Chapter 2 Dominic
Dominic
“Dom, we can’t just leave,” Sloane protests, even as she follows me down the dark hallway back to the space where, just a few hours ago, we were pronounced husband and wife.
At our backs, the throb and bump of music remind us that our reception is in full swing, and I know, just like she does, that it won’t be long before someone notices that we’re gone.
I wish I cared.
All day long, I’ve been waiting for a moment alone with her.
Time to hold her in my arms and convince myself that this is real.
The vows we exchanged. The promises we made.
The sparkle of forever in her eyes every time she looks at me.
I’ve dreamed of this day for far longer than I care to admit, known it was coming for months, but it still doesn’t feel like reality.
When we’re alone, though, shrouded in the quiet of a moment that’s just for us, then I’ll be sure.
“I just need a minute, angel.”
Maybe she hears it in my voice. The need.
The desire for reassurance. Whatever it is, it makes her go quiet, and suddenly, her footsteps are as urgent as mine.
Her heels slap against the floor in rapid clicks.
Her short strides try to keep up with my longer ones, and she squeezes my fingers as we approach the open doors of the ceremony space.
Once we’re behind them, I pin her to the nearest wall and take her face in my hands.
Concern swirls between the dapples of gold I’ve loved since the first night we met, and she brings her hands up, wrapping gentle fingers around my wrist. I’m crowding her, using the lines of my body to keep her trapped against the wall, and it’s only been a few seconds, but I already feel settled, comforted by her closeness.
“Hey,” she says finally. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, unsure if I’m being entirely honest. “I just… This is real, right?”
The tips of her nails graze the silver band looped around my finger, and her brows lift as she caresses the smooth, solid metal. “It’s very real, Mr. Alexander. Legally binding and everything.”
“You’re mine,” I say, half statement, half question.
“I’m yours,” she agrees, completely unbothered by how the conversation is going.
With anyone else, I’d be concerned about seeming insecure, but with Sloane, none of that matters.
She knows what losing her the first time did to me, how watching her marry Eric wrecked me, and she’s never denied me the solace of a reassuring look or touch when I needed it.
Sloane lifts up on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling my head down until our lips are centimeters apart.
With her eyes still on mine, she closes the small space, giving me the gift of her open mouth and seeking tongue, allowing me to taste her conviction and love for me.
I groan into the kiss, quickly taking it over and smiling against her lips when she cedes control with a soft moan.
My hands leave her face, sweeping down her curves, gathering fabric covered in beads and lace to bare her thighs.
She gasps when my fingers find her waist, squeezing lightly before lifting her up.
On instinct, she wraps herself around me, cradling my hips between smooth, toned legs that quiver with anticipation.
She knows where this is going. We both do.
The need to reinforce our connection, our vows, our love with an act as possessive as it is loving swirls in the air between us, and when her fingers find the zipper of my pants and yank it down impatiently, I know it’s not just my desperation fueling it.
She needs this too.
She wants this too.
She loves me too.
Those four words, more than any of the others, make me desperate for the snug heat of her body, so I use my leg to keep her suspended in the air and take over the act of baring just enough of our bodies to appease the impossible hunger that was born on this day so many years ago.
I’m rough and impatient as I free my dick, and Sloane hisses when it lands with a scorching slap on her thigh.
She’s already got the complicated bodysuit that’s the same color as her skin pushed to the side, exposing her pussy to me, and as I gaze down between us, I see the evidence of her need glistening on the plump lips.
“Jesus, Sloane.”
“I’m ovulating,” she says as I drag my dick through her slickness, pushing inside slowly.
Her head falls back, and her eyes drift shut at the feel of us coming together.
We’ve done this more times than I can count, but it still feels like a gift.
A dream. A reality I never want to find myself living outside of.
Leaning forward, I drop a kiss on the corner of her mouth, maintaining some semblance of self-control because I know she doesn’t want to return to the reception looking freshly fucked.
“Don’t worry, angel. I’ll pull out.”
We want kids, but we’re not trying. If I had my way, she’d be pregnant right now, but she wanted to wait, so we’re waiting. Since she got her birth control implant out, it’s been a lot of cycle tracking and coming everywhere but inside her because neither of us can stand the feel of a condom.
“Don’t,” she moans.
I’m mid-stroke, eyes rolling into the back of my head because her walls are already clenching, gripping my shaft with needy little pulses that tell me she’s close, but I force myself to focus. “What did you say?”
Her thighs tighten around my hips, and the heels of her shoes dig into my back. “Don’t pull out, Dom.”
My dick twitches, the perceived meaning of her words causing pressure to swell at the base of my spine.
Sloane’s been pregnant before. She knows exactly how this works, exactly what could happen if I don’t pull out.
In nine months, we could be stepping into a new set of roles together.
We could be parents before our first wedding anniversary.
Fuck, I want that. I want it so bad, I almost don’t want to do the thing I know I have to do: make sure she knows exactly what she’s saying, confirm that the heightened emotions of the day aren’t causing her to say things she’ll regret later.
I rear back and slam into her. “Look at me,” I order, grunting around the words.
