Chapter 4 Savannah
SAVANNAH
We’re standing in front of the chapel called Elvis Forever, and it’s exactly as tacky as it sounds. I’m in a new dress, holding a bouquet, and there’s a huge diamond ring on my finger—all courtesy of my husband-to-be.
The Elvis impersonator is wearing a white jumpsuit with rhinestones. “Names?” he asks, going straight to the point.
“Ledger Volkov,” he says.
I freeze. Then I start laughing. I can’t help it. I’m doubled over, clutching my bouquet, laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
“You okay?” Ledger asks, trying not to smile.
“Volkov!” I gasp out between laughs.
The officiant looks amused. “Should I wait?”
“No, no.” I wipe my eyes. “Sorry. It’s just…Volkov sounds so Russian mob boss.”
Something flickers in Ledger’s eyes. Something dark and dangerous that’s gone before I can really see it. “Perhaps,” he says quietly.
A shiver runs through me, but I’m too drunk and too happy to care.
“And your name, dear?” the officiant asks me.
“Savannah Castellanos.” I grin at Ledger. “Soon to be Savannah Volkov, apparently.”
We’re both laughing as we sign the papers. My handwriting is a disaster, with wobbly lines and smudged ink. Ledger’s is steadier, but not by much.
The ceremony takes ten minutes. Elvis pronounces us husband and wife, and Ledger kisses me in front of a velvet painting of Graceland. We stumble out into the night as a married couple, and I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
“What did we just do?” I ask.
“Something we’ll either regret or remember forever.”
I giggle at the irony.
His driver—a weird guy called Pedro who gives off major killer vibes—comes around, and we climb into the back. Ledger’s hands are on me before we even pull away from the curb, and I’m kissing him like I need him to breathe.
The Bellagio lobby is a blur. Elevators. Hallways. Then we’re in his suite, and it’s massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the strip, a living room bigger than my entire house, a bed that could fit six people.
He crosses the room to me slowly, and when he reaches me, his hands cup my face.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m your wife now,” I say. “I think that ship has sailed.”
He kisses me, softer this time, and then not soft at all. His hands find the zipper of my dress, and it pools at my feet. I’m standing in my underwear and heels.
“Come here,” he says, voice low and rough. “Help me get out of these.”
I step closer, hands moving to his tie first, undoing it carefully, then removing the jacket and shirt. As the layers fall, I can see the full sweep of his sleeve tattoo. Dark swirls and sharp lines, muscles flexing beneath it. My breath catches.
Everything about him is hotter than I imagined—the way the ink pulls across his skin, the strength in his arms, the way he moves.
I trace my fingers over the tattoo, letting it feel like part of me. His pants follow, the fabric pooling at his ankles, leaving him in his briefs. I glance down and see the outline of him, hard, straining, and I lick my lips without thinking.
“You can leave your heels on,” he says, eyes dark, when I bend to kick them off.
I smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, is that supposed to turn me on?”
“Definitely,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his hands gripping my hips. “God, I can’t wait to taste every inch of you.”
We kiss again, slow at first, then harder, hunger spilling between us. I press my body against him as he guides me toward the bed, and we tumble onto the sheets. He lands between my legs.
Ledger leans down, lips brushing mine for a heartbeat, then lower, hot and sure, pressing against my inner thighs. His hands roam over my waist, under my bra, cupping my breasts as he bends closer. I arch, letting him take all of me in.
He drags the hem of my panties down slowly and parts me with his fingers before his tongue slides across me. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says, and my knees clench instinctively. His fingers press against me, spreading me for him as he leans down, lips pressing wet, precise kisses across every curve.
I shiver, grinding back against him. Each kiss makes me hotter, wetter, desperate for more. I push slightly against his shoulders. “God, you’ve been thinking about this since the plane, haven’t you?”
“Every second,” he murmurs, and I let out a low moan. He circles my clit with his tongue while his fingers slip inside me, curling, pressing just right, and his mouth travels across my folds and even dips briefly to my ass, sending shivers up my spine.
I grip his shoulders, tugging him closer, hips rocking instinctively against him. My body pulses as it responds to every stroke of his tongue and press of his fingers.
He looks up at me, eyes dark, grin wicked. “You’re soaked,” he says, voice husky, sliding a hand down to tease my clit while his mouth moves lower again. “God, you taste amazing.”
I bite my lip and moan, letting him know just how much I need him. His hands stay on my breasts, kneading and pinching gently, while his tongue keeps me riding the edge.
His mouth travels, and he presses a kiss to my ass, tongue brushing over the sensitive skin there, then returns to my pussy, alternating between holes.
I cry out as every swipe of his tongue and curl of his fingers sends shocks up my spine.
He sucks, licks, presses, and I’m trembling, hips bucking, everything undone and slick with want.
I’ve never felt anything like this before. This was what Mason held from me—no, I won’t think about Mason at this moment. I’m a married woman, in bed with her husband. Gosh, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true and it’s real.
Ledger kisses across my folds. I moan, gasping, nearly curling around him.
