Chapter 31 Adrienne #2
Axel’s speech is first, predictably inappropriate.
“We all figured Adrienne would end up with some Wall Street finance bro that would probably end up behind bars for financial crimes,” he says, smirking while the crowd laughs.
“Instead, she picked the only man in Colorado who owns more wrenches than dress shirts. Honestly, I’m not shocked.
I don’t think any of us were. Because no one has ever made my sister smile like that. ”
Dad gives Scotty his best menacing glare when Axel raises his glass and adds with a wink, “Welcome to the family, Bescher. Don’t screw it up.”
The room explodes with laughter. Scotty grins and pulls me tighter to his side, “Not a chance in hell.”
Then Aiden stands, glass in hand. His voice is steadier, softer, carrying over the quiet hush of the tent.
“I’ve watched my sister chase a lot of things over the years: dreams, degrees, impossible expectations.
But I’ve also watched her laugh the hardest and light up the brightest around one man.
One of our oldest friends. Scotty, you’ve been in our lives since we were kids, and somehow, after all these years, you and Adrienne found your way right where you were meant to be, together. ”
My throat tightens, tears blurring the room as Aiden lifts his glass toward us. “To Adrienne and Scotty. To family, to forever, and to a long and happy marriage.”
I’m swaying barefoot on the dance floor after the toasts finish up, champagne in hand, when Brooklyn sidles up. Her cheeks are flushed from champagne.
“This is the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
I glance across the room where Scotty is crouched low, letting Amethyst pile flowers on his head while Dolly howls with laughter. My heart squeezes so tight I can barely breathe.
“Me too,” I murmur, blinking against tears that keep sneaking up on me all day.
Brooklyn bumps her shoulder into mine, smiling through her own misty eyes. “Then hold onto it with both hands. You fought hard for this.”
The music swells again, and Scotty straightens, eyes finding mine across the room. He crosses the floor in a few strides, ignoring the calls for another toast, ignoring Axel trying to shove a beer into his hand. His arm hooks around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
“You having fun, Mrs. Bescher?” he murmurs against my ear, low enough that no one else can hear.
“More than fun. This is perfect.”
He presses a kiss against my temple. “Good. Because I’m about five minutes from getting you out of here so I can finally enjoy my wife the way I’ve been dying to all damn day.
” He doesn’t let go, doesn’t break eye contact, his voice rougher now.
“Say goodbye, sweetheart. We’ve got a wedding night to get to. ”
The crowd is still laughing, drinking, dancing, but for me, the room narrows down to just him. My husband. My forever. And I can’t wait another second either.
The suite door clicks shut, and the world goes quiet.
No music. No clinking glasses. Just the steady thump of my own heartbeat as Scotty backs me further into the room.
The veil is long gone, my heels dangling from my fingers.
His jacket is gone, bowtie hanging undone, shirt unbuttoned at the throat.
His eyes drag over me like he’s been starving all day and finally gets to eat.
“My wife,” he says, voice low and rough. He palms my hip, and the silk catches, whispering as it moves. “Say it.”
A shiver runs through me. “Your wife.”
He smiles that slow, devilish grin he always flashed me secretly over the years. “Yeah. Mine.” He bends, mouths my throat, slow and reverent. “I’m going to worship you tonight. Start to finish. Every square inch of you. You hear me, Mrs. Bescher?”
Heat floods everywhere. Yes. God, yes. I manage a nod that turns into a gasp when he skims up my ribs, cupping my breast through the bodice.
“Words, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”
He smiles against my collarbone. “Good girl.”
He turns me, presses me to the window. The moon hangs low over the dark line of pines, the Rockies a black cutout against silver sky. His hands find the tiny row of buttons down my spine and work, slow torture, each pop of silk another exhale from me, another quiet curse from him.
“You looked so fucking beautiful at that altar,” he murmurs, kissing the shell of my ear. “Almost dropped to my knees right there. Would’ve embarrassed the hell out of the family. Worth it.”
I laugh, breathless, as the last button gives. The gown loosens and he eases it down, careful, patient, like unwrapping something sacred. The dress pools at my feet. I’m left in lace and stockings and the thin sparkle of the garter Brooklyn insisted I wear.
