Chapter 1

• Three years ago
• Eyes wide, Tripp Wrylee jolted to sit on the bed, surveying the surroundings. He was in his hotel room, still wearing the same clothes he put on last night.
• After he and his best friend, Kayden Braxton closed a deal, he invited Dax Easton for a drink at the club, for old time’s sake, who happened to be there with his relatives.
• A surge of fear pushed his confusion back to the time he had left to prepare. It was his big day after all. Fuck. What time was it?
• He grabbed his phone from the nightstand to find the battery drained. He tossed his clothes on the bed and grabbed a new white shirt— He didn’t have much time to change his pants and rushed to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, ignoring his throbbing temples. He then grabbed his suit jacket, draped over the chair, before he headed out toward the elevator.
• He groaned softly when the elevator suddenly turned into like the slowest fucking thing ever invented. The fact that he didn’t know what time it was, he was losing his shit. There was no way of losing their only chance. He would be losing her, and she was probably thinking he chickened out, changed his mind, and ditched her.
• He slammed his hand against the reception, startling the receptionist. “What time—?” He gazed up at the wall clock. Thank fuck! He had one hour left. “Thank you, lady.”
• “You’re welcome. Sir.” The lady receptionist stared at him, confused.
• As seconds ticked by, his chest was heaving, his lungs were burning as he raced to cross the busy street, hoping the traffic enforcer would not stop him. He might have to force himself to punch someone who would try to stop him at this busy hour.
• The jewelry store came into view. As he entered, he was immediately assisted with what he needed. When he was asked about the size, he couldn’t answer—it wasn’t like he had time to measure her slim ring finger. What he had was exploring her mouth with his tongue, tasting her sweet lips, among other things.
• For a playboy like Tripp, he hadn’t scored on her yet, and it challenged him. Now he was torn to be being the luckiest man or being an asshole and stupid for thinking that he was madly in love with her.
• Still, it didn’t ease the knowledge of the fact that they were two completely different persons. He once thought this would never work, and he never pursued women before, let alone an innocent girl who wasn’t even a woman yet. She may be of legal age, but Tripp knew she was still a virgin. He was a cocky bastard and wore a thousand-dollar suit while she was this cardigan girl, yet, it didn’t even bother him a bit.
• “Can I exchange if this won’t fit?” He looked down at the two rings in his hand. “Nevermind. This would look just perfect on her.” He then paid and left.
• Damn it. He was fashionably late.
• He was still catching his breath as he entered the white chapel, catching everyone’s attention. His glazing eyes searched for his girl, hoping it wasn’t too late for their turn.
• Then there she was. At first, he didn’t recognize her. Besides the fact that she was the most beautiful human being he’d ever seen, sometimes she made him utterly speechless.
• He sauntered closer, never breaking his gaze away.
• She ditched the cardigan. She was wearing a lacy white long-sleeve knee-length dress, and Tripp thought he’d just seen an angel—his angel. His headache was gone. She was like his drugs, and he became instantly addicted to her.
• “Hi,” she said breathlessly, her sweet breath fanning his sweaty face. “I thought you would not come. I was worried.” She bit her so plump bottom lip nervously. Something twitched down there with interest that Tripp managed to ignore it.
• He held her soft and small hands, squeezing lightly before pressing them against his lips. “I can’t only come to you if I am not breathing anymore.” Jesus, where did that come from? Sometimes he had to question his sanity since he arrived in this Sin City.
• “There’s one couple more before our turn. Glad that you are here now, Tripp.” Her eyes—the color of the sea shone— the way she looked at him, so innocent and pure—one of many reasons that kept him awake with a raging hard-on every night since he first saw her.
• After this, he would be corrupting her in so many ways possible. At least she was his by that time.
• Their names were called.
• “Are you ready?” he asked her once again.
• “Yeah.” Tripp could see the nervousness written all over her face, but she managed to nod.
• “Are you sure this is really what you want to do? Once we’re done, there’s no turning back, baby. You are mine, and I will be yours. Forever.” He mentally hit his head. How the fuck did he become so mushy?
• “Yes. Yes. Let’s do this.” She nodded excitedly.
• He liberated and corrupted her completely, but he didn’t feel any guilt at all. At first, he let her lie to her friends every time they met, then he convinced her to follow their feelings, and when she accepted his proposal, he knew their lives would be going to change forever once they left this city.
• They stood in front of the officiant. With a short sermon about marriage and things, he said repeatedly probably a million times, but Tripp didn’t pay much attention. He couldn’t focus—his eyes, his mind, and his heart were solely on his future wife, and how he would make her feel good, he would take her over and over again in his hotel room.
• Tripp would have laughed at himself if he ever thought of meeting someone before he came to Vegas for a business trip. It was the most cliche and the dumbest thing he would ever do.
• For one thing, he had no plan of getting into a relationship. If it was for sex, he could have any women in his bed, effortlessly. But right now, for him, life was too short to make it lavish. What was important for him was to have this girl or he’d be damned.
• Three days were long enough for Tripp to wait, and he’d been helplessly and restlessly crazy in love with her. At this moment, all he ever wanted, like the air he breathed was to be both of them legally as a husband and wife.
• Mr. & Mrs. Wrylee. It rang perfectly.
• “Tripp?” Someone was calling his name. A pinch on his finger forced him back to the ceremony.
• “Do you have a ring?” the officiant asked.
• “Yeah.” He fished out the velvet square box.
• “Repeat after me. I, state your name—”
• “I, Tripp Raker Wrylee—” He slipped the ring onto her finger as he recited his vow, and it just fit perfectly. It was beautiful and the most precious thing he’d ever given to someone, and what more perfect was that it was to his wife?
• “I, Arizona Blaire Sky—”