Sutton Lee

by Christa Wick

  He crooks his finger, signaling me close enough he can whisper in my ear.

  "The rings aren't real."

  "No," I laugh. "Your mom and Emerson have the real ones."

  He huffs. "I wouldn't lose the real ones."

  "Maddy and I know that. But we didn't want you stuck standing guard over them."

  He considers my answer for a moment then shakes his head.

  "We could have made laser beams…and used the drone to watch the perimeter."

  "Not a bad idea, Sarge."

  The praise comes from Emerson. Caiden ignores him.

  With one last look at me, the boy shoves his hands in his pockets.

  "The music is supposed to start soon," he says.

  "Then you better get up to the tent."

  He starts to leave then runs back up the stairs and throws his arms around me for a brief second before breaking free.

  "What was that for?"

  "Next time I hug you, you'll be my uncle."

  He dashes off before I can say anything.

  "You're not going to cry, are you?"

  Turning to Emerson, I shake my head. "Remind me why I asked me to be my best man."

  "Because all your other brothers are taller than you?"

  "Yeah, that was probably it."

  Mama sticks her head out of the tent, catches the stringed quartet's attention and holds up two fingers.

  I hope that means we are two minutes out from starting this show. I need to hold Mrs. Madigan Turk in my arms.

  And the crowd is ready. Especially Dotty Belle. I see her little legs kicking as Adler holds her above his head.

  "So," I ask in a side whisper. "You change your mind about that transfer?"

  "Why would I?"

  I have an answer, but I shrug as if I don't. For some reason, I seem to be the only person who thinks my twin has feelings for Delia Mays.

  Maybe he doesn't. Maybe I'm just a silly romantic who wears his ovaries on the outside. But it would be perfect, wouldn't it? My soon-to-be wife has already brought two gifts with her, Caiden and Delia. And Emerson does seem to be pulling back at the reins in terms of his transfer. So maybe those two gifts could produce another, most unexpected gift—Emerson coming home for good.

  Little brother eyes me with suspicion.

  "Was there something else you wanted to say?"

  I shuffle my feet and hold his gaze for a few long seconds before answering.

  "Thank you for being my best man."

  "I'm just glad to see you finally admit it," he jokes.

  That earns a laugh and an admission from me.

  "I might have teased you more than necessary about being the baby of the family."

  "I turned out okay," he says before offering me a begrudging clap on the back. "So did you."

  Knowing Emerson detests public displays of affection, I pull him into a bear hug. A chorus of catcalls erupts from our three older brothers.

  "Get it while you still can!" Barrett shouts.

  Emerson looks ready to slap some cuffs on me. The musicians we hired save me from spending my wedding night in jail as they start the first complex strains of Coldplay's Reign of Love.

  I look to the tent. Ashley emerges. Walker takes her arm. Siobhan is the next bridesmaid to leave the tent with Jake as her escort. Then come Caiden and Leah.

  My precocious niece has called a temporary truce with "that boy." They walk down the aisle shoulder-to-shoulder, picture perfect angels.

  Madigan and Delia emerge together, Delia both the Matron of Honor and the one who will officially give away the bride.

  Tactically, now would be a good time to glance at Emerson and observe his reaction to seeing the Widow Mays all glammed up. But I can't peel my eyes away from my beautiful Maddy.

  She wears an oyster-colored gown, the trim of pearls a pale champagne. The gorgeous red hair is down and delicately curled. Meeting my gaze, her gold-brown eyes blaze with mischief and leave me wondering how much of an etiquette faux pas it is to pop an erection at my own wedding.

  Worse or better than popping it at someone else's ceremony?

  Maddy steps onto the stage. Delia places my bride's hand in mine then takes her place as Matron of Honor.

  I am blind to it all. Maddy fills my gaze. No one else.

  The pastor's voice is like a fly buzzing around my ear. It is up to Delia and Emerson to gently prod Maddy and me when it is time for us to say our vows.

  No small amount of time went into their composition. The words are layered with meaning that others may not recognize. Many of the lines trace their origin to the day of Caiden’s rescue when I found Maddy in Leah’s playroom. Within those lines are tones of progress and understanding, of reaching out and searching within.

  When Maddy and I read our vows, we do so with one voice.

  With my whole heart,

  I believe in you.

  The person you are today.

  The person you will become tomorrow.

  I believe in us.

  Friends,

  Lovers,

  Companions in this life

  And the next.

  It is to you I pledge my love,

  My devotion,

  My honor.

  I promise to protect you,

  To challenge you.

  I promise to be your sanctuary

  As you are mine.

  Before God, family and community,

  I promise this forever.

  We finish the vows as we began—together. Maddy's lips tremble with the need to be kissed. We suffer through a few too many words from the pastor, awaiting his final blessing and his introduction of us as two halves now made whole.

  At last he says it.

  Husband and wife.

  Kiss the bride.

  We move forward. Our lips touch. My hands move to her face, take control of the kiss. She smooths a hand around my waist. Fingertips whisper down my back. Her soft touch straightens my spine, takes my breath away.

