75. Addy
Chapter seventy-five
Addy
T he sun casts a warm, golden glow through the glass walls of the greenhouse, and my skin tingles with a mix of nerves and excitement. Gen's fingers work deftly, braiding my hair in a way that feels both casual and intricate. It's an art form, the way she plaits and weaves, leaving the rest to cascade down my back in waves.
"Almost done," Gen murmurs, her tone soothing. The atmosphere is intimate, just close friends in a place that feels like a secret garden, lush and vibrant around us.
"Thanks, Gen." I catch her eye in the mirror, grateful for more than just her help with my hair. She's been a constant in the chaos that has become my life—steady and unwavering.
"Addy, you're going to knock them dead." Her eyes dance with mirth, but there's a sincerity there that wraps around me like a warm embrace.
My makeup is minimal, a hint of mascara to make my green eyes stand out and a touch of blush to bring color to my cheeks. As Gen secures the final braid, I stand and let my fingers graze the fabric of my dress. The dress is simple and elegant with flowing lines, delicate straps, and a tulle bow at the back. It makes me feel like some ethereal creature.
"Are you sure about going barefoot?" Gen asks, watching as I take a tentative step on the cool soil of the greenhouse floor.
"Absolutely." I smile, feeling every inch of the ground beneath me. "It's only fitting. Feels more... real, this way."
"Real is good. Real is you," she agrees, giving me a nod of approval.
I take a deep breath, centering myself before the ceremony. It's nothing grand, but it's perfect because it's us—Saint, Chess, Dre, Mason, and those few others who've become part of our chosen family. There's something sacred in this simplicity, in the choice to celebrate where flowers bloom and life thrives unabated.
"Ready?" Gen extends her arm towards me, her smile contagious.
"Ready," I reply, my voice steady even as my heart races in my chest.
Together, we walk, stepping into a moment that feels like the beginning of forever.
The filtered light of the greenhouse casts a serene glow on everything, turning the space into a cathedral of greenery. My bare feet whisper against the earth as Gen guides me down the aisle, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the fluttering in my stomach.
As we approach the makeshift altar, Saint's eyes lock onto mine. His normally guarded expression is peeled away, leaving a raw intensity that halts my breath. I can see the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, a battle raging within him not to let his emotions spill over. He's always been a fortress, but today I see the flag atop his walls waving in surrender.
Behind him, Dre and Chess stand shoulder to shoulder, their forms relaxed but alert. The sleeves of their shirts were cuffed up to muscular, sun-kissed forearms that made me want to drool.
"Damn, Addy," Chess mutters under his breath, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief and pride.
Dre doesn't say anything, but his gaze—sharp and blue as winter ice—speaks volumes, etching silent sonnets into the air between us.
I finally reach Saint, and before I can fully process the end of my short journey, he reaches out. His thumb grazes my cheekbone so tenderly it feels like a benediction. I'm anchored by his touch, pulled back from the edge of overwhelming emotion by the gravity in his deep brown eyes.
"You look... fucking stunning," he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges like torn silk.
A laugh bubbles up inside me, surprising in its lightness. "Only 'fucking stunning'?"
"Understatement of the century," Dre chimes in, his lips twitching.
"Words fail, hermosa ," Chess adds with a wink, and I can't help but smile at their antics.
"Thank you," I whisper to Saint, feeling a chapter close and a new one open with the weight of his hand against my skin. "For seeing me."
"Always, Princess," he replies, and the promise in his voice wraps around me, as tangible as the dress on my body and the soil beneath my feet.
The officiant's voice fades to a soft hum as Saint steps forward, his eyes never leaving mine. The air in the greenhouse is thick with anticipation, the scent of blooming flowers wrapping around us like an ethereal shroud.
"I—I wrote my own vows."
I stare at him in shock at that. But, he just offers a nervous smile and looks down at the pages he holds in his trembling hands.