Scotty goes still.
“Turn around.”
I do, heart pounding. His eyes are hungry, but there’s a softness there that wrecks me. He traces the line of the garter with one finger.
“Mine,” he says again, voice deeper. “My wife. I’m going to take care of every inch of you.”
He drops to his knees, my back against the glass picture window.
The sound that leaves me is something helpless.
He kisses my thigh, open-mouthed and hot, then the inside of my knee, then higher, tongue teasing at lace.
He hooks a finger under the garter and drags it down with aching care, then my thong, lips following, peppering kisses all the way down.
The stockings roll off next, his hands firm, the scrape of his stubble a wicked counterpoint to the tenderness.
He looks up from the floor like a sinner at an altar, palms on my hips.
“Leg up, baby.”
I brace on his shoulder and lift. He settles my calf over his back and kisses the soft place high on my inner thigh that makes my knees wobble. Then his mouth is on me, kissing me slowly, not stopping until I’m shaking for him.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, fingers tangling in his hair.
This man is going to kill me with his tongue.
He hums, satisfied. “Not God. Your husband.”
A laugh shatters into a moan when he licks again, only deeper. He worships me like he promised, soft at first, then firmer when my hips start to roll. He pins me to the window with his forearm, keeping me right where he wants me, and eats me like he’s tattooing his name on me with his tongue.
“Scotty.” I’m already climbing, the day colliding with the desire, the vows, and the mountain air, and his hands on me. “Please.”
He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot. “You taste like honey, baby. Come for me, Mrs. Bescher.”
I break. It hits like a wave, long and pulsing, my back bowing, breath catching on a cry that probably echoes down the hall. He holds me through every tremor, mouth gentle now, kisses soft and filthy all at once until I’m shaking and laughing and dragging him up by his shirt.
“Bed,” I manage, though my legs feel as unsteady as a baby deer.
He scoops me up without a word. I loop my arms around his neck, nuzzle into the clean, salt-cedar smell of his skin. He places me on the bed, then stands, towering, chest heaving as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt, then pauses, eyes roaming like he’s mapping me to memory.
“Look at you,” he says, almost reverent.
He strips off his shirt, muscles flexing and ripping with the movement. My hand goes for his tux pants, desperate to free him, but he stops me with a kiss to my palm.
“Not yet.” He unclasps, shoves the black fabric and boxers down his thighs. My breath catches. He grips his cock, thick and hard, stroking slowly from base to tip. My mouth goes dry watching his big hand glide over himself, veins standing out, precum glistening.
“Look at you,” he rasps again, eyes locked on mine. “Lying there like a dream, still trembling from my mouth… and all I can think about is filling you. You want my cock, baby? You want your husband to fuck you with it every night for the rest of your life?”
“Yes,” I moan, thighs rubbing together, need clawing at me. “God, yes.”
He strokes harder, groaning low in his chest. “Say it. Say you want this cock inside you.”
“I want it. I want you. I want your cock, Scotty.”
His control snaps. “Good fucking answer.”
He crawls over me on the bed, still stroking himself until the head drags against my slick heat. Then he pushes my hand aside and lines up, eyes blazing down into mine.
“Open for me, Mrs. Bescher.” I do, and he sinks in, inch by devastating inch. My back arches, a cry tearing free. “Fuck, yes,” he groans, burying to the hilt. “So tight. Wrapped around me like you were made for my cock. Mine.”
The filthy words in that worshiping tone wreck me. My nails dig into his shoulders as he bottoms out, the stretch perfect, the fullness a claim I crave now. The pain afterward is a delicious reminder of where he’s been inside me.
“Mine,” he breathes against my mouth. “All of you. Forever. Say it.”
“I’m yours.” I meet his thrust, hungry. “I’m your wife. Forever”
“Forever.” He repeats as he starts to move, slow and deep, rolling his hips like he’s trying to memorize the way I break open for him. Each glide hits something sweet and unbearable. He watches my face, like the way I fall apart is the only thing on earth that matters.
“You like that, Mrs. Bescher?”