  Softness has turned into a kink with Maddy, the pressure of a gentle hand in our lovemaking as much pain to her as it is pleasure. It turns her wild, makes her wet.

  Ending the kiss to cheers and applause, I meet my wife's gaze. A sensual awareness dances in the topaz depths. She knows exactly what she has done to me with the feathery caress.

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to scoop her up right now and escape with her. A dozen plans to do just that hatch in my mind. But a few hours spent smiling and taking pictures with family and friends will buy us more uninterrupted time later. So I thread my arm through hers and lead her down the steps.

  Right before we are swarmed by well-wishers, I caress a kiss against her ear and whisper.

  "I meant every word, Maddy Turk. I love you now and always."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Leaving the truck, Sutton races to the door of our new home and unlocks it. The lights inside are already on, my sister and sisters-in-law adding a few touches and amenities to the house for the "honeymoon at home" that Sutton and I insisted on.

  He is slower to return, his gaze locked on mine and burning with a heat that singes my thighs even at a distance. Reaching the truck, he opens my door and holds out his hand. I step down and into his arms. Burying his face against my neck, he offers a soft bite that leaves my knees unsteady as we walk to the front door.

  Before I can protest the formality, he scoops me up into his arms and crosses the threshold.

  Secretly, I am thrilled at the tradition.

  "So beautiful, Maddy."

  Now it's my turn to bury my face.

  "Ah, the elusive coquette," he teases as he carries me through the living room and into the master bedroom. Setting me on the edge of the king-sized mattress, he touches my nose in warning.

  "I'm undressing you, love."

  Anticipation has me nodding and chewing at my bottom lip.

  Sutton zips down the hall. He shuts the front door, flips the lock. The light in the
hall grows dimmer as the ones beyond it are turned off and dimmer still when he stands at the threshold of our room, his body filling the frame.

  "Happy, Maddy?"

  Maybe he asks because I am on the verge of tears, my emotions stretched thin from all the affection that has been showered on us this day and from the anticipation of the intimacies that will pass between us tonight.

  "Bursting with it," I answer.

  A naughty smirk lights his face.

  Sutton moves from the doorway into the room. Making me wait, he slowly goes from one piece of furniture to the next, lighting the candles that Delia and the others brought. The candles are unscented, but the room smells of jasmine, the flowers from our wedding disbursed around the room in white wicker baskets.

  With the candles lit, Sutton turns off the bedroom and hallway lights.

  I expect him to start stripping me, but he peels off his tuxedo jacket. His fingers glide from button to button, unthreading them with just a touch. I shove my hands beneath my tensing thighs to keep from reaching for him.

  He steps out of one shoe and then the next. Watching the slide of his pants down his lean hips and powerful thighs, I suck at my bottom lip.

  Sutton comes closer, stopping within inches of me. His cock thrusts forward, its strong pulse leading it in a hypnotic dance.

  "Do you want to touch me, baby?"

  Gaze tracing the thick veins of his erection, I bob my head.

  "You will," he promises. "But not yet."

  A gurgle of protest bubbles in my throat. But then he orders me onto my feet and I forget my complaint.

  "Turn around."

  The word didn't feature in our vows, but I obey his command. Sutton runs his hands over my curves, starting with my shoulders, caressing downward to the flare of my hips, a slide forward, his torso against my back as he lightly smooths his palms over my stomach and breasts.

  "Hands on the mattress."

  My legs begin to shake. I lock them tight as I follow his instruction. Sutton's cock presses resolutely at the skirt of my dress, the width and hardness forcing the cheeks of my bottom to mold around him. He continues pressing forward as one hand secures my shoulder and the other pinches the pull of the zipper and slowly draws it down.

  When he reaches the bottom curve of my spine, he releases the pull and my shoulder. With a teasing slowness, he lifts the skirt of my dress up and over my hips. Light as a spring rain, his fingers flow over my flesh, a stream of sensations popping like firecrackers as he traces the pattern of my lace panties. Reaching the gusset, he slips a careful finger beneath it and probes at my core.

  Panting with need, I push back.

  "I want to hear you groan first."

  Oh, I am so there. Need has twisted my throat beyond the capacity for real speech.

  "Please," I mewl.

  Sutton pushes another finger into me. I rock back, burying him deeper. He trails the other hand along my spine. The sensation is soft as a kitten's whiskers. It hurts and thrills at the same time. My pussy contracts around him in response.

  Pulling his fingers out, he uses them to hold the gusset to the side and spear his heavy cock inside me. Here is the hard pressure I need to balance his breezy caress.

  Remaining buried balls deep, Sutton coaxes me into straightening. When I am upright, he peels the sleeves down my arms then frees my breasts from their confinement. He cups them, tests their weight as he sucks and bites at my throat.

  My hips dance, my thighs and ass tense and grind against him.

  "Not yet, love."

  Sutton leaves me empty once more. My dress falls to the ground and he helps me step out of it.

