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Chapter 37
Mirabel
Itwasthedayof my wedding. I’d agreed to have it at Merivale after Ethan virtually begged me. He needn’t have, though. As a self-proclaimed aesthete, I was deeply taken by the breathtaking beauty of that estate. It was my soon-to-be mother-in-law who freaked me out.
Theadora reassured me she would be there by my side. I also had other supportive friends to help cushion me from Caroline Lovechilde’s chilly vibe.
Ethan laughed at how I shivered at the mention of his mother. “Don’t worry about her. A wedding is just what Merivale needs to cheer us all up.”
From what I’d heard, Caroline wasn’t exactly dressing in designer growing up. Ethan had filled me in on his mother’s sad and tragic upbringing, which was why her cold-shoulder treatment towards me and others born below her, seemed even more unjust.
In any case, I was marrying Ethan and not his mother. I would just have to learn to tolerate her frostiness.
I woke up in Ethan’s childhood bedroom with him spooning me. Cian was in the nursery, being cared for by Janet, who was to be his weekend nanny for our two-day party.
My breasts were sensitive from not just Ethan’s constant fondling, but from expressing enough milk to feed Cian for a few days.
“Good morning, sweetheart. This is your last day as a Storm.”
“Is that why you’re marrying me? So that our son becomes a Lovechilde and not a Storm?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Partly.” He stroked my cheek affectionately. “His mother’s a nice bonus.”
I pretend punched him, and he grimaced in exaggerated pain. We wrestled some more, and feeling his morning wood, I rubbed myself against him.
“Isn’t there a rule about not fucking on the wedding day?” He wore a lazy smile.
“There’s no rule that says I can’t suck your dick, though.”
His sleepy eyes came alive. “When you put it so eloquently, I guess not.”
I tossed back the covers and took him in my mouth, enjoying how his dick grew rock hard and stretched my jaw.
I sucked, licked, and teased his veiny shaft with my tongue. His growing moans told me I’d found the right pleasure points, which weren’t difficult. Ethan loved having his dick sucked, just as much as I loved having my clit ravaged.
I moved my mouth up and down his thick shaft, working up a pace until his veins popped and danced on my tongue. A tormented groan followed, and he shot deeply into the back of my throat.
I licked my lips clean, and he fell on his back, breathing loudly before laughing. “What a nice way to wake up.”
I glanced up at the elaborate brass clock on the mantle. It was eleven, which was normal for us. I’d discovered that Ethan also favoured late nights. Just like me. My music flowed better at midnight. And Ethan liked to work on his many ventures or read a Lee Childs or John Le Carré novel. He loved to read—one of many traits that had surprised me about him. I’d often suspected he suffered from ADHD, but he admitted that was probably to do with his former cocaine use.
He stretched his arms and yawned. “Let’s shower. That way, I can have a little appetiser.”
Mm… An orgasm before the ceremony would help ease the sudden bout of nerves invading me.
I padded barefooted on those warm floorboards, which Ethan had also recently installed in our house. Billionaire luxury had an addictive quality about it.
After being devoured in the shower, and me nearly drawing blood from my lips as I tried to stifle a scream, I was ready for what was to be my special day—a day I never thought would happen. Not just with Ethan, but with anyone.
I’d arranged to meet Theadora and Sheridan at the Pond for a pampering session first. The late-afternoon ceremony was to be held in the front room with its mind-blowing domed ceiling fresco of the Three Graces, and quirky modern art that fought for space—an eclectic mix of old meeting new that worked miracles on the eye and was a perfect setting for my wedding.
Shopping for my wedding gown had been fun. I’d met Sheridan a few days earlier in London, where I’d gone on a spending splurge.
Despite her “you shouldn’t” appeals, I not only bought Sheridan a gown for the wedding, but also replaced half of her wardrobe. Bret didn’t miss out either. I bought him all kinds of ugly clothing items related to his beloved football team.
“We’re the ones that should be buying the gifts,” Sheridan said as we bounced along Oxford Street.
When we popped into a vintage designer store, she said, “Why not buy new?” Sheridan stroked a floaty silk gown by Givenchy. “Wow, this is exquisite. Shit, and the price tag is what?”
