by J. C. Grant
“I'm proud of you for taking the chance. I knew you could do it. You just needed a wrecking ball like David.”
“Yeah, yeah. No mushy. My makeup is perfect. No mussing me up.”
We made our way downstairs, my dress taking up the entire width of the staircase. Once we reached the first floor, we automatically hooked arms—like so many times before. Someone had removed the coffee table, allowing us to easily cross the space without incident. I took a deep breath. Looking out across the yard, I could see the light from the archway/altar. I was stunned by the romantic glow it created, I knew it would be beautiful, but this...
My mother patted my hand, spurring me into gear. We took the first step onto the deck in unison. Warm light wrapped around me, comforting me. All different sizes of pillar candles lined the patio, giving it an intimate, magical glow.
I thought I would be nervous or scared, but I wasn't. I was anxious. Anxious to get to him. I was almost giddy. Then orchestra music started; it seemed to be coming from all around me. We hadn't discussed it, but it was perfect, adding a rich ambiance that pulled the entire fantasy wedding together. Giving it the perfect blend of elegance and fairy.
“What are you doing?” my mother asked.
“Walking.”
“You know how you're supposed to walk,” she scolded.
“And I'm not doing that fucking wedding march.”
She huffed out an annoyed breath. “Fine. At least walk slow. And don't say fuck at your wedding.”
“Fuckity, fuck, fuck. Fuuuuuck.” Then I couldn't stop giggling.
“I'm glad you're his problem now.” She tried for serious, but I could hear the amusement in her voice.
“I'm a fucking angel compared to him,” I lied as we neared the huge archway, which consisted of four posts with a canopy of white roses. Roses and vines wound down the posts with fairy lights weaved through, creating a beautiful glow. Our little magical bubble.
As we got closer, my eyes settled on David, waiting inside that fairy tale bubble. He was wearing the John Varvatos three-piece, dark gray suit and matching tie that I'd chosen, with a white button-up shirt. And the new black boots I insisted on—it was his signature item. It wouldn't be him without the black boots. And he looked stunning with the way he filled out that suit, from his broad shoulders down to his narrow hips. Although, he was much sexier in his frayed jeans and V-neck tee as far as I was concerned.
We stepped under the canopy of roses and lights. I was captivated by the look of love and pure elation on his too-handsome face. He looked genuinely happy and grateful.
“You're fucking perfect,” he rumbled. His voice was somewhere between a sexy growl and awe as his gaze turned heated.
The judge cleared his throat, interrupting our moment. He started the ceremony, asking, “Who gives this woman away?”
I looked at my mom. We hadn't discussed the specifics. I was expecting the basics, like going to a courthouse.
“I do,” my mother said calmly. Not at all put off by the oddity.
David tugged my hand, encouraging me to face him. When I did, he took both my hands in his.
I stared into David's dark eyes as the judge spoke, not really paying attention to what was being said as I drowned in those deep, warm pools of chocolate. Then David's sculpted lips started moving.
“I promise to take care of you.” His voice was confident and sincere. “To support you and your dreams. To make your dreams mine. I promise to be loyal to you. In every way. I promise to be honest, kind and patient. Even when you're not.” His voice lowered intimately. “I promise to spend the rest of my life making you happy, and making you fall in love with me a little more each day.”
My eyes stung and my throat tightened. I was moved by his heartfelt declarations, and stunned by the fact we hadn't discussed vows. I hesitated, unsure what I should say.
“You don't have to say anything,” he reassured me gently. “Those are my vows to you.”
“No, I want to.” My eyes darted away as I searched for the right words. Then his hands squeezed mine, drawing my eyes to his again—eyes so full of love, confidence, and irrational obsession.
My words flowed. “You make me feel more loved than I thought possible. You give me something I didn't even know I needed, just by being you.” My eyes rimmed with emotion, the same emotion I saw reflected back at me. In that moment, I realized no one would ever love me as much as he did. I swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath. “I promise to be yours. To always stay by your side. I promise to put my faith in you. Give you my trust and love. And I promise to try. Everyday.”
