knuckles softly, like a promise.

We lie there in the quiet, neither of us rushing to fill the space. I should be panicking again. Making lists. Asking questions. But all I want is to stay right here in this little moment that doesn’t feel borrowed anymore.

Still, I can’t stop the words from slipping out.

“So… what now?”

Nate’s brows lift slightly. “Now?”

I nod.

He grins, cocky and warm. “Now we get brunch. You’re glowing, and I want everyone to know why.”

I laugh, the sound unsteady but real. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He tugs me a little closer, fingers brushing the bare skin of my hip. “There’s a place down the street with insane French toast. They’ll probably comp our drinks once they see how in love we look.”

I roll my eyes, but the smile lingers. “You’re not really keeping me, are you?”

His expression shifts, still playful, but there’s something under it. Something steadier.

He rolls onto his elbow, leaning in until our foreheads touch. His thumb traces the curve of my jaw.

“Oh, sweetheart…” His voice drops, low and sure. “You accidentally married the most stubborn man in Vegas.”

My breath catches.

Not from nerves.

Not from fear.

But from the possibility that this—this moment, this man—might actually be real.

And maybe, just maybe… worth keeping.

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: August 2025

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