Chapter 1 Sloane #3
Both Mama and my dad dab at the corners of their eyes, but the only tears I’m concerned with are the ones shining in the steadfast midnight gaze trained on my face.
Everything about his expression says that if he had a choice in the matter, his hands would be skating down my sides, reaching around to cup my ass while his lips meld with mine.
Instead, he’s pulling a piece of paper from his jacket pocket at the officiant’s behest.
Dom clears his throat, preparing to speak, and I steel myself for the onslaught of emotion I know his vows will trigger in me. His voice is all gravel and ardor when he begins, steeped in years of longing and unforgiving desire.
“Angel, everything I know about love, I learned from you.” The muscle in his jaw jumps, and my heart throbs.
A slow, aching contraction that devastates me, leaving me unprepared for when he continues.
For the self-deprecating laugh punctuating the air and the raw edge to his voice.
“I thought I knew it. All the intricacies of being loved, all the necessities of being known, but I had no clue until I looked into your eyes. That’s when I found it. ”
Just as I did moments ago, Dom casts aside the evenly spaced lines of blocked, handwritten letters to trap me in his gaze while he recites the rest of his swoon-worthy speech from memory.
“I found it in the whisper of your footsteps. In the quiet of your breathing and the resonance of your joy. In the busy days marked by your absence and the slow nights spent at your side. In the twelve years of waiting and the promise of the life we’ve already begun to share.
I would say thank you, but those two words don’t feel like enough.
They don’t even begin to capture my appreciation for you, for the risk you took on an imperfect man whose proximity to perfection depends on how close he gets to stay to you.
And I would say I love you, but, angel, the way I feel about you makes those three words sound like a cliché.
So I give you these words instead, and they aren’t just vows, Sloane, they’re promises.
Solemn and eternal oaths that go beyond this beautiful day, this fleeting life, this finite existence. ”
He swallows, and a lone tear escapes from the corner of his eye.
I don’t think. I just move to him, placing one hand on his cheek and trapping the moisture between my thumb and the warmth of his skin.
And since we’ve already broken the unspoken rules of ceremonial decorum, Dom puts his hands on my waist. The crumpled paper that was his vows rustles against the fabric of my dress, snagging on the beads.
He stares down at me, love and intention in every sweep of his gaze over my face.
My breasts are pressed into the hard lines of his chest, and when he speaks, every word, every oath is a vibration that begins inside of him and comes to life inside me.
“Today, I don’t just take you as my wife. I welcome your soul back to mine. I offer my body as your sanctuary, and my heart as your home. And I promise that you’ll always be safe here. That you’ll always be known here. That you’ll always be loved here.”
My lips are on his long before the officiant declares us husband and wife, and our first kiss is sweet.
Decadent. Lush and heated. Just as passionate as it was that first day in an unfinished bathroom but less of a surprise.
Dom’s tongue sweeps into my mouth, thorough in its inspection, seeking out the promises I just made, savoring my intention to keep them.
I take his face in my hands, cradling it with a tenderness I’ve come to realize he appreciates.
A year ago, I couldn’t imagine caring about what he wants or needs, and now I’ve dedicated myself to ensuring that he never goes without the desires of his heart or the necessities of his mind.
We’ve come so far: from adversaries who lived at each other’s throats to heart-linked allies who share lives and, soon, a last name.
Before the wedding, I hadn’t entirely worked out how to tell Dom about me taking his name, but the perfect moment presents itself mere seconds after the crowd stands on its feet, cheering and whooping as we leave the altar. Dom grabs my hand, linking our fingers and lifting them high in the sky.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the officiant bellows, “it’s my honor to present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Dominic Gabriel Alexander.”
Dom stops, two thick brows furrowing in dismay as he turns to correct him. “No, she’s not…”
“Yes, I am,” I cut in, voice strong and sure. Certain about this change. About this new life. About this man. Even over the buzz of celebration and the shuttering of multiple cameras, he hears me, and his head whips around.
Surprise and adoration lace his features as he pulls me in close, wrapping his arms around my waist. And it doesn’t matter that there’s a room full of people watching, waiting for us to make our exit so they can head to the reception.
He takes his time formulating the question, rolling the words over his tongue, holding them between his teeth until they refuse to be stalled any longer.
“You’re changing your name?”
I nod, smiling. “I’m changing my name.”
Long fingers make a slow journey up my back, and still, there’s no urgency, no rush. Just us. Just this moment that he deserves, that I’m honored to give him. Finally, they find my cheek, and his fingertips, rough and reverent, trace the curve of my jaw.
“Mrs. Alexander,” he muses, eyes turning molten.
Rising up on my tiptoes, I bring my nose to his nose, initiating the small act of dedication his mother passed down to him. That we’ll pass on to our children when we have them.
One brush.
Two.
A third one that we both give a shaky exhale after.
Our eyes meet, gazes clinging. Breaths mingling, tasting of forever. Hearts beating in time, tapping out the familiar rhythm of unchecked desire and love that we’ll never again have to deny ourselves the pleasure of indulging.