  "On the bed, on your back."

  Still wearing my heels and stockings, I climb onto the mattress and get into position.

  My husband's smile is downright wicked as he reaches up to the ceiling fan and wraps his hand around the cord that controls the blades. I would laugh at myself, but a hard need twists through my body.

  I nod. A lick of my lips encourages Sutton to pull the cord once, twice.

  Cool air whispers across my skin. Leaning over me, Sutton forces my thighs apart, my sex open to his inspection and the maddeningly gentle current the fan produces.

  My mouth bobs open. I squirm and kick off my heels before I dig them into the white, hand-stitched quilt beneath me.

  The thigh-high stockings remain. Sutton runs his hands over them. Sometimes, he lightly scratches his nails along their surface.

  He has shown me hard and he has shown me soft. I am ready for whatever he offers me.

  "One more thing, love."

  I watch with an aching anticipation as he goes to our closet and pulls out the kind of box that might contain a sweater or dress shirt.

  This one holds a large rectangle of white lace big enough to cover the bed. The thick pulse of cream that leaks from my sex as he drapes the cloth over me proves there really is a kink for everything.

  Climbing onto the bed, Sutton pushes my knees into a bent position. My squirms intensify. The lace feels like ants crawling over me. I lift my feet, run my legs against Sutton's arms and the sides of his torso. His hand dips beneath the fabric. With three fingers forming a scout's salute, he rubs at my swollen, pulsing clit. Then his other hand disappears beneath the drape of white. A thick gathering of fingers penetrates me. The thrusts are rough. I bounce with them, nipples scraping beneath the lace, eyes rolling back in my head.

  My first climax slams through me.

  Sutton drags me onto his cock. I call his name. My hands move beneath the scratchy material to find his thighs. My nails bite and scrape at the muscular flesh.

  "How hard, baby?"

  "Harder," I demand.

  Knees digging into the mattress, he straightens so that his torso and thighs form a straight line. His first few strokes deny my order. But, ever-so-slowly, the intensity builds until he is slamming into me.

  When I am close, when I claw at the quilt, he stops and strips the lace from me, leaving the cool air of the fan to torture my sweaty skin.

  I start to beg. Short, excited whispers of "please" fall from my lips. I pluck at my nipples. The muscles between my legs try to twist his cock into knots. But he leaves me to the stroke of the fan and my own erratic touching.

  He wants me to writhe, wants the barely there sensations to drive me to the point of madness. Only then will he take me, fuck me, suck me, bury himself deep inside me and fill me.

  I roll onto my stomach, draw my knees beneath me and present my husband with the full curves of my ass. My hips bob in a cobra's dance.

  Sutton answers the temptation with one of his own. Holding my cheeks apart, he glosses the tip of his tongue up my perineum to that second hole. I shudder and moan. And then I rock against the threatened invasion.

  My pussy weeps, its need wetting my thighs. He pushes thick fingers inside, scoops the cream up to where his tongue dances around the other tight circle. I feel the press of his finger, the yielding of my flesh.

  "Harder, baby?"

  "Yes," I plead. "Harder."

  More fingers, more cream. His cock takes possession of my pussy. His hands push the cheeks above further apart. Thumbs slick with the arousal he has produced in me tease that second hole open. There is a seesaw, thumb-to-thumb, cock and pussy. I rock against the coordinated invasions. Sutton quickens his pace. He is right there with me, straining to hold on as our cries mingle.

  "Maddy..."

  "Yes," I beg, the muscles inside me coiling, milking his shaft, sucking at his thumbs, the tension everywhere trebling with each hard thrust of my husband.

  "Baby…"

  Surrendering completely, I jerk against his touch. My shoulders twitch. I press my face into the pillow to mute my screams.

  His thrusts drive me on, pushing me to another level, leaving me floating until his own release claims him. The jerk of his cock brings me back into the moment. I feel the jets leave him to unfurl inside me in search of a sticky purchase.
/>
  Sutton collapses forward. His weight flattens me against the mattress. He does not pull out. Instead, he wedges his hand between my body and the quilt.

  Finding the crease of my swollen labia, he eases his fingers between them. The assault on my clit resumes. It is only seconds before I am climaxing once more, milking his still hard cock, drawing what he already shot deeper inside me.

  We continue like that, straining, reaching, only rarely retreating, until I am nothing but melted bone. That is when Sutton lovingly moves my jellied limbs so that I am under the quilt.

  Leaving the bed for a few minutes, he extinguishes the candles and turns off the fan. Sliding under the covers, he molds himself to my side, his face buried against my neck. His hand covers my mound, the fingers curled to gently cup my flesh.

  As we drift to sleep, I replay the words in our vows like a solemn prayer.

  Friends

  Lovers

  Devotion

  Sanctuary

  Forever

  More from Christa Wick

  Visit bookwhistle.com for author news, social media links, and a bibliography with store links.

  Subscribe at bookwhistle.com/alerts for direct notices of new releases, new formats, and more.