“Almost wife,” I correct.
“Are going to take this whole damn world by storm,” he finishes. “And I am just honored beyond measure to be the man who gets to stand by your side while you do it.”
I smile, squeezing his hands, desperate to get to the kissing part now.
“Our love has been tested,” Brandon says. “But if nothing else, we have proven that even when we hurt each other, we know at the end of the day that there is no one else. Your love was meant for me, and mine was meant for you. We are souls destined to find each other in this lifetime and every one after. I vow to treasure each moment with you as if it were my last, and to spend every moment away from you praying for your return to my arms. I will make you happy, Ashlei. I will care for you, protect you, and most of all, respect you.” Brandon’s eyes are sincere, heavy as they hold mine. “That is my promise.”
My bottom lip trembles as I nod, accepting his vows, knowing their truth. And once again, everything fades into the background — the water, the breeze, the sunlight, the music, and even the officiant’s voice as he declares us husband and wife and allows Brandon to kiss his bride.
In the next moment, I’m swept back in a dramatic dip, and all around us, sailboats and yachts and tourist ferries alike roar with applause.
But for me, it’s just Brandon’s arms around my waist, his lips on mine, his heart forever joined with the one beating in my chest.
And just like that.
I’m Mrs. Ashlei Church.
“Please don’t make me.”
I cross my arms and bat my lashes, hoping the wedding hair and makeup is still intact enough after our breezy sunset dinner for Brandon to show mercy on me.
He chuckles, crossing the space in the master bedroom to hold my elbows in his massive hands. “I’m not doing it to be mean, my love. You’ve gone all day without it. The doctor said—”
“I know what the doctor said,” I growl, wrinkling my nose. “But it’s so ugly, and bulky, and not sexy.”
“You are sexy no matter what you wear.”
“You say that now, but when that strap is smushing down my boob…”
Brandon plants a soft kiss to my lips. “First, let me help you out of this,” he says, fingertips walking down my hips and slipping under the high slits of my dress. He tugs at the fabric as my breath catches. “And then, we put the brace on, and I fuck you as my wife should be properly fucked.”
I pout. “But—”
Brandon catches my bottom lip with his teeth, biting hard enough for me to yelp before he releases me. “Stick that lip out one more time and I’ll bend you over my knee.”
This time it’s me who bites my life, my thighs clenching with the thought of being punished, of being spanked.
Yes, please.
Brandon’s lips are on mine in the next breath, his kiss soft and slow and purposeful as he backs me up more and more until my spine hits the window. With the added support, he presses me into it, careful of my shoulder as he hikes one of my legs up and slides my dress skirt up over my hips.
“Every time the wind blew, I’d see your thigh, this little spot where your hip meets the muscle,” he teases, running his fingertip along my hip flexor. “And it drove me mad, knowing I’d have to wait to kiss that spot, to have this pussy,” he husks, his hand dipping between my legs without warning. His fingers skate under my panties and slide through my desire, a groan of approval on his lips when he adds, “My pussy.”
“All this talk, but no action…” I tease, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I want desperately for him to pin me against the window and let me hold on for dear life as he eats the pussy he was just raving about.
But the bastard is too worried about my safety.
He laughs against my lips, giving me a brief kiss before he pulls away. “Too much pressure on your shoulder to hold on like that,” he says, reading my mind. “Tonight, you’ll have to be content with me ravaging you the way I want to.”
I’m tempted to pout again, but then Brandon holds my hand in his — the one connected to my good shoulder — and gives me a little spin, the skirt of my dress flaring as I turn to face the window.
His lips are warm, little kisses pressing against my neck and the top of my spine as he carefully undoes each button at the back of my dress. When it’s loose enough, he slips one strap off my shoulder, and then the other, letting the fabric pool at my feet.