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“I like you on the edge,” I murmur back, telling the truth. Feeling compelled. “I like it.” I brush my lips across Edison’s. “I want to taste it.”
Goodness, I practically feel the arousal overcome him. Feel his control desert him.
His nostrils flare, eyes nearly pitch black, then he captures my mouth on a strangled moan. Starbursts plume on the backs of my eyelids as the luscious taste of him whips through me, causing my tummy to flip-flop. Each time he takes my lips in a hot slant of wetness, his tongue touches mine briefly. Too briefly. Until I’m whining for it, clutching at his collar and begging wordlessly for him to lick the inside of my mouth. Finally, his tongue slides fully between my lips and he claims me, unquestionably. He kisses me until I’m without breath, my brain fuzzy and heart hammering.
When he breaks away to let me breath, he looks me in the eye and begins winding the skirt of my wedding dress around his fists. “Preacher,” he growls, backing me toward the bed. “Start the ceremony now.”
Edison
I’m not sure what’s gotten into Blessing, and Jesus, I’ll have to find out later.
My cock is so stiff and swollen in my pants, there’s a chance I could be done in one thrust. For one, she’s a fucking bombshell in this dress. She was already incredibly beautiful. I had no idea how I was going to get any work done with her living in my house. But in a push-up bra, dusted in glitter and confessing her naughty secrets to me? I’m out of control.
I’m so horny and turned on that I’m barely aware of the two other men in the room.
I can only flatten my little bride on the bed and attack her pouty fucking mouth, groaning over the enthusiastic way she responds to me. Whimpering and opening her thighs for my hips to settle in between them. We’re making out. I’m making out with my fiancée during the wedding ceremony, our mouths insatiable. Starving for more.
Vaguely, I hear the preacher speeding through the opening section of the wedding ceremony. Words about God and man and duty—and yes, I crave the privilege of being responsible for this girl for the rest of my life. But right now, it feels as though my only responsibility is to this pussy. She’s asking for it. Asking for a dirty fuck with her legs spread, dress around her waist, her cunt already wet. Yeah, I can feel that moisture through my fly, hot and eager and soaking into the material.
When I imagine us together in bed, you’re…you’re being so harsh with me. You pull my hair and c-call me vile names, swat my bottom and move so roughly on top of me.
She has no idea what that confession has done to me.
I’m ruined. I’m reborn. I’m fucking obsessed with this girl.
“Do you, Blessing Wakefield, take Edison Scrooge to be your lawfully wedded husband?” asks the preacher, his voice unsteady.
It’s torture taking my tongue out of her sweet mouth, but I manage the feat long enough for her to answer. “I do,” she hiccups.
I’m already unzipping my pants when the preacher turns his attention to me, asking me the same question. “Do you, Edison Scrooge, t-t-take Blessing Wakefield to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“Yes,” I grit through my teeth. “God yes.”
The preacher stumbles toward the door, dropping his Bible in the process. “Y-you may…you may…”
“Fuck the bride?” I suggest roughly against her mouth.
I grip my cock and guide it between her legs, moaning like an animal during mating season to find she’s wearing no panties. Her hole is slippery and inviting and I’m too overcome with lust to do anything but tuck the head of my cock inside of her, slide an arm beneath her hips to keep her steady—and drive myself home, into the tight wonder of her cunt, my balls slapping loudly off her supple ass cheeks.
“Oh fuck. Fuck! Motherfucker.”
Ben backs out of the room while mopping his brow, along with the preacher, but they remain in the doorway, watching with clear conflict—and something darker—in their expressions. They remain there too long for my taste.
“More. More!” she cries out beneath me, my miracle of a wife.
“Get the fuck out,” I growl at the men, beginning to pump. “Oh my God!”
I simply can’t believe she’s real. I’m dreaming. No way she’s squeezing me so perfectly, her pussy suctioned around me, drawing on me with hot pulsations, flexing and tightening. And so drenched, my cock squeaks a little every time I ram it deep.
“I’m being too rough,” I choke out. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to slow down.”
“No,” she moans, her fingers twisting in the back of my loosened pants and urging me forward, spurring me on. “I love it. I need it.”
A ripple of dread goes through my balls. I’m not going to make it much longer. Not with her baby-talking at me. Not with her pussy so sweet and addictive. In the interest of making love to Blessing long enough to make her orgasm, like she deserves, I press her knees up to her shoulders and bear down with my lower body, slowing my thrusts down, grinding into her slick hole. “You need what, baby?”
