"Do we?"
"They are here for us."
"They can go fuck themselves," he growls.
"We have to make an appearance at our wedding reception," I remind him.
"I’d rather whisk you away directly to our honeymoon."
"Honeymoon?" I blink rapidly, "You really plan to take me on a honeymoon?"
"You didn’t think I was going to pass up the opportunity to spend an entire week buried inside of you, did you?"
My cheeks heat, and a shiver runs down my spine.
"Cute. All of the things I have done to you, and you’re still able to blush, hmm?" He pulls out of me, and I wince, already missing the feel of his thickness between my legs. His cum slithers down between my thighs as he pulls my skirts down, then turns me around to face him. I try to move past him, and he stops me, "Where are you going?" He frowns.
"Need to tidy up before we head down.
"No, you don’t."
"Wh-what do you mean?" I frown.
"I want you to wear my cum between your legs. I want you to feel it stick to your inner thighs with every step you take, Flower. Every second of the time that you are walking around and talking to people, I want you to remember who you belong to."
I shudder, and my toes curl. Why do I find his words such a turn-on? Why is it that the filthier he gets, the more I am aroused? Why is it that I want to agree to do his every bidding, including wearing his cum on my pussy as a badge of possession?
"Christian," I whisper, "what are you doing to me?"
"The same thing that you are doing to me?"
He frowns down at me, a confused expression on his face.
"I wanted to be angry with you for trying to betray my family. Wanted to be furious with you for trying to think that you could get away with spying on us. But every time I try to hold onto my rage, it slips away."
"It does?" I swallow.
He nods, "All I can think of is that man training his gun on you. If anything had happened to you…" He squeezes his eyes shut. "I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. It seems you have turned me into an emo version of myself, after all."
"And that’s bad?"
"It’s… different," he blows out a breath, "and painful. It’s like ripping off a bandage and being exposed to the elements, like removing my blindfold and seeing the colors for the first time."
"Welcome to the real world," I chuckle, "it’s messy and distressing and gut-wrenching and—"
"Satisfying," he says softly. "It makes me realize how much I missed out on all these years. And I have you to thank for it."
"Or be upset with," I murmur. "Don’t get your hopes too high; the world is an unforgiving place, Christian, full of surprises. You never know what you might find around the next corner."
45
Christian
Her words stay with me. What did she mean by that? Was that a warning? Or was she simply looking out for me?
I follow my wife as she walks over to speak with Theresa. We’d finally left our room and made it down to the garden to meet our guests. Yes, I bought this home for her. Yes, I am officially pussy-whipped, for I can’t keep my gaze off of her. She laughs at something that Theresa says, and her face lights up. Her skin is flushed from our love-making—hold on, did I just say love-making? Yep, definitely pussy-whipped—her whiskey eyes glow, and her thick hair flows about her shoulders. Her dress clings to her curves, and only I know that she is not wearing any panties. She pushes her hair back from her face to reveal the creamy curve of her throat. I can make out the faint imprint on her skin where her shoulder meets her throat—where I had marked her. Where I had sunk my teeth into her skin as I had thrust into her from behind. As I had made her mine. Mine to possess. Mine to own, mine to pleasure and cherish and shower with every happiness.
Is it really possible that I could look forward to a future with her? To a life that would be filled with ups and downs, considering how she always stands up to me, but one where I could possibly be happy? Happy… A strange word. Not one I thought could ever feature in my vocabulary, but which seems so within reach now.