"Adelaide," Saint begins, his voice a steady thrum of conviction, "I didn't know love could be more than just a word until I met you." He lifts a sheet of paper, worn at the edges from being folded and unfolded countless times. "These aren't just vows. They're my truths. My promises to you.
I vow to protect you, to lift you up when you falter, to cherish every moment we steal from the darkness of our pasts. I vow to be your sanctuary, your confidant, your partner in every wild adventure life throws our way."
Saint pauses, his dark curls falling into his eyes as a breeze whispers through the leaves above us. "And I promise to love you, Princess, with a ferocity that defies understanding. With every beat of my heart, for every day of my life." He glances at the beautiful men behind him. "I promise that you will be drowning in love every day for the rest of your life."
Tears breach the walls I've built so carefully, spilling over in silent testimony to the depth of his words. Before they can trail down my cheeks, Saint's thumb is there, gentle and wiping them away.
"Hey, no tears," he says softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "This is just the beginning."
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod, my bare feet grounded against the earth. My hands tremble slightly—whether from nerves or the sheer intensity of the moment, I can't tell. But as I look to Chess and Dre, standing beside Saint with expressions of unwavering support, I realize I don't need prepared words. I have the truth.
"Saint... Dre, Chess," I start, my voice a whisper that carries far in the stillness. "I never imagined a life where I'd stand here, surrounded by such fierce love. You've given me strength, laughter, and a sense of belonging I thought was forever out of reach."
I meet each of their gazes in turn, imprinting this moment, this feeling, onto my soul. "I may not have vows written down, but I promise you this—I'll fight for us, for the life we're building together. I'll honor the trust you've placed in me and cherish the love we share. And I vow to be yours, in every way that matters, now and always."
There's a collective breath—a shared heartbeat among us—as the weight of our promises hangs in the air, ripe with possibility. Our future, once obscured by shadows, now shines bright with the promise of days filled with more than just survival, but with living—truly living—in the light of the love we've forged against all odds.
The officiant's final words echo softly through the lush greenery of the greenhouse, "You may now kiss the bride." My heart hammers in my chest as Saint steps closer, his gaze a molten mix of love and desire. It's a look that promises more than just a kiss—it speaks of endless nights and intertwined futures.
"Finally," he murmurs before his lips crash against mine. The world falls away; there is only his mouth moving over mine with a hunger that mirrors my own. Saint devours me, his hands cradling my face, then tangling in the loose strands of my braided hair. I melt into him, every nerve ending alight with the fire that he ignites within me. We are oblivious to the quiet cheers and whistles from our closest friends.
"Ahem, you two," Gen's teasing voice cuts through the haze of passion. "I hate to break up the love fest, but we can't let you sneak away without some cake and photos."
I laugh against Saint's lips, pulling back only far enough to see the playful chiding in Gen's eyes. Saint groans, his forehead resting against mine. "You're killing me, Gen."
"Consider it practice for all the interruptions you'll face as a married man." She winks, and I can't help but smile at her antics.
"Fine, but make it quick." Saint's voice is rough with unspent emotion, or maybe it’s need—it's hard to tell.
We turn together, hands still clasped, to face the small assembly of people who mean the most to us. Mason is there with a grin wider than I've ever seen, Chess and Dre clapping Saint on the back with matching smirks of approval.
"Let's cut the cake, then," I say, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my stomach.
Saint wraps an arm around my waist, the heat of his body a solid reassurance as we approach the simple, elegant cake that Gen had insisted on ordering. Saint picks up the knife, but his hand covers mine, guiding it along with his. Together, we slice through the white frosting, the first act of unity in what will be a lifetime of shared moments.
"Perfect," he whispers, and I know he's not talking about the cake.
Cameras flash, capturing smiles and the light in our eyes. Gen orchestrates the entire affair like a maestro, ensuring each moment is immortalized. With every snapshot, she's preserving this day, this feeling, for whenever we might need to remember the joy amidst any future chaos.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," Saint finally says, his patience wearing thin. "We've got a lifetime for pictures. Right now, I just want to be with my wife."
