The engagement ring is an enormous, deep-blue sapphire, surrounded by tiny diamonds. Its filigree band hugs my finger perfectly as he slides it on, then brings it to his mouth and plants a kiss on my knuckles.
“It’s the one thing my mom held onto, and my parents saved it for me. Now, it’s yours.”
“Ours,” I manage, looking over at Carrie, who is covering her mouth, rivers of tears streaming over her fingers, and Casey is stone still, swiping at his eyes with the back of a hand.
Roman lets out a long breath as the four of us stand there in the scent of leather, and the sound of Waylon, and my heart pounding in my ears.
“We’ll have another wedding back home. Big one, with all of them, whoever they want to invite. Long white dress, tuxedos, the whole shooting match. I’ll take the heat.” He looks down at me. “Your dad’s gonna think this is all my fault anyway. I can take it. I’ve stayed out of trouble nearly a year. I’ve got the funds to support you the way you should be, and once you’re my wife, I can conquer the world, baby.”
The next hour is filled with fitting rooms and laughter, and nearly every salesperson in the store dotes on us as soon as they learn we’re getting married and that my soon-to-be husband is loaded.
They make more and more ridiculously expensive suggestions about platinum boot spurs, rhinestone corsets, and whatever else they could suggest to boost their commission.
Carrie and I sneak away at the first opportunity, and I ignore the urge to let Roman know where we’re going so that I can at least surprise him withsomething. The store has a whole selection of custom turquoise, sterling silver, and platinum jewelry. My fingers brush over flashy silver and gold bands, and when I spotthering, I know it’s perfect for my cowboy husband.
It doesn’t shine. The platinum is almost dull. But embedded into the metal is a jagged vein of bright turquoise, like a flashof the Montana skyline we call home breaking through a stormy mountain peak.
I don’t even ask the price. I just hand the assistant my card and drop the ring into my bag as Carrie grins, and we slip back to the boys with excuses about needing to find the little cowgirls’ room.
Roman looks like a proud papa paying the bill for everything, and when he leans down and kisses my neck, I know our life together is going to be perfect.
“Put it all in the truck,” he orders the army of sales staff standing there with plastered-on smiles, holding the twenty-five bags of all our wedding gear. Then he raises a hand, making a looping gesture like he’s swinging a lasso over his head. “Yee haw. It’s a five-minute drive, and our future is waiting. Let’s saddle up!”
7
Emily
“Fuck me, Kicker. If I could have come up with a dream of what you would look like on our wedding day, this would be it. My balls are on fire.” A desperate groan escapes him as he tips his new dark chocolate felt Greenley with a shake of his head.
“So, you like?” I spin and start to twirl, but Roman is on me like a rattlesnake, his teeth sinking into that spot under my ear that is connected directly to my most delicate and desperate parts.
“You’re gonna be my wife, Emily, and I’m gonna fuck you so hard your legs are gonna stop working, and I’ll have to carry you around mounted on my dick for a week.”
“Sounds perfect. When do we start?”
He’s got me up and off the floor in a breath. The white corset bites into my ribs, rhinestones scattering light everywhere as layers of chiffon whip around my bare legs, and then my backslams into the rough wood wall of the small private room of the bar.
I giggle, the wind knocked out of me as the thump, thump of Hank Williams vibrates through the drywall, matching the spasms wrecking me down low.
“If I’d walked around your place in this, would I have broken Saint Roman?” I tease as he lifts my hips, then shoves them back down, working his cock under that layer of black denim onto my bare pussy like a washboard.
He groans. It sounds painful, and I reach into the front of my corset and tug my tits out, setting them free above the top hem of the fabric. Roman releases a sound like a growl from the depths of hell that causes me to start shaking.
“Knowing you’re gonna be my wife in a matter of…” He swallows, his brow knotted, as the friction down low has spasms running from my hips to my toes. “Minutes. I can count the minutes. Fuck.”
His face falls, head shaking, as I tighten my legs around his waist. God, this man is…hot.
Blazing. His jaw is bunched up in frustration. He wants to fuck me in such a ferocious way, for the first time, what I see in his near-black eyes is a little scary.
“Are you hurting?” I ask, knowing the answer as I push my breasts together and upward, sucking my own nipple into my mouth, watching the effect it has on him through the fire in his eyes. “You want me to hurt, too, Daddy?”
I pinch my nipple between my teeth, sending darts of pain outward. His labored breaths are husky, and I smell the scent of whiskey and Starlight peppermint on his breath as I buck my hips. His eyes roll back, fluttering closed for a moment before he comes back online with a darkness on his face that sends ice down my spine.
“I won’t be able to fucking walk with this boner. What the fuck, Kicker?”
“I can fix it,” I say helpfully. I wiggle free of his grip, my tits swaying and bouncing as I gather the fabric of my skirts up and fall to my knees, my butt resting on the heels of my Lucchese’s, and looking up at this magnificent dark man as I beg, “Please, daddy. I want to help you.”
“Baby.” He pushes the word through his teeth, the light and dark warring in his eyes. “I’m so close to fucking you, but I can’t break my solemn vow. I. Can’t. I won’t risk fucking you and breeding you without my last name behind yours. Permanently. Legally. I won’t. You know why I have to do things this way.”
