Ashlei #2
I bit my bottom lip.
“You are, without a doubt, the strongest, smartest, most incredible woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. You own every room you walk into. You command the attention of every man, woman, and child. You, my sweet wife—”
“Almost wife,” I correct.
“Are going to take this whole damn world by storm,” he finishes. “And I am just honored beyond measure to be the man who gets to stand by your side while you do it.”
I smile, squeezing his hands, desperate to get to the kissing part now.
“Our love has been tested,” Brandon says.
“But if nothing else, we have proven that even when we hurt each other, we know at the end of the day that there is no one else. Your love was meant for me, and mine was meant for you. We are souls destined to find each other in this lifetime and every one after. I vow to treasure each moment with you as if it were my last, and to spend every moment away from you praying for your return to my arms. I will make you happy, Ashlei. I will care for you, protect you, and most of all, respect you.” Brandon’s eyes are sincere, heavy as they hold mine. “That is my promise.”
My bottom lip trembles as I nod, accepting his vows, knowing their truth. And once again, everything fades into the background — the water, the breeze, the sunlight, the music, and even the officiant’s voice as he declares us husband and wife and allows Brandon to kiss his bride.
In the next moment, I’m swept back in a dramatic dip, and all around us, sailboats and yachts and tourist ferries alike roar with applause.
But for me, it’s just Brandon’s arms around my waist, his lips on mine, his heart forever joined with the one beating in my chest.
And just like that.
I’m Mrs. Ashlei Church.
***
“Please don’t make me.”
I cross my arms and bat my lashes, hoping the wedding hair and makeup is still intact enough after our breezy sunset dinner for Brandon to show mercy on me.
He chuckles, crossing the space in the master bedroom to hold my elbows in his massive hands. “I’m not doing it to be mean, my love. You’ve gone all day without it. The doctor said—”
“I know what the doctor said,” I growl, wrinkling my nose. “But it’s so ugly, and bulky, and not sexy.”
“You are sexy no matter what you wear.”
“You say that now, but when that strap is smushing down my boob…”
Brandon plants a soft kiss to my lips. “First, let me help you out of this,” he says, fingertips walking down my hips and slipping under the high slits of my dress. He tugs at the fabric as my breath catches. “And then, we put the brace on, and I fuck you as my wife should be properly fucked.”
I pout. “But—”
Brandon catches my bottom lip with his teeth, biting hard enough for me to yelp before he releases me. “Stick that lip out one more time and I’ll bend you over my knee.”
This time it’s me who bites my lip, my thighs clenching with the thought of being punished, of being spanked.
Yes, please.
Brandon’s lips are on mine in the next breath, his kiss soft and slow and purposeful as he backs me up more and more until my spine hits the window. With the added support, he presses me into it, careful of my shoulder as he hikes one of my legs up and slides my dress skirt up over my hips.
“Every time the wind blew, I’d see your thigh, this little spot where your hip meets the muscle,” he teases, running his fingertip along my hip flexor.
“And it drove me mad, knowing I’d have to wait to kiss that spot, to have this pussy,” he husks, his hand dipping between my legs without warning.
His fingers skate under my panties and slide through my desire, a groan of approval on his lips when he adds, “My pussy.”
“All this talk, but no action…” I tease, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I want desperately for him to pin me against the window and let me hold on for dear life as he eats the pussy he was just raving about.
But the bastard is too worried about my safety.
He laughs against my lips, giving me a brief kiss before he pulls away. “Too much pressure on your shoulder to hold on like that,” he says, reading my mind. “Tonight, you’ll have to be content with me ravaging you the way I want to.”
I’m tempted to pout again, but then Brandon holds my hand in his — the one connected to my good shoulder — and gives me a little spin, the skirt of my dress flaring as I turn to face the window.
His lips are warm, little kisses pressing against my neck and the top of my spine as he carefully undoes each button at the back of my dress. When it’s loose enough, he slips one strap off my shoulder, and then the other, letting the fabric pool at my feet.
