My father gives me a hug, kisses me on the cheek, and gives Holt a nod that says so much without using a single word. Then he leaves me at the altar, next to the love of my life, my future husband, and my heart is pounding like it never has before.
The officiant goes through the ceremony but I hardly hear a word — even the jokes that make the crowd giggle and clap — because I’m staring into the eyes of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and he’s staring back into mine, squeezing my hands in a way that’s somehow both comforting and sexy.
When it’s time for his vows, Holt has to keep pausing and clearing his throat, and the crowd whistles and cheers when they see he’s getting emotional. He shoots his friends a look, and smiles. They know him so well here, and I can’t wait to get to know everyone too. They’ve always said he was a sap, apparently, but now he gets to prove them wrong — waiting for the right person can pay off. I know that just as well as he does.
It’s my turn, and I take a deep breath and start to speak from the heart.
“I don’t need to read my vows off a piece of paper,” I say, “because I’ve known these words my whole life, deep down, as I’ve waited to meet you. I didn’t get a lot of choices in my life because of some circumstances I couldn’t change, but I have all the choice in the world now. And, Holt, I’m choosing you today, and every day, for the rest of my life.”
Now his eyes are shining with emotion, and the guests are dabbing at their eyes too. I’m trying to fight it myself because if I open the floodgates, I am going to destroy my makeup.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of emotion and the second the officiant announces that we’re married, Holt whips me up and carries me down the aisle. The crowd erupts in laughter at my playful screaming as the string quartet plays us off.
The reception is filled with food, drink, dancing, and the absolute hilarity of my father’s men having to respond to the local Thickwood guests’ polite small talk.
By the time we get back home, we’re breathless from partying, stomachs aching from laughter, and lightheaded from champagne.
We stand in front of our cabin — our brand-new cabin on Lake Aspyn — and the stillness and perfect peace of our home hits us both at the same time.
Jimbo is splayed out on the porch in the waning sunlight, tail beating the wood deck as he keeps watch for us.
“Welcome home,” Holt says, brushing away the flyaway strands from my updo. He tilts my chin in that calm yet commanding way he has, and his tongue broaches my lips. My husband’s tongue in my mouth. That thought instantly makes me wetter than anything has before. My husband’s cock is hard and straining at his tuxedo pants. My husband’s rough, powerful hands are cupping my ass like he can’t get enough of me. Like he’ll never get enough of me.
“I love you,” I say, nipping at his lower lip in that way that always makes him groan.
“I love you so damn much,” he replies, and he’s undoing my white dress as we unlock the front door. I squirm out of the straps as we head inside, kicking the door shut.
I need him so bad I can’t wait long enough to peel off layer after layer of formal clothing. I undo his belt, his zipper, and free his huge, stiff cock, running my fingers up and down it and feeling it twitch with his need.
I gently push him back until his legs hit our big, squishy armchair. The one I insisted on. For exactly this reason. He sits, leans back, and I climb on top of him, bundling up my drapey white skirts and straddling him on the chair. He’s looking up at me with love, with amusement, and peeling back layers of dress netting, petticoat, silk, until he can grip my hips and hook a finger in my panties.
“Will we ruin these clothes?” he asks, eyes glinting with mischief.
“I don’t plan on ever needing them again.” I laugh. “Do you?”
That’s enough for him. He yanks and I gasp as the elastic on my wedding night thong snaps, and he pushes the flimsy remaining material to one side. His fingers delicately circle me down there, and he groans as he feels how wet I am for him already.
“I can’t believe we’re married.” I’m giggling, positioning myself on top of him despite all the skirts of my dress. It’s true. I can’t believe I get to fool around with this incredible man in our perfect home — and I get to call him my husband for the rest of our lives.