"Alright, alright," Gen concedes with a dramatic sigh, though her eyes twinkle with mirth. "Go on then. You've earned some alone time."
Saint doesn't need to be told twice. He sweeps me up in his arms, a delighted laugh bubbling from my throat at the surprise. Our friends cheer again, their voices fading into the background as Saint carries me away, my fingers threaded through those dark curls I love so much.
"Ready for forever?" he asks, his voice a low rumble against my ear.
"More than ready," I reply, knowing that with Saint, Chess, and Dre by my side, 'forever' isn't just a promise—it's a certainty.
The echo of Dre and Chess's footsteps follows closely, a steady rhythm that matches my racing heart.
"Where do you think you're taking me so fast?" I tease, my voice a whisper against the shell of his ear.
"Somewhere we won't be interrupted," Saint replies, his voice low and determined. The glint in his eyes promises everything but restraint.
We burst through the door of my room. As soon as the bedroom door clicks shut, Saint's arms tighten around me, and I'm swept into the warmth of his embrace. His lips find mine in a fervent kiss that sets my soul alight, a promise of forever sealed with the taste of champagne and joy. Dre and Chess aren't far behind, their presence an electric charge in the air that buzzes against my skin.
"God, I love you," I breathe out between kisses, my hands tangling in Saint's dark curls while Dre's fingers trace the outline of my shoulder with a reverence that sends shivers down my spine. Chess's hazel gaze is filled with mischief and adoration as he leans in, pressing his lips to mine in turn, stealing my breath away.
"Snowflake," Dre murmurs, his voice a velvet touch as his hands glide over the contours of my dress, slipping down bare skin, igniting a trail of fire.
"God, I've waited for this," Saint confesses between kisses, his fingers tangling in the loose strands of my braided hair, releasing it to cascade over my shoulders.
"Me too," I whisper back, the words almost lost in the fervency of our embrace.
“My wife,” he whispers as he moves his lips down my throat. “My fucking wife .”
The word 'wife' sends a thrill through me, wrapping around my heart like a vine. I can't help but repeat it back to him, savoring the weight of it on my tongue. "Your wife."
Dre's laugh is soft, a sound that twines around us, comforting yet charged with desire. "Let's get you out of this dress, Mrs. Saint." His deft fingers find the zipper at the back of my gown, pulling it down slowly, deliberately, while Chess assists with nimble hands that leave a trail of heat across my bare shoulders.
Fabric pools at my feet, and Saint drinks me in with eyes full of hunger and awe. For a moment, none of us move; we are suspended in time, caught up in the reality of what we are to each other. Then, as if pulled by an unseen force, they begin to undress themselves, eyes locked onto mine.
Their movements are a dance of mutual longing, every article of clothing discarded revealing another inch of skin that begs to be touched, kissed, worshiped. Saint's chest is bare now, the contours of his muscles casting shadows in the dim light, inviting my touch. I can't resist running my palms over him, loving the way his breath hitches at the contact.
“Princess, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, dark eyes blazing with intensity. “You’re mine. My wife.”
“Yours.” I nod. “Theirs.”
I reach for him, for all of them, needing to feel the truth of his words against my skin. They surround me, a protective circle of devotion and lust, three hearts beating in sync with mine. And in this room, with the world shut out, I am whole, loved, and irrevocably theirs.
Pressing a gentle hand against Saint's chest, I guide him back until he's seated on the edge of the mattress. His eyes, dark and liquid with desire, search mine, questioning my next move. I feel his muscles tense under my palms as I drop to my knees, a supplicant poised at the altar of our newfound union.
"Princess,” he breathes, “you don't have to," Saint starts, his voice laced with concern. The protective veil he wears so effortlessly can't hide the tremble in his tone.