“Yes.” I’m shameless, begging. “More.”
“Greedy wife.” He kisses my grin, then gives me exactly what I ask for. He shifts, hooks my knee over his hip, and drives deeper. The bed creaks, my breath stutters, and he talks me through it. “That’s it. Take it. Let me make you feel how greedy you are for my cock.”
I’m gone. The second climax builds fast, hot, and high. He feels it and doesn’t stop. One hand laced with mine over my head, the other steady at my hip.
“Look at me,” he orders, gentle but commanding. “Come, looking at your husband.”
I meet his eyes. I fall. It slams through me, hard and fast. My toes curl, my nails digging into him as I squeeze my thighs against his hips. He follows with a growl, thrusts stuttering as he spills, forehead pressed to mine, breath harsh.
He stays inside me, heavy and warm, then kisses my forehead, my nose, my mouth. “You good, baby?” he murmurs.
I smile up at him, boneless. “Floaty. Boneless.”
He laughs, low and happy, and eases out.
He disappears to the bathroom, returns with a warm cloth, and cleans me with careful hands.
Even the aftercare is like worship. He tosses the cloth, pulls back the sheets, and brings me into his chest. I tuck into him, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the ridges of his stomach.
“Married,” I whisper, still in awe. “We did that.”
He kisses my hair. “Damn right we did.” He cups my face. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making this good for you. Making you happy. Making sure you never wonder if you chose right.”
“I never wondered.”
His arm tightens. “Say it again.”
“I never wondered,” I repeat, kissing his chest. “I chose you. Always you.”
He rolls, tugs me on top of him, and I giggle when he palms my ass. He’s already getting hard again.
“Round two,” he says, cocky and tender all at once. “Got a lot more worship in me tonight. Thought I’d take my time with my wife, show her all the ways her husband can make her come.”
“Your appetite is never satisfied,” I drag my hand down his chest, “insatiable.”
“Obsessed.” He grins. “Completely gone for you.”
I grind down, slow, teasing, and his head drops back with a curse. “Adrienne.”
“Use your words, Mr. Bescher. What do you want?”
He flips us, laughter mixing with a rough sound that is all we need. “My wife wants words. She gets words.” He settles between my thighs, lines himself up, and kisses me like I’m air. “I want to mark you as mine.”
He pushes in, and I open for him, thighs falling open shamelessly. He continues to worship me with his hands, his cock, his lips. I hold his face as he moves, our eyes locked on each other. When we come, we finish together. He buries his face in my neck and breathes me in.
He drags his knuckles lightly over my thigh. “Mrs. Bescher.”
“Mm?”
“Tomorrow I’m taking you out on that ridge at sunrise.
” He points out the window. “Just us and the cold and that view. I’m going to fuck you senseless up there, then I’m bringing you back to bed and doing all this again.
” He kisses my smile. “And the day after that. And the next. For the rest of our lives.”
I press my palm to his cheek, heart so full it aches. “Deal.”
His eyes soften. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I trace lazy circles over his chest.
He brushes a strand of hair off my cheek, thumb lingering at my jaw. “You know,” he murmurs, voice rough from everything we just did, “You know how I told you before that there's always that moment in a relationship where it changes, where you know?”
“Yeah.” I rest my chin on his chest.
“I used to think it would be this huge moment. Some big, obvious thing that told me this is it, this is how you know.”
My chest tightens. “And now?”
He smiles. “Now I get it. It wasn’t one moment. It was everyone who led us here. Every time you smiled at me. Every time you stayed, even when I didn’t think I deserved it.” His fingers slide through mine, squeezing gently. “You’re the culmination of all those moments. You always were.”
I lean forward and press my lips to his, holding them for a brief second. “Then I guess we'd better make a lifetime of those moments together.”
“Deal, Mrs. Bescher.” He grins as soon as he says it, that crooked grin that undoes me every time. “God, I love the sound of that.”
Tomorrow we’ll wake up as husband and wife, start the rest of our forever. But tonight, in this bed, in his arms, it feels like time has stopped and the rest of the world doesn’t exist. That’s how every moment has always felt with him.
Like a little pause in time that became my forever.