Lust-filled and half-lidded hazel eyes find mine, and I search for any sign of uncertainty. My heart lurches when I see that there is none.
“Say it again, angel. Look me in the eyes and say it again.”
She rolls her hips, meeting my thrusts while fire burns in her gaze.
“Don’t pull out, Dom. I want your cum inside me.
I want your scent on my skin and the evidence of your desire dripping down my thighs.
I want your eyes filled with love when I tell you that you’re going to be a father and the warmth of your hand on my growing stomach every night.
I want babies to fill up the rooms of that big-ass house you built me. Can I have that?”
The speech is a filthy and heartwarming version of my proposal that has my heart pounding. I drop my head, burying my face in the crook of her neck and breathing her in. She turns her head, placing her lips at my ear while I try not to come completely undone.
“Tell me I can have it,” she whispers, her pussy fluttering in anticipation. “Please.”
“You can have it, angel. You can have it all.”
And that’s exactly what I give her. Everything I have, which is brutal moans that wrench themselves from my chest with every jerky stroke that lacks rhythm but not precision.
I plunge inside her, hitting that tender, sensitive spot of ridged flesh until she comes apart around me, the force of her orgasm sending me tumbling into a pool of my own pleasure where I’m baptized, cleansed from any lingering doubts about whether I deserve this woman or this life.
We take our time untangling ourselves from each other. Soft kisses and sweet, loving murmurs punctuating the silence around us as we set ourselves back to rights. When we’re done, Sloane places her hand in mine and smiles.
“Better?”
I pull her into me. “Much. Thank you, Mrs. Alexander.”
I still can’t believe she’s changing her name. I’d hoped that she would, but I didn’t dare ask. She’s already given me so much. I couldn’t bring myself to demand more.
She rises up on her tiptoes, and I lean down, meeting her halfway. The tip of her nose brushes mine, and I close my eyes, soaking in her scent as I count the gentle caresses. Three perfect swipes of her nose over mine.
“Anytime, Mr. Alexander,” she whispers, lowering herself back down slowly onto the heels of the ridiculously high stilettos she insists on wearing despite being one of the clumsiest people I know.
Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide her toward the door, intent on getting her back to the reception before we’re missed.
When it swings open, Chris is there, leaning against the wall across from us, his face turned up in a sly, knowing smile.
Sloane pulls in a sharp gasp, and I can’t decide if she’s embarrassed that someone might have heard us or turned on by it.
We’ve been exploring her intrigue with exhibitionism, but we’ve never talked about being seen or heard by someone we know like we know Chris.
Despite wanting an answer to the silent question I’ve posed to myself, I keep my eyes trained on my best man’s face.
“What’s up?” I ask, keeping my voice deliberately calm, which only makes him smile wider. Smug motherfucker.
He pushes off the wall, looking between the two of us. “Amelia sent me to let you know it’s almost time for the first dance.”
“Oh, right,” Sloane says, clearly relieved that we’ve skipped over the awkwardness of explaining what we were doing in the ceremony space. “Thanks for letting us know, Chris.”
“Yeah, thanks for letting us know. Now get lost, so I can enjoy the few seconds of alone time I have left with my wife.”
Sloane shivers when the word “wife” leaves my lips, and my dick hardens instantly. I want to be back inside her, filling her, marking her, claiming her over and over again.
“No problem.” Amusement colors his response, and I’m considering punching him in the shoulder when he turns to walk away.
The DJ announces our second arrival into the reception space with the same hype and excitement as the first time around, and everyone whoops and cheers as we make our way to the dance floor.
We purposefully planned for our first dance to happen later in the night so we’d have time to eat and mingle with our guests before swaying in each other’s arms prompted the urgent need to disappear and start our honeymoon.
With her hand in mine, Sloane hits a twirl that makes the hem of her dress swish around her legs as the opening notes of “All My Life” by K-Ci and JoJo start to play. I pull her into me, linking both sets of fingers at the small of her back to hold her close.
She sighs happily, laying her head on my chest. “This is such a perfect song.”
“A classic,” I agree, murmuring in her ear. “Can we leave when it’s over?”
It’s not the most unrealistic ask. Our vows have been said.
The cake has been cut. Everyone has showered us with love and congratulations, and now, I want more of her.
I don’t care about the drinks flowing, the party just getting started, or what people will say when we leave earlier than expected.
All I want is an extension of the moment we just had in the ceremony space, because when it comes to her, I’m a greedy bastard.
“I haven’t even thrown the bouquet yet, Dom.”
“Just hand it to Mal. We both know she’s going to be getting married next.”
Her husky laughter fills my ears. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” I sweep my hands over the curve of her ass, and she gasps. “Just like I know you can’t wait for me to peel you out of this dress.”
“A little while longer,” she pleads. “Then you can toss me over your shoulder like the caveman you are and carry me out of here.”
“How long is a little while?”
Pulling back, she peers up at me. “An hour?”
“Thirty minutes, angel.”
One of her brows rises, curving into the familiar line of a challenge. “Forty-five minutes, Dominic.”
“Fine,” I concede. “And then you’re all mine.”
“Oh, baby.” Warmth and love shimmer in her eyes as she takes my face in her hands. “I already am.”