The satin is heavy, glimmering, a glorious candlelight color that flatters me in a way that nothing else has. Even I have to admit that I’m a beautiful bride, but I wonder how much of that has to do with the way that I feel in my body today. It’s like I feel more in touch with myself than I ever have. Like I’m aware of every part of myself. Every dip and hollow and curve. And why each one exists.
I’m furious with myself. Because as I told him last night, the idea that the touch of a man turns a woman from an innocent into anything else fills me with rage. Yet I also feel as if I learned something about myself last night.
If I had been asked my feelings on being…on having… If I’d had to give a dissertation on my feelings regarding oral sex I would have said that it seemed vaguely distasteful to me. He made it seem perfectly reasonable. More than that, it was one of the more incredible sights I’ve seen, that large, powerful man kneeling between my legs tasting me like I was the dessert.
But the result is that I feel like a stranger in my own body, and even my thoughts feel like they belong to a stranger, because the Lilith that I was a week ago would never have thought such a thing. And certainly wouldn’t have been thinking about when he might do it again.
Particularly not ahead of such a life-changing event. How could an orgasm rewire my brain like this? I should be thinking about the wedding. About the fact that I was officially committing myself to this, and to him, not about the way it felt to have his hands on my bare skin, for his tongue to explore my body in such an intimate way.
I gasp, and look away from the mirror. “I’m ready,” I say.
The trouble is, it’s not time for the wedding to start yet. I find myself alone in a small room waiting. Waiting and waiting. I crack open the door and look out, and for the first time I realize there are guards there. He’s afraid that I’m going to run away. Still. He doesn’t trust me. Apparently, my word wasn’t enough for him, and I find that excessively outrageous given the fact that he had his mouth between my legs.
“Are you making sure I don’t run away?” I ask the guards.
“And that no one comes to rescue you,” the guard returns, and I wonder if he used the wordrescueby accident. It seems thatkidnappedorstolenwould be more appropriate, unless he fears the king as well, and thinks that I might need a rescue.
It’s amazing to me that I no longer think that.
Finally, it’s time for the wedding to start, and I am ushered from the tiny room and to the doors of the sanctuary. I walk down the aisle by myself. There is no one to give me away. But my mother and sister and her fiancé are sitting in the front row, looking happy and proud. I avoid looking at Lucian. I avoid it until the very last moment. And then, when I can do it no longer, he takes my hand and our eyes collide.
“Sparrow,” he whispers.
I can’t say anything. My throat is too tight. And as the priest presides over the wedding ceremony, Lucian continues to watch not only me but the audience. The priest. Everyone. I know that his last bride was carried away, and he seems like he’s anticipating it happening again.
I swallow hard, and I don’t take my eyes off of his. I make my vows with an unwavering voice, and I’m not sure where that comes from. I’m not sure how I manage it. And then, the priest says that it’s time for us to kiss. We’ve never done that.
He has touched my face, he has licked me between my legs, but he’s never kissed my mouth.
And then, he leans in, and captures my lips. I am overcome. His mouth is a conqueror. Claiming me, my body, my mind. He thrusts his tongue deep into my mouth, and I capitulate to him, allowing him entry. He wraps his arms around me, drawing me up against his large body, and I cling to him.
Lucian.
His lips are a revelation. Kissing him is an entirely new experience. I don’t know how many more new experiences I can possibly take, and yet I know there are more before me. I’ve married him. Kissing him should not be the biggest aspect of the moment. Yet I find that it is. His hold on me is hard, uncompromising, and I don’t want to resist it. I want him to cling to me forever.
I want to cling to him.
But then, it’s over, and I find myself searching the audience for my sister, my mother. But I’m dizzy. He takes my hand and leads me down the aisle, his steps firm and decisive. And we are walking toward the tower.
“Lucian,” I whisper. “Isn’t there a reception?”
“We had that last night. That’s what the wedding party was.”
“It…it was?”
“I find myself impatient to spend time with my new bride.”
My heart moves up to my throat. “Oh?”
“Yes. There will be a party for everyone in attendance, but as I have managed to keep my bride this time… We will be consummating as quickly as possible.”
I gasp, and he doesn’t stop.
Even now, he doesn’t take the elevator. Even now, he takes me up the stairs, turning and turning, climbing ever upward, my heart in my throat, and my entire body giddy with adrenaline. I don’t know why, but I make a small game of guessing which room he’ll take me to. Mine or his. It’s better than guessing what’s going to happen. Better than obsessing about what’s to come.
It’s midmorning. Not long ago I was put into this dress. I didn’t expect the wedding night to happen in the middle of the day. I thought there would be a whole wedding party, a whole prelude.
The prelude, I suppose, has been this entire week. What happened last night in the garden was foreplay.
