Chapter Thirty-Nine-Cecilia
Stavros Castle, Rumson, New Jersey
Wedding Night
I don’t remember how we got here.
One second, I was in his arms, surrounded by applause and laughter and the scent of winter roses—his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my waist like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go.
The next, we were in our suite. Alone. Finally.
The air hums between us like something sacred.
Like something dangerous.
Atlas is already removing his jacket, his eyes never leaving mine as it falls to the floor.
His shirt follows—each button undone with slow, measured purpose.
Like he’s unwrapping a gift he’s waited his whole life to open.
“You’re staring,” I whisper, trying not to shake as I reach for the tiny clasps of my dress.
“I married a goddess,” he says, voice rough. “And I’m trying to figure out how I got lucky enough to worship her for the rest of my life.”
My breath catches.
I want to tell him that I love him, again and again. But right now, words feel too fragile.
Too small.
So instead, I face him, breath catching in my throat, heart beating like a wild thing, and I let the dress fall.
Atlas freezes. His mouth falls open, those caramel colored eyes wide as he drags them over my almost naked body.
Then he steps towards me, silent as sin, and drops to his knees.
“Christ,” he breathes, lips brushing my belly. “You’re going to destroy me aren’t you, wife? Look what you’ve done,” he whispers, kissing the tiny scrap of silk that covers my already dripping pussy.
“W-what have I done?” I ask, licking my lips and gazing down at him.
“You’ve made a beggar of a prince,” he replies, a wicked grin cutting across his ridiculously handsome face.
“A beggar, huh? What’re you looking for then? A meal?”
“Yes,” he hisses, nudging my thighs apart and tugging my panties to one side. “I’m so hungry for you, kardhoúla.”
His mouth moves closer. Reverent. Possessive. Hungry.
“Then eat,” I tell him, and his eyes flash gold before his mouth opens—and then he feasts.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Not when he’s touching me like this—like I’m something rare and powerful and entirely his. Like he can’t get enough of me.
He lifts me with urgency but also with impossible gentleness and lays me on the bed like I’m made of something unearthly. Something magical. Like starlight.
His starlight.
His storm.
His wife.
His fingers curl inside me, and I know he’s going to make me come any second now.
All I have to do is hold on, and that’s exactly what I do. I open my thighs wider, giving him room, and I pull his hair, loving the way his responding growl feels against my clit.
Then, I come.
“Fuck, Wife. You taste perfect. Wanna keep my tongue buried in your sweet cunt forever. But if I don’t fuck you soon, I might die,” he growls, licking me again.
The way he moves above me, taking his hard, thick cock in hand, he rubs his head on my pussy, coating himself in my slick. Then he presses against my entrance.
“I don’t want you to die, Atlas. I just want you to fuck me.”
“I’ll fuck you, Wife. I’ll never stop fucking you.”
Then he pushes inside me, and it’s nothing short of worship.
We rock together, and it’s so good. Always so good. Somehow, every time with him just feels better and better.
“Because every time I love you more,” he tells me.
“I need you. Need more,” I whimper, clutching at him.
And it’s like he knows what I need. Atlas wraps his arms around my waist and spins us so he’s on his back and I’m astride his powerful thighs.
I sit up, riding him, and he moves with me. His hands covet me, cherish me, and they roam over my breasts, tugging on my piercings.
I could come from that alone, every tug and pull has my pussy squeezing his glorious cock. But he lets go too soon, and I rock harder, faster, chasing my orgasm.
He’s not done, though. My husband is addicted to my body, I can tell by the way he touches me and kisses me, his tongue lashing out to trace every bit of ink he can reach.
Fuck, I love how he loves me.
Atlas doesn’t try to change me. Not ever. He loves my piercings, my body art, all the tattoos and the way I wear my hair.
I see it in the way he looks at me. The way he can’t stop touching me.
It’s like he found and healed every single one of my insecurities without even trying. Like loving me was as natural to him as breathing.
“It is, kardhoúla. It’s easy. You’re my air. My nourishment. I live to love you.”
“Oh God!” I moan.
So close now.
He grabs my ass, pulling me down harder and thrusting up from below me.
He thrusts deeper, gritting out my name like a prayer. I arch beneath him, mouth open on a gasp.
The pleasure builds between us like a tidal wave.
Rising. Breaking. Drowning.
I come undone with his name on my lips and his soul in my heart.
“Atlas!”
Afterward, he gathers me close, still buried inside me, one hand smoothing down my spine.
It’s in that moment—when the fire has faded into golden afterglow and the man I married is breathing me in like he can’t believe I’m real—that I know it’s time.
He’s ready.
“I have something to tell you,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
He shifts just enough to look into my eyes. “What is it, kardhoúla?”
I press his hand gently to my stomach.
“It’s early. Very early. But I think that is I’m pretty sure we might not be alone anymore.”
His whole body stills.
Then, slowly, his eyes widen.
“What?”
My hand goes to my soft belly. My eyes meet his.
Atlas’ breath hitches in his throat. He sits up, faces me, and covers my hand with his own.
“Are you saying—”
I nod.
Tears well up. His. Mine.
I don’t know who they belong to anymore.
He kisses me like it’s the first time, like it’s the last, like it’s forever.
Then he presses his forehead to mine and whispers, “You’ve just given me the one thing I never thought I’d have. A future.”
I touch his cheek.
“You gave that to me first.”