by Vanna King
While they chatter away, my perverted thoughts become wicked intentions.
My hand slowly creeps under the heavy layers of my bride’s gown, homing in between her legs. I feel the tops of her stockings and its suspenders.
Her eyes widen at me. I grin and whisper in her ear. “Poker face, baby.”
Snaking past her panties, my fingers trace her petal-soft slit, discreetly sucking in my breath when I encounter her wetness. She squirms in my lap, but she carefully opens her legs to give my hand more access. Thank fuck for this gown with its ridiculous design, I can do my wicked deeds while she pretends to be paying attention to the conversation on the table.
I rub her clit using her cream as lube. My cock is a steel pipe poking at her ass. I’m so hard I’m imagining it boring a hole in my pants, past her gown and straight into her pussy. I slip two fingers inside her, and I almost groan out loud at her tightness.
Fuck, I’m leaking now.
She looks at me, biting her lip, glaring at me, but doesn’t dare make a telling sound that will give us away.
Luc clears his throat. “Children, I think it’s time to retire to the bridal suite.”
Leigh looks mortified. I grin. “Good idea, brother.”
I stand up with my bride in my arms.
“With your permission, sir, ma’am?” I ask my new in-laws.
Her clueless, tipsy parents happily bid us goodnight.
“You stay and take care of the guests, brother.”
“Hey!” Luc protests but I’m already walking away with my bride.
“And what do you have in mind, my love?” my wife asks me teasingly as we exit the ballroom. She knows exactly what I have in mind. I can smell her passion for me, intoxicating me like the most potent drug.
“To fuck your brains out for the first time.”
“But you already did.”
“Not as your husband.”
She touches my cheek. “My loving, loyal, faithful husband,” she states sweetly.
I know it’s a command. A command I’m just so willing to obey to the letter.
I stare into her eyes, repeating my vows.
“Yes. Your loving, loyal, faithful husband.”
She smiles, lighting me up from inside out.
I practically run toward the private elevator. Thank fuck, I can afford this luxury. I don’t even wait for the doors to close. I back her on the wall, and rearrange my fly, impatiently pushing yards and yards of voluminous fabrics out of my way, cussing the designer now.
I lift her legs to wrap around my waist.
Snaking my hand under her ass, I guide my cock to her sopping wet entrance and pierce her to the hilt. Her pussy welcomes me, embracing me sweetly.
We both cry out in relief, but it’s not enough. Never enough.
I support her ass, and she holds on to me as I jack her hard and fast, pushing her up and down the wall, her cries of pleasure spurring me to go deeper and deeper. She’s so tight, so fucking hot and sweet and I’m not going to last.
“Tell me you love me,” I rasp in her lips.
“I love love love you!” she utters feverishly. “Oh God, Bron…Ohhh!”
She comes hard around my cock, her tightness going impossibly tighter, demanding my surrender.
I kiss her, groaning into her lips as my orgasm takes me, hurtling me toward the highest high.
“I just love fucking you in wedding gowns,” I murmur lazily moments later.
She makes a purring sound. “That can always be arranged, husband.”
“Promise, my goddess?”
“Promise.”
About the Author
VANNA KING
Hi, I’m Vanna, and I write short, unapologetically smutty, cheesy novels you’ll hide from your high-brow friends and your mother but can’t wait to read under the blanket with your bedroom door locked. Luckily, with modern technology, you won’t need a flashlight to devour every dirty word, what with your Kindles on fire:)
Kindly manage your expectations though. I’m not competing for a Booker Prize, so my prose is so simple that even a third grader could write it. Consider this a warning before you 1-click. Consume my shi*t at your sanity’s peril.
Every novella I write is a quick trip to happily-ever-after with a Neanderthal hero who cannot control his lust the moment he’s spotted the heroine, with a plot that will make your feminist panties tighten like a chastity belt (it won’t hurt to pretend you’re a bit of a damsel in distress in need of a knight to save you from yourself, for two hours, at least), and a heroine who’s coming of age and needs to decide her destiny in the most crucial moments (read: much younger than the hero, or much older, who’s basically smart but stupid in certain situations, but then again, who isn’t?).
That’s the flavor, basically. Now sprinkle that with a lot of action where it matters, if you know what I mean. Of course, after the hot action and some groveling, depending on who behaved like an ass between the MCs, there’s a guaranteed cheesy, eye-rolling, oh-so-predictable HEA. Sometimes it’s a HFN, but I promise, no cliffy.
All that being said, I hope you enjoy reading my sh*t and you’ll keep coming back for more!
You can hang out with me at these places:
Email:
[email protected]
Facebook Personal Account:
http://bit.ly/2mh74Yw
Facebook Page
http://bit.ly/2m2RaoK
Also by Vanna King
COMING NEXT!
COMING TOGETHER
A Forbidden Novel
VANNA KING
I WANT HER.
Badly.
Vianna.
Eighteen.
Innocent. Or maybe not too innocent after all as I watch her flirt with the boy on the dance floor.
She’s also my girlfriend’s daughter.
Yeah. Fucked up. Worse than the worst FUBAR I’ve gotten my ass into in the military. She’s a red-flag screaming off-fucking-limits.
But I can’t stay away.
The ballroom is packed with teenagers while a DJ is playing dance music on the stage. Strobe lights blink over the moving mass of bodies; kids grinding at each other in a simulated carnal dance, most probably a prelude to a fuck-fest later. I wonder if she’s thinking of sleeping with her boyfriend tonight. She sure allowed that fucker one too many liberties on her body that had set my teeth grinding resentfully the past hour.
The thought alone sends my blood pressure to boiling point. I can feel my gut coiling with cold violence, pretty much like how I feel before I shoot a hostile element dead between the eyes. I can’t have her, yes, but the thought of somebody else having her is even more inconceivable.
Here I am, thirty-six years old and experiencing the violence of the green-eyed monster for the very first time. I shouldn’t be having these perverted thoughts about her.
It’s insane. Pure madness. I’m ashamed of myself. But I can’t help it.
I just can’t.