I shake my head, silencing his protests with a look that I hope conveys all the determination stirring within me. "But I want to, Saint." My voice is a whisper, but it rings with the power of reclaiming something lost. "This... I'm taking it back. With you, my husband."
"Princess..."
I shake my head, silencing him with a determined glance.
"Let me," I breathe out, fingers reaching out to wrap around his length. I lean forward, intent on tasting him, when his large hand cups my cheek, halting me.
"You don't have to do this," Saint says gently, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "I don't need—"
"But I want to, Saint." My voice is a whisper, but it rings with the power of reclaiming something lost. "This... I'm taking it back. With you, my husband."
"Just... don't touch me." The request hangs between us, laden with the complexities of my past, but he understands. He always does.
His hands hover over me, aching to touch, but he restrains himself, respecting the boundaries I've set. This moment is about healing, about rewriting the narrative that William and Preston tried to etch into my skin.
Saint nods, his throat working as he swallows down whatever protest he wants to make. And then, I lean forward, closing the distance between us, and take him into my mouth.
A guttural groan escapes him—one echoed by Chess, who watches us with heavy-lidded eyes. The sound sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. I glance up, catching sight of Chess as he begins to stroke himself, his movements languid but filled with a tension that mirrors the electricity crackling in the air around us.
"Fuck, Addy," Chess breathes out, and even without looking, I can hear the strain in his voice, the raw edge of need sharpening each word.
Saint's hands ball into fists beside him, one of them finding the sheets to clench, the other resting tensely on his thigh. He's holding onto his control by a thread, honoring my request even as every muscle in his body screams to touch, to claim, to comfort.
"Good?" I manage to murmur around him, pulling back just enough to speak.
"More than," Saint rasps, his eyes never leaving mine. Love, lust, gratitude—they swirl together in his gaze, a tempestuous sea that reflects the storm raging through my own heart.
The moment Dre's presence registers behind me, a shiver races up my spine. I'm lost in the intensity of Saint, but Dre's energy is impossible to ignore. He kneels, and his voice is a whisper against the nape of my neck, "Can I touch you, Snowflake?"
I nod, breathless, unable to form words as my affirmation. His fingers are a phantom touch at first, tracing the curve of my spine before his hand fans out across my skin. A moan escapes me when he wraps a firm, yet gentle hand around my throat, grounding me in the here and now.
"Is this okay?" he asks, the concern in his tone incongruous with the lascivious act we're all entangled in.
I groan around Saint’s length, making him tense and reach out for me before stopping himself. And, then Dre’s fingers are there, sliding through the slick heat between my thighs. It's as if he's unlocking something within me, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure that light fires throughout my body.
"Fuck, you're so wet for us," Dre murmurs, his breath hot on my ear. The sensation of his fingers delving deeper pulls a cry from my lips, one that vibrates against Saint's length still held in my mouth.
Dre presses closer, his chest to my back, molding his body to mine. In a move that's part playful, part possessive, he leans over my shoulder and his tongue flicks out, grazing Saint where my lips meet flesh. Saint's reaction is immediate, a guttural sound that's half laugh, half reprimand.
"Behave, Dre," he says, the laughter winning out despite the attempt at sternness. There's no real bite to his words; it's the camaraderie of shared desire, an understanding that boundaries are being pushed in the name of love and lust intertwined.
"Couldn't resist," Dre replies cheekily, pulling back slightly but still nestled against me, his fingers continuing their relentless dance inside me. Each movement is deliberate, designed to bring me closer to the edge, to show me that I am loved, cherished, and wanted in every conceivable way.
I've been here before, in situations where my body wasn't my own, but this—this is different. This time, the surge of power is mine, driven by pleasure and not pain. With William, I was a thing to be used; with Preston, I was performing a role. But with Saint and Dre, I am the center of their world, cherished and adored.
The realization hits me like a revelation—I like this. No, I love this. It's not just the act; it's them, it's us. The way Saint groans beneath my tongue, the way Dre fills me up completely—it's empowering. I savor the taste of Saint, the heady feel of him pulsing against my palate, the sounds of pleasure I draw from deep within his chest.
