Every year on my birthday, I give presents. This is the first of several. Next gift will be tomorrow.

If there are errors, I apologize. My husband promised he'd beta this for me, and he fell asleep while I was writing. But before he did, he told me to put in an author's note that it's totally his fault if this sucks. Since I'm such a dutiful wife, I feel compelled to oblige him.

The Masen Sisters' Guide to Fucking a Player

In Two Dates, One Morning After,

Four Months of Horribly Awkward Gross Anatomy Labs,

Countless Nights Together Caused by

an Unexpected-Though-Bizarrely-Advantageous Cohabitation,

One Foray to Camden Due to a Family Emergency,

a Shockingly Sudden Marriage Proposal,

an Intimate Wedding Ceremony at William Penn's Feet,

and Promises of Forever in a Ghetto Apartment

Step Eleven: End on Top

We walked back to our building arm in arm. Every so often, a light would shine off the plain silver band now decorating the fourth finger of my left hand.

"Don't worry." He raised my hand to his lips before pulling his keys out of his pocket. "I'm not thrilled with it either, but it's temporary."

"What, our marriage?"

"No." He dropped my hand and took a step away from me, feigning offense. "What kind of person do you take me for? I was referring to our rings. They were the best I could do with such short notice. Honestly, I'm amazed yours even fits you."

"I still can't believe you bought wedding bands."

He laughed. "I had a feeling you didn't believe this would be a real wedding. I thought if I left it up to you, I'd end up with paper straw wrapper tied around my finger."

"I would have gotten to it eventually."

"I know. And like I said, I have every intention of upgrading them. Thanks to good old Jackhammer, I'm in a bit of a cash crunch at the moment, but—"

"I know," I said, rolling my eyes. Would he ever give this trust-fund bullshit a rest? "Now that you're married, you're rolling in dough."

"Well, not exactly. It's going to take at least a few banking days for the changes to take effect–"

"I didn't marry you for your imaginary money, Cullen."

That was when it hit me—we were really married. Somehow in less than a day, I went from inviting Cullen to share my bed, to inviting him to share my life, to somehow being bound to him forever in holy matrimony.

Holy shit.

It had to be sexual frustration. That was it—nothing else could drive me to insanity this quickly. I took a moment to think about it. The problem was was Cullen's package. Over the time I've known him, I'd only touched it once, but I'd felt in against me more times than I could count. Had his teasing me with it made me so desperate that I'd marry him just to get it inside me?

Yes.

Yes, it had. And I wasn't about to wait a moment longer.

"Seriously, my income isn't imaginary," he said. "We should probably talk about–"

"Think you could move a little faster?"

"I could, but I won't."

"Don't be difficult."

"I'm not. But this is our wedding night, and I have no intention of rushing things," he said as we climbed the steps to my apartment.

"There are some things—one act in particular—I don't want to rush, either. It's the stuff that comes before..."

He flashed his trademark panty-dropping smile.

Meanwhile, if my panties didn't drop within the next five minutes, I'd want an annulment.

"Ah," he said. "You mean romance?"

"Well, that too, but I was talking about foreplay."

"Foreplay?"

"We've already had months of it." I unlocked my door and pushed it open.

"You think so?" He rested his hands on my hips and leaned into me, the heat of his breath tickling my ear. "Because as far as I'm concerned, that requires nudity."

When I reclaimed the ability to speak, my voice wasn't much louder than a whisper. "Please don't tease me."

"Oh, I won't. But as much as want to throw you down and bury myself in you, I have every intention of savoring the moment."

The next thing I knew, my feet no longer touched the ground. With my body pulled tightly against his, he swung me around. When he placed me back on my feet, we were in my apartment, finally alone.

For a while, I just stood there staring at him. This man—this golden-haired god—was my husband. I doubted I'd ever see anything sexier than Cullen in a tuxedo, his left hand adorned with a wedding band I put there.

Then that cocky son of a bitch proved me wrong. He tugged on his bowtie, untying it and pulling it from his collar simultaneously in a single, fluid motion.

"Turn around," he said.

For once, I didn't argue with him.

He lifted my hair from my neck and pressed his mouth against the nape of my neck while slowing unzipping my dress. It slid down my body, forming a pile of white lace and tulle at my feet.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this." He undid the clasp of my strapless bra, letting it fall to the floor. Still standing behind me, he cupped my breast. As one hand played with my nipple, the other one made its way into my panties.

Oh my god.

I didn't have to tell him what to do or how to touch me—somehow, he just knew. Just when I started to doubt my ability to stand, he led me to the bedroom. Perched on the edge of my bed, I slipped off my panties as he stripped out of his tuxedo.

This was my husband—technically, I could be as brazen as I wanted without fear of being labeled a bad girl.

So I was. I leaned onto the bed and opened my legs. Just when I started to second-guess myself, he covered my body with his. His skin felt hot and smooth against mine and the way he kissed me made it difficult to breathe.

Holding me tightly, he rolled onto his back so I was on top of him with his hips between my thighs. He reached between us and grasped his cock, positioning it in such a way that all I had to do was move my hips and he'd be inside me.

The problem was that I was frozen in place. It didn't matter how much I wanted this, how much I wanted him, or even that we were bound to one another for eternity. There was something I needed to say first.

"I love you, Carlisle."

Ultimately, we met in the middle. Just as I started to lower my hips, he raised his. The feeling of him pressing inside me was beyond description, but not because he was gorgeous and had a big dick, though he was and he did. It was because his love for me was evident in his every movement—from the way he let me set the pace, to the way he stroked me as I rode him. When I came, it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced—mostly because it was him who brought me there.

In the morning, I'd give him a hard time for making up this trust fund bullshit. If our marriage had a chance of lasting, he needed to learn joking about money wasn't cool. But for now, I was happy to fall asleep in his arms.

Next birthday present to my readers is tomorrow.