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. The only thing I remember was David's hands shaking slightly as he slipped the diamond eternity band on my finger—same as they did with the engagement ring. David's lips captured mine in a sexy, sweet kiss when the judge pronounced us man and wife. My mom was excited, maybe more than I was. She insisted on a few pics and a first dance. David ate it up, while I struggled to endure it. He loved her desire for capturing our affection. Finally, I had Byron take a couple of photos of all three of us.
We took our time walking back to the house, enjoying the view.
The patio was astonishing, awash in the romantic warm glow. It looked like a dream. I knew David had been very busy sitting in that dressing room.
How'd they do it so fast?
An oversized table was covered in a white silk table cloth, gathered together at the base with a sash. An enormous chandelier was hanging from a beam directly above the centerpiece—a large elaborate arrangement of white flowers in a short-stemmed, crystal bowl surrounded by candles. Four trees were covered in white blooms with hanging tea lights. It was grand and elegant. It was too much. The slate patio made it all the more dramatic in contrast, giving it an ethereal glow.
“Would you like to eat first Mr. and Mrs. Taylor?” Byron asked with a bit of a flourish.
“Yes, please,” I answered as Mrs. Taylor for the first time.
David led me to the table, pulling out my chair. Thoughtfully, he helped me arrange my skirt as I sat. I watched as he stood tall, unbuttoning his jacket, taking it off and draping it over the chair next to him. My body warmed, riveted as he removed his cufflinks and rolled up the sleeves to mid-forearm, revealing those brutal veins over hard muscle.
It was a crime to cover that body with clothes.
He pulled his chair close and sat down. Grabbing my hand, he reached into his pocket with the other. Then he eased my engagement ring into its new place—on top of my wedding band. It felt good.
Everything did.
I was euphoric.
I was open.
I was in love.
And David could destroy me.
I refused to think about it, to acknowledge that fact lingering in the back of my mind.
Byron pulled out the chair on the other side of me and my mom sat down. Reaching over, she gave my hand a squeeze, smiling, too pleased with herself.
I didn't know why.
Before I could ask, two men in black suits rolled out a long cart covered with white linens and a four-tier cake.
Looking at David, I asked, “What did you do?”
With a sexy smirk, David helped me stand, and we went over to inspect my surprise. Up close, I could see it was an ornate display, covered with mini-cupcakes. It had to be several hundred. We would never eat them all, but they were beautiful. The top tier was ivory roses packed so perfectly together, it was seamless. The second was pale green ruffles with silver sugar pearls. The third was pale pink roses, and the bottom was an ivory lace fondant. They matched my dress perfectly.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathed, reaching out, unable to stop myself. “It's cold.”
“I didn't think you wanted a traditional wedding cake.” David's hands gripped my waist as he leaned in, whispering behind my ear. “Your mom told me your favorite ice cream.”
“She told you my favorite ice cream but didn't bother to tell you I don't like icing?”
> “The top three are Cool Whip icing,” he corrected. “It's my understanding that you do like that.”
God, he's perfect.
I couldn't hide the pleased grin on my face as we sat back down.
Throughout dinner and much conversation, David kept his hand on my back, his fingers trailing casually and possessively just above the bodice. My mother noticed and smirked, seeming to enjoy his claiming gesture. Since taking the vows he seemed so content, so at peace, I wasn't even sure if he was aware he was doing it.
David and my mother got along easily. His eagerness to get to know her showed. It was touching and unsettling—reminding me my days of privacy were gone. My mother excused herself once we were ready to start in on the ice cream cupcakes.
“You two need to spend time alone. I'll have one tomorrow.”
“You have to have one tonight,” I argued.
“Okay, fine. One,” she relented.
Five minutes later, David and I were alone.
“The green are chocolate with mint chocolate chip,” he explained, a bit of excitement showing over his favorite ice cream. “The pink is chocolate with cookies and cream. The white are French vanilla with chocolate and the other is chocolate with vanilla. I don't know which is which, but I can check if you want.”