He moans when he sees what he no doubt suspected with the open back of the dress — that I’m not wearing a bra — and before I can prepare for it, his hands palm each breast, weighing them, massaging as he presses his hard-on against my ass.
“I can’t believe I get to touch these for the rest of my life.”
“Even when they’re old and saggy.”
He almost laughs, but the slight pressure change on my nipple has me gasping, moaning, arching back into him and begging for more contact.
“No more jokes,” he whispers in my ear, and then his fingers slip under the bands of my lace panties, and he strips them down my thighs, too.
I want to protest again when he pulls out the brace, but I’m so desperate to have him inside me that I just let him help me into it. I catch a glimpse of how stupid I look in the mirror and make to tell him so, but he kisses me silent.
I’m swept into his arms in the next breath, his mouth still on mine as he carries me over to the master bed. It’s lush on an average day, but with brand new sheets with a higher thread count than anything I’ve ever slept in, it feels like being laid down in a cloud of cool silk when he deposits me.
He stands then, his eyes drinking in every inch of me as he shrugs off his suit jacket, unbuttons his dress shirt, makes quick work of his belt and his dress slacks. Hunger grows in his gaze as much as I feel it burning in my soul at the sight of this powerful, sexy man stripping for me.
My man.
My husband.
Desire pools between my legs at the thought, at the ownership, and as soon as he’s out of his dress shoes, I pull him onto the bed and down on top of me.
His mouth eagerly devours mine, swallowing my next breath as the hard length of him slips between my thighs. His shaft glides through my wetness and over my sensitive clit, making me shudder, making my nails dig into his flesh to beg for more.
“Easy,” he teases, kissing my brace as I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“I want to keep it that way.”
Brandon balances on his elbows then, his eyes searching mine as he sweeps a bit of my fallen braid out of my face. His thumb drags down my nose, over my lips, tracing my jaw before he wraps my neck in a gentle but possessive embrace. “I meant every word I said,” he whispers. “I am yours, Ashlei.”
My brows tug together, and I nod, pulling him down to kiss me. I don’t have to say it. I know he feels it without my words.
I’m yours, too.
I want him to fuck me against the window. I want to be bent over the railing so all of St. John can watch. I want him fast and hard and furious, desperate and needy — the way he was the first time he had me on his private jet.
But I know we’ll have a lifetime for that.
Tonight, I’m limited, and perhaps more than that, it feels… more. It’s not just his skin on mine, our mouths fused, our breaths labored between us as our bodies ache to be connected.
It’s a union, a promise, a tender turn of the page that starts a new chapter in our story.
“I love you,” Brandon whispers against my lips.
And then he hikes one leg up, kisses me with enough pressure to bruise, and fills me.
I cry out at the first thrust, the way it leaves me breathless as always. His long, hard, thick length stretches me, but the burn fades quickly, pleasure taking its place.
The waves rock the boat in time with him flexing inside of me, in and out, and I hold on with my good arm while letting my other rest.
Fire licks at my core quickly, with the way he brushes my sensitive clit with every thrust. Or maybe it’s the wedding, the vows, the fact that this man is mine in every way there is to be.
Forever.
“Ashlei,” he groans, kissing me hard as his pace intensifies. “Come with me, baby. Find it.”
I reach down between us, and he presses up onto his palms to give me the space I need to rub my clit and find my release.
It doesn’t take long, not with him towering over me like that, not with the wicked grin he gives me as he watches me play with myself, watches himself sink inside me deeper and deeper with each thrust.
My legs spread wider, toes curling as I quicken my circles and find my release, panting and screaming out his name. And he comes undone with me, a grunt loud and feral ricocheting off the cabin walls as he spills inside me.
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
Even after he’s done, he continues to move, in and out, feeling his slick release leaking out of me. And before we have the chance to come down, to breathe and prepare, he’s already hardening again.
“Round two already, Mr. Church?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Followed very quickly by round three, Mrs. Church.”
I bite my lip at that, and Brandon smirks, rolling until I’m on top.
And this time, I ride my husband until we both come again, and realize my wedding night might be the most sleepless of my life.