I just need Chess.
"Fuck, Princess," Saint breathes out, his voice laced with raw emotion. Saint's groans grow more guttural, more primal, and I know he's close. The knowledge spurs me on, makes me want to draw every last drop of pleasure from him for us to share.
I wrap my lips tighter around Saint, drawing him deeper, surprised by the surge of power that thrums through me. The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady blend that is uniquely his, and I savor it, committing the essence of my husband to memory. His hands find my hair, gently urging me away, but there's a tremble in his voice as he warns, "Princess, I'm close."
The words are meant to give me a chance to pull back, but instead they ignite something within me. I refuse to relinquish this moment of reclaiming what was once taken from me. Doubling down, I press on, swallowing him whole. He groans, a sound so deep and raw it vibrates into my very core as he releases. I take everything he has to offer, swallowing with a sense of triumph and connection that tightens my chest with emotion.
"Fuck, Princess..." Saint gasps, breathless and awed. His fingers stroke my hair now, a tender contrast to the fervor of moments ago. “You’re incredible,”
Saint manages between labored breaths, his hands twitching as if he's fighting the urge to touch me, to claim me in the way we all want.
And I believe him because in this tangled web of limbs and whispered affections, I feel invincible. I love the way they look at me, the way they make me feel: desired, powerful, loved. It's a stark contrast to the shadows of my past, a bright light that obliterates the darkness that once threatened to consume me.
Dre's voice, laced with authority, slices through the haze of passion. "Chess, get on the bed."
Without hesitation, Chess complies, his hazel eyes dark with lust as he settles onto the mattress. Dre's strong hands then slip under my arms, lifting me as though I weigh nothing. In one fluid motion, I'm moved, hovering above Chess who looks up at me with a mischievous grin that promises both pleasure and chaos.
"Ready, hermosa ?" Chess teases, his voice a low rumble.
"Always," I reply, meeting his gaze with a boldness that feels like a new part of me—one forged in the trust and love of these men.
Dre lowers me down, guiding me onto Chess, and I sink slowly, taking him in inch by exquisite inch. The stretch and fill send shivers racing across my skin, and I can't help the moan that slips from my lips. Chess' hands grip my hips, steadying me, anchoring me as I adjust to the sensation of being so intimately connected to him.
"Perfect, just like that," Dre praises from behind me, his voice a warm breath against my neck. And for a moment, we all pause, suspended in the realization of what we've become to each other—a unit of hearts and bodies entwined.
The world narrows down to the sensation of Chess filling me, his hands possessive on my hips, when Dre's fingertips brush against my skin, sending a shiver up my spine. I tilt my head back, catching the glint of mischief in his ice-blue eyes.
"Got something for you," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise that sends arousal coiling tighter within me.
I watch, breath hitched, as Dre reaches into the nightstand drawer and pulls out the lube. The slick sound of the bottle opening is strangely loud in the hush that has fallen over us. His touch is gentle but unyielding as he coats his fingers, preparing me with a patience that belies his eager gaze.
"Can't wait to see you come undone," he whispers, each word dripping with filth and desire. "With Chess deep inside you, and me... taking all of you."
His words are like fuel to the fire that rages within me, stoked by the heat of their bodies and the depth of our connection. A connection made not just of flesh, but of souls bared and hearts entwined.
"Please," I gasp, lost in the anticipation, in the need for him to fill me completely.
"Please what?" Dre teases, even as his slick finger circles the rim before pressing in, stretching me slowly, deliberately. "Tell me what you want, Snowflake."
"More," I plead, my voice barely a whisper. "I want you, Dre. All of you."
That's all the encouragement he needs. Positioning himself behind me, Dre aligns himself, and with one smooth motion, he sinks into me. It's overwhelming—the stretch, the fullness, the sheer intensity of being sandwiched between them. Dre fills me in ways I didn't know were empty, touching parts of me that had been locked away, guarded.