He was too cute, getting excited over ice cream cupcakes.
I gave him the answer he wanted. “Some of everything.”
He quickly filled the plate, effortlessly balancing it on one hand. Linking our fingers together, he proceeded to pull me out to the altar. A bench was under the canopy now—the oversized bench that had been in the master suite when I was getting ready.
Music started playing softly from the tiny hidden speakers throughout the backyard—I had finally spotted a few on our way back to the house.
“Is this why my mom wanted to go to bed? You had all this planned out?”
“I gave you stuff to control.” His tone shifted to mischievous. “It's my turn again.”
He helped me sit, arranging my dress.
“Technically, you took over the decorations with that whole setup on the patio. And the cupcake-cake.”
His arched brow and sexy smirk was his only response, holding my gaze as he bent down, removing my sandals easily, then his boots and socks.
“You're so bossy,” I breathed. His expression, our surroundings, and the simple intimacy of our wedding night aroused me.
“You love it. Deep down, you want it.” His voice was a soft growl as his strong legs straddled the bench and he sat.
I hated that he was right. I did love it. It made life so much easier.
“Grab one,” he said, placing the plate between us.
I chose a pink one, holding it up, debating how I should eat it. I could shove the whole thing in my mouth, but I didn't want to do that in front of David.
“Sweet girl, it's for you to eat. Not stare at,” he laughed.
“It's too big.”
He paused, holding his cupcake inches from his mouth. Looking at me, his expression was unreadable.
“I know you can fit that in your mouth. I've watched you swallow my cock.” A devilish grin formed on his face. “And it's a lot bigger than that tiny cupcake.”
“Shut up,” I fake groused as I tried to smother my smile.
“You would if I wasn't sitting here watching,” he said knowingly with laughter in his eyes. “Come on. Do it. No secrets. Pig out in front of me,” he cajoled playfully.
I debated for a minute, but the possibility of brain freeze stopped me. I took a small bite.
“Too bad you wasted that.” He quickly moved the plate while popping his cupcake into his mouth.
“What do you—?”
His hands diving under my skirt cut me off. His strong fingers gripped my thighs with surprising force as he leaned forward, taking my cupcake in his mouth. His lips and tongue sliding over my fingers as he stole my treat. I watched as he swallowed, the muscles in his neck working. It always reminded me of him on his knees, under me...
He made a low hungry noise as he jerked me into position, straddling the bench. Then he tugged me closer. His demanding hands gripping the sides of my panties, pulling them down.
“Up,” he breathed.
My hips lifted and he slid them off, leaving me bare under the dress. His hands moved back under my skirt, getting caught in the layers of fabric.
“Are these multiplying under here?” he grumbled as he struggled to find me.
“Don't rip it.” I laughed as he got frustrated.
“I didn't rip the panties. I'm not ripping this dress.” His voice was gentle. Tender. “Promise.”
When his warm hands found my calves, my breath quickened.
“There we go,” he growled.
My pussy pulsed in desperate need as his hands moved up my thighs in a firm, possessive glide. When his fingers reached my folds, brushing over my slick cleft, his groan was so carnal and erotic, my core bloomed with hot arousal, heat spreading through me.
“Fuck, you're wet.” His guttural rasp had my heart racing.
Abruptly, he shoved my thighs apart, placing my heels on the bench, knees splayed wide. His fingertip grazed my swollen lips again and my breath left me in a rush.
“Can anyone see us?” I panted, remembering how many people were here.
“Don't worry. We're too far out.” His fingers probed gently and my pussy clenched eagerly. “And the canopy will cover us from anyone with a view.”
He probed deeper and my pussy throbbed in satisfaction.
“It stopped,” I answered his searching fingers.
“Maybe you're already pregnant.” His voice was hopeful.
