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My knees don’t start shaking until Chris grabs my hand at the altar. How do you even find the words to describe having a demigod for a groom?
“I’d ask you to protect her, but I already know you will,” I hear Dad whisper to him.
The two men hug and Dad steps back, leaving us alone in our own world of pulsing silence.
He never takes his shining green eyes off me—not for a second—while the priest rattles off lip service to the heavens to appease our older relatives.
Good thing they don’t have a clue we shacked up thanks to our parents’ failed marriage. Since their arrangement was brief, nobody on Grandma’s side connected the dots.
It’s our dirty little secret, and it makes us one of a kind.
Chris stands there the whole time staring at me reverently, glowing in the spring light, looking down like we’ve been waiting for this moment our whole lives.
God, he looks princely.
I should feel more shame for already soaking the new lace panties I’m wearing under my gown. I mentally tick off the seconds, trying to listen to everything the wiry priest-man next to us says before he falls silent and looks at me to follow his lead with our vows.
I don’t need a reminder when those words are inscribed in my heart.
To have and to hold.
In sickness and in health.
To love and to cherish.
Oh, yes, I’ll love and serve this man until the day I die, knowing he’ll do the same for me.
Even while I’m caught in the moment, I’m impatient.
I can’t wait to be carried off to our room later while Chris gives me everything I’ve been aching for. Taking a three-week break from sex before the honeymoon has its downsides.
Kiss the bride.
I hear him say it and look up, my eyes darting to Chris.
“Come the hell here,” he whispers, a smiling dragon of a man.
My husband—oh my God, husband!—pulls me in with the same rough precision that always makes me gasp.
His hands clasp my waist. Then he rips my veil back over my face, twining his tongue with mine, the way he always does before he strips my clothes off and sinks into me.
But we can’t do that here.
Not yet.
Sweet Jesus.
I wonder how I’m supposed to survive an entire evening of being teased like this through the reception.
Maybe dancing with him for the first time since summer will help—if it doesn’t make me wish for another secret wine cellar to sneak off to.
People are clapping, exploding into loud cheers by the time he breaks away with a reluctant groan.
I know he doesn’t want to.
I share the same molten heat in his pulse each time his tongue brushes mine, and again when he holds me so close and starts whispering.
“Better keep that pussy ready for me, princess. I want you soaked when I take you tonight,” he growls, moving his stubble over my cheek. “We’re going to have a hell of a time walking this town tomorrow after I’m through with you.”
