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I turn to him. His dark eyes move over me in a forever that seems to fit into the space of a single breath. Then his fingers slide up my neck. His touch, a whisper.
“Today was perfect.” His hand curves around my neck and his head lowers to kiss me. Infinitely slow and soft. “I don’t want to rush tonight. I want to savor every minute of it.”
I slide my arms around his waist and nestle closer, feeling the heat of him through the thin linen of his shirt and the material of my dress. We stay like that, swaying without music. For all the pent-up yearning and fevered anticipation, I’d expected for us to let loose our lust in frenzied impatience. Instead, a delicious restraint winds through us like a gentle current. Sensuous and warm. We don’t have to rush. We have a lifetime.
“More champagne?” he asks.
“Not right now, thanks. I’m going to get out of this dress.”
I kiss him and disappear into the bathroom. I’m nervous. We’ve made love dozens of times, but this is our wedding night. I take out the hair vines and shake out my curls. They fall in a messy mass around my shoulders. Next, I take off my dress and hang it behind the door. The ivory strapless bra pushes my breasts up and together, the matching thong cuts up high on my thighs. I slip on the long, sheer, belted peignoir. It’s delicate and sexy.
Mick is sipping from a crystal flute when I return to the bedroom. He pauses. His eyes coast over me. I see his breaths quicken in the movement of his chest. I don’t feel the flutter of self-consciousness. It isn’t just because of the safety I experience with Mick. It’s me. It’s the work I’ve done to weed out the negative thoughts and messages. I still have moments of insecurities, but not as often. And definitely not now.
“My beautiful bride,” he whispers before setting his glass down and coming forward. He lifts me up in a cradle.
I slip my arms around his neck as he brings us to the bed. Inside the netting, he lowers me onto the downy-soft duvet. He separates from me just long enough to remove his shirt. I feel tingly all over. But it’s not the giddy heat of desire that I got in the beginning with Mick. As potent, but not the same. This is a cultivated burn that comes from down deep, it flames like a torch and spreads from my feet into my limbs and up into my chest and throat, filling me everywhere.
He settles on top of me and we meet in a reverent kiss. He tastes like the fruit from the champagne and Mick. His hands glide unhurried down the sides of my body. Emotion overwhelms me.
Mick and I have opened up all the hidden parts in each other. He sees who I am. Beyond my childhood hurt and insecurities, he saw me right from the start. Not as flawed or broken but as perfectly lovable and whole. And I saw him too. Not as the bad seed he thought he was. Or the popular jock that his father and the town wanted him to be. I saw all the beautiful layers in him. The talented writer, the boy who adored his surrogate family, who survived his father’s abuse, who grieved his mother. The boy who loved me to distraction and loves me still.
We’d unintentionally hurt each other and lost fifteen years. We’d lost a baby. But we’re healing together. And growing.
“You’re trembling.” Mick lifts his head, his eyes concerned.
“Yes.” I gaze up at him. “I’m feeling so much, I don’t know what to do with it.”
“I’m feeling it too, beauty. This has been a long time coming. But maybe we had to go through all that we did to get here.”
We slowly undress each other. Kissing and touching in between. My full breasts caressed by his hands, his lips surrounding my nipples, gently tugging and sucking, one then the other.
I stroke my fingers over his chest. Muscled and defined beneath my palms.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing a hot path down my torso and turning me over to place moist kisses down my back, over the cheeks of my bottom, and down the backs of my thighs.
I moan and close my eyes, enraptured by his intoxicating touch. By the time he eases me onto my back again, I’m limp with pleasure and aching with arousal.
“I want you,” I gasp.
“You have me. All of me.” When Mick says it now, I know that I do.
Braced above me, there’s a soft look on his face but there’s fire in his eyes. He lowers, giving me his weight, his heat, and all his love.
My throat closes, smothered by tears.
He sips at my damp cheeks and I clutch his shoulders as his thick erection enters me for the first time as my husband. I pull him to me, pressing my mouth to his. Our breaths mingle, hot and gasping. His hips roll against mine, filling and stretching me so good.
My heart flies as if it has wings; passion soars. We move, falling into a glorious rhythm. The rhythm of us. Our bodies gliding, muscles tensing and releasing, our wedding bed a chorus of moans and whispers.
Slicked together, chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart, my inner flesh tugs and tightens around his slow and measured surges. The tender fucking is exquisite. A tempered greediness that is all the more intense for its unyielding restraint.
“Mick!” I sob somewhere between euphoria and bliss. The quiet roll of my orgasm is no less devastating than an earthquake pounding through my veins, my blood, and centering in the rippling beats of my heart.
And Mick is right there with me. His fingers gripping mine as we come together as husband and wife. As one.
Much later, we eat chocolate covered strawberries and sip non-alcoholic champagne into the wee hours. We skinny dip in the heated pool. The warm salt water feels delectable on my skin. We crawl back under the covers after making love in the sprawling glass shower with jets that hit all the right spots. I tuck myself against Mick and fall asleep as secure and happy as I’ve ever been.
“Yesss,” I shriek, my faceburied in the pillow, my butt in the air.