I huffed a quiet laugh and diverted my attention to his tie, working it loose, hoping he couldn't see my discomfort. I was pretty sure it stopped from stress and I didn’t want him to know how right he had been about all this being too much for me.
His fingers pushed in deep.
I shuddered, heat racing up my spine. All thoughts melted away as his deft fingers expertly worked in and out of me. His other hand efficiently removed his tie in one smooth motion.
The action showcasing his strength and control, pulled at something in me. I laid back, my knees falling wider, giving him better access. He made a throaty sound of approval. His thumb pressed to my clit and my eyes closed, my back arching. My hips tilted, asking for more as I blindly gathered the skirt up to my waist.
Then he pulled away.
“So fucking pretty. So wet and swollen for me,” he rasped thickly. His hungry gaze locked on my aching sex, commanding my body with a look, making my clit throb and my core clench as he removed his vest and shirt, revealing the muscles of his torso and arms, shifting and flexing with his quick movements.
I was struck realizing this man, this raw primal male, this mountain of cut muscle, was my husband.
His powerful body came down, bracing on a forearm, tangling his fingers in my hair. His other hand returned to my pleading pussy and bone-deep relief washed over me.
I groaned, arching, gripping his bicep as his fingers curled inside me, stroking along my wall. His breathing turned harsh and his sweet musky smell invaded my senses. Then the slow, sensual rhythm of “Gorilla” started. David combined with Bruno Mars’s smooth voice and filthy words dropped my inhibitions. I leaned up, licking his hard chest, then biting.
His deep growl reverberated through me, making me needier. More desperate.
“Yeah, fucking bite me,” he demanded harshly, lowering his chest, giving me better access.
I licked his nipple and bit down. Hard. Still tonguing his flesh.
The groan that tore through him was both pained and erotic. His fingers pulled out of me, fumbling with his slacks, freeing his cock.
“You ready to take all of me?” he rasped. His thick head nudged against the lips of my sex.
“Yeah,” I answered breathlessly.
“Good.” He pushed in slow and steady, no hesi
tation. His other forearm coming down, caging me between his strong arms as he sank deep. “You're going to either way.”
I moaned. “Oh God.”
My body never seemed to adjust to his size, and part of me hoped it never would. I loved the sweet bite of his girth and length stretching me. I craved it.
My hands moved to his hips, feeling the tensed muscles there. His powerful thighs pressed mine wide. Pushing all the way in, hitting my cervix, he paused. His gaze moved over my face with a look that made my throat tighten with emotion.
A long moment later, he whispered, “I own you now.” His finger traced my cheekbone tenderly, his predatory eyes watching me.
I nodded, his conviction soothing that indescribable something deep inside me.
His hips rolled into me, a slow, gentle exploration, like he hadn't been fucking me nearly nonstop since we met. Slow and steady. Pushing in all the way. Then out. Powerful, slow, rolling thrusts. His rhythm matched the music. Claiming. Owning. Until we were both shaking with need.
“David, more,” I begged, my climax so close, but still out of reach.
“Breathe me in,” he rasped, sliding in and out, controlled and explicit, refusing to give me what I wanted. “Feel me inside you. Just focus on me.”
I obeyed, blocking everything else out, focusing on his brutally thick length spreading me open, pushing deep with each stroke. His low moans, his possessive gaze, the hot flush of his skin on mine, his body working, flexing above me. Then I focused on the music, the lyrics resonating with me…
Everything tightened viciously, then released. I cried out as my orgasm surged through me.
“Yeah,” he groaned low and long, burying his head in my neck as I shook. His pace didn't change as my pussy pulled and squeezed around him. Seconds later he tensed, his cock pulsed hard inside me once, twice, then he was coming, hot and hard, his voice tight and strained, “So fucking perfect. That's my sweet girl.”
It always had a profound effect on me—his praise that was caught between coaxing and condescension.
My pussy throbbed around him, hungry for more. He groaned, burying his head deeper into my neck, his cock still hard inside me.
He eased out.
The disappointment and loss I felt was sharp.