“God,” I whisper, chest rising and falling. He hums against me, answering with the pressure of his tongue, his fingers inside me, curling at just the right spots.
It’s overwhelming. I feel my release coil, and he doesn’t stop for a second. One smooth, deliberate stroke of his tongue, one finger curling deeper, and I shatter. My body trembles, legs quivering and pussy pulsing around him as I cry out.
I try to reach for him, to taste, to return the favor, but he lifts a finger to my lips.
“Tonight is all about you,” he murmurs. My hands drop, breath still catching, and I shiver at the authority in his tone.
He slides his hand down to his cock, stroking himself slowly. His breathing deepens, a low groan rumbling from his chest, and I watch, desperate and needy.
Then he presses himself to me, cock lined up at my entrance, and I feel the first inch slide in, stretching me perfectly.
He pauses, gives me a moment, then thrusts deeper, harder, and my moan erupts. His hands grip my hips, pulling me close and pounding me with a force that leaves me slick, trembling, alive.
I clutch the sheets and wrap my legs around him, trying to meet every stroke. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t hold back, every thrust measured and powerful, driving me higher.
He leans down, chest against mine, whispering low, “God, you feel so good.” His hands move over my waist, squeezing, adjusting, and keeping me perfectly positioned as he fucks me hard. I’m lost in him, in the rhythm, in the heat, every inch of me alive with desire.
He bends closer and whispers, “So fucking good.” He groans. “God, you feel amazing.”
I arch into him, my breath ragged, as I moan his name, every nerve on fire. My breasts press against his chest, nipples rubbing against him.
His fingers slide down, brushing over my clit and teasing as he pounds into me.
“Ledger,” I gasp. He tightens his grip on my waist, thrusting harder, deeper. The coil in my stomach snaps, spreading, pulling a guttural cry from my throat as my orgasm hits, waves rolling through me. I shake, moaning and gripping his shoulders as I ride the high.
I clamp my legs around him, tight, desperate, letting every pulse slam through me. Heat floods me, slick and sticky as his thrusts hit every nerve. My chest rises, falls, presses into his.
He leans down, lips brushing mine in a hungry, messy kiss, and I feel him start to let go, spurting deep inside me. I feel every drop, quivering around him.
We collapse together, bodies slick with sweat. The room is quiet, except for our breathing.
“Wow,” I mutter, my voice barely working.
“That…that was…” He can’t finish, just pulls me closer, draping my arms around him. Our legs tangle, and his forehead presses to mine. “Best wedding night ever?”
I laugh softly, my chest still heaving. “Best wedding night ever.”
We lie like that, tangled and spent.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights glitter. It has to be close to 8:00 AM by now. The sky is getting lighter, that pale gray-blue that comes before sunrise. We’ve been awake all night—the club, the casino, the chapel, this.
My head is still spinning, but I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or him. Probably both. The tequila from Murphy’s feels like a lifetime ago, but I can still feel it in my system. My thoughts are slower than usual, disconnected.
I should be panicking. I just married a stranger. A man I met on a plane.
But I’m not panicking. I’m lying here in his arms while his hands stroke my hair, slide over my back, over my hips, keeping me close like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
Maybe I will disappear. By tomorrow—today, technically—I won’t remember most of this. The wedding will be fuzzy. The sex will be gone entirely, just a blank space where memories should be. That’s how it always works with my condition.
I’ve woken up in hospital beds, strangers’ apartments, my own bathroom floor, with no idea how I got there. The voice memos help, but they only tell me what happened. They don’t let me feel it again.
This feeling—this safety, this rightness—will be gone by morning.
The thought makes my chest ache.
Yesterday morning, I woke up in my mother’s house. The job offer from New York sat on the counter, and I couldn’t decide if leaving Chicago meant abandoning her memory or honoring it.
Then I came home early and found Mason with his face in Lizzy’s ass.
Everything I thought I knew about my life shattered in that moment. My boyfriend. My best friend. Both of them gone in an instant.
And now? Now I’m Mrs. Volkov. Married to a man with a Russian mob name and tattoos peeking out from expensive suits. A man who got down on one knee in a boutique at 6:00 AM and slid a diamond ring on my finger like it was the most natural thing in the world.
What happens tomorrow?
Will he look for me? Will he even remember my name?
Or will this be like everything else in my life lately—here one moment, gone the next?
“Sleep?” he asks finally, his voice low and rough.
“Sleep,” I agree, even though I know I should run.
I rest my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath me, strong and sure. The sunrise is painting the sky pink and gold now, Las Vegas waking up below us. People are starting their days while I’m ending the strangest night of my life.
My mother would have loved this story. She would have laughed and told me I was crazy and hugged me tight. She always said life was too short for regrets, that taking chances was the only way to really live.
I took a chance tonight.
Even if I forget, even if this disappears like smoke, at least I’ll have the voice memo. At least I’ll know that once, for one perfect night, I was brave enough to say yes to something completely insane.
My eyes finally close, heavy and impossible to keep open. The last thing I feel is Ledger’s hand in my hair, gentle and possessive at the same time.
Then sleep takes me under, and everything goes dark.