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“Relax,” Luke says in my ear, dragging the string of balls between my folds, getting them slick and wet. “Are you still sore from yesterday, love?”
I nod, the memory of last night sending a flutter through me. I am sore. Sore and sensitive and needy. “I like it,” I say, closing my eyes as he gently pushes the first weighted bead against my entrance. There’s a moment of resistance, and then it slides smoothly inside of me. I clench my thighs, shifting at the odd sensation.
“Okay?” Luke asks. I nod, and he kisses my temple again, pressing the next bead into me. It clinks against the first, adding to the heaviness in my womb, and I flinch slightly. Luke soothes me with another kiss.
Slowly, one by one, all five beads are pushed into my throbbing channel. My body tenses as I start to feel more and more full, the pressure building in me.
When all of the beads are inside me, Luke pulls back and kisses the nape of my neck, carefully tugging down the hem of my dress. “How does it feel?” He asks quietly.
I stand and press my hand to my stomach. It’s an odd feeling. Heavy and full. It’s not enough to make me come, but it’s definitely enough to keep me on edge. It’s like being constantly teased every time I shift my weight. I bite my lip.
“I, um.” My cheeks burn under his intense eyes. My brain feels scrambled. “Good?”
He laughs, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into a hug. I breathe in the sweet scent of paper and tea.
“How the Hell am I gonna talk to people?” I complain into his shirt. “I can’t even think.”
He pulls himself away from me reluctantly and nods at the high silver heels lying by the bed. “Wear those,” he says, “and I assure you. Neither will we. We can all look stupid together.”
I nod, taking a deep breath. “Right. Okay.” I pick up my clutch and carefully slide my feet into the shoes. “Let’s get going, boys.” Trying to act a lot more put-together than I feel, I push back my shoulders and head to the door.
“Layla?” Luke says after me.
“Mm?” I turn.
He’s watching me with amusement all over his handsome face. His eyes flicker down to my stomach. “What’s your dress made of?”
I blink at him, confused. “Mulberry silk.”
“And what happens when silk gets wet?” He prompts.
“I… it can get discoloured. Sometimes stained. It’s hard to wash. Why?”
“Hm.” He turns to the dresser and pulls something out, throwing it at me. I catch it. It’s a balled-up bit of fabric. “You might want to wear some underwear, then.”
“Aye. Wouldn’t want your pretty dress getting ruined,” Zack agrees, crossing the room towards me and fondly stroking a hand over my behind. The clench between my legs is almost painful, and I have to shift my weight again, wincing as the beads press deep inside me.
This wedding is going to be absolute torture.
***
FIFTY-FOUR
***
LAYLA
We arrive at the ceremony with minutes to spare.
The wedding is being held in the hotel’s ballroom; a massive, high-ceilinged hall lined with fat marble pillars. Long swathes of white gauze hang around the ceiling, and huge bunches of pink and cream flowers spill out of patterned vases arranged decoratively through the room. Rows of white chairs have been set up in lieu of pews, and a soft pink carpet has been rolled down the aisle. At the end, an officiant dressed in white is standing behind a fabric-covered table, smiling benignly around at the guests as he flips through a thick book.
I take Luke’s hand, squeezing his fingers. As we walk down the aisle towards an empty row, I see people turning and staring. An old man looks at Luke pityingly, shaking his head. A grandma in a lilac blazer and matching knee-length skirt turns to her neighbour, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.
And then their eyes turn to me.
Cold slips down my spine as the whispers start. As we pass a row full of elderly women, I hear one voice rise up out of the muffled murmuring, cutting through the hush of the hall.
“Very young for him, isn’t she?”