I cry out, the pleasure sharp and sweet, threatening to swallow me whole.
"Look at you," Dre groans, finding a steady rhythm that has us moving together. "So beautiful, so fucking tight."
Each thrust is a surge of sensation that builds upon the last, a crescendo of pleasure that spirals higher and higher. Chess meets my eyes, his gaze intense, steady, grounding me even as Dre's pace quickens, pushing me closer to the edge.
"Stay with us, Snowflake," Dre pants, his fingers digging into my skin, marking me as surely as the love bites we've left on each other's skin. His hand comes up to wrap around my throat, his other reaching for Chess’. Chess groans, long and low.
I don’t have words as I'm swept along on the rising tide of ecstasy, anchored by the love of these men who claim every part of me as theirs.
Saint's lips find mine, a tender contrast to the fervor of Dre and Chess. His kiss is a whisper, a soft touch that speaks of love amid the storm of passion. I melt into the sweetness of his mouth, so light, so caring.
"Beautiful Princess," Saint murmurs against my lips, his voice a soothing balm as Dre and Chess claim me with a fervency that borders on reverence.
"Saint..." I breathe out, my senses awash in the juxtaposition of gentle kisses and the relentless drive of our bodies joined together. Saint's hands cradle my face, his thumbs brushing away the hair sticking to my forehead, grounding me as pleasure coils tight within my core.
"Let go, my beautiful wife," he whispers, encouraging the release building inside me. I cling to him, to the whispered endearments, to the promise held in his dark eyes.
Dre's rhythm becomes insistent, a tempo that matches the racing of my heart. Chess's grip on my hips is both an anchor and a call to surrender. And then it happens—my body clenches around them, and I'm soaring, shattering into a million pieces.
"Ah!" My cry is a broken sound, half-lost in the intensity of my climax. Stars explode behind my closed eyelids, bright and fleeting as I teeter on the brink of consciousness.
"Fuck, yes," Dre groans, his movements stuttering as he reaches his own peak, spilling warmth inside me. Chess follows suit, his own release pulsing within me, a testament to our shared ecstasy.
And then, Saint, ever my constant, spills his seed across my chest, marking me with a visceral claim that intertwines our souls. His groan vibrates through me, a guttural sound that echoes my own pleasure.
"I love you," I gasp, my voice a threadbare whisper as aftershocks ripple through me. "I love you all."
Their responses are a symphony of adoration, each one a note that writes itself onto my heart, ensuring I'll never forget this moment—our perfect union of love and desire.
We collapse onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and breathless sighs, the room still echoing with the remnants of our passion. The cool sheets contrast against our heated skin, offering a gentle reprieve from the intensity that had just consumed us.
"Never," I pant out, struggling to draw air into my lungs, "never been happier in my life."
I turn my head, seeking their eyes—Saint's dark and full of tender warmth, Dre's ice blue and glinting with satisfaction, Chess's hazel ones alight with that familiar spark of mischief. They are my heart, split into three, each beat now synced with mine.
"I love you," I say again, needing them to hear it, to feel it. It's as necessary as the air I breathe, this declaration, this truth that binds us.
"Love you more, Princess," Saint murmurs, his curls tickling my forehead as he presses a soft kiss there. His voice is a soothing balm, wrapping around me like a protective shield.
"Always," Dre chimes in, his words etched with the raw edge of his emotions. He traces a finger down my cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
"Forever," Chess adds, his smile lazy but his gaze serious, promising eternity in that single word.
Their love washes over me, filling the cracks and crevices of my soul, mending the brokenness that once defined me. With them, I am whole, I am loved, I am home.
"That was only round one," Dre says, dark eyes glinting with affection and mischief.
My heart swells, so full it might burst. I smile at him, languid and utterly content. "There's no rush," I murmur, the weight of their love wrapped around me like the finest velvet. "We have the rest of our lives."