17. TATE #3
Ethan reads through the words I typed out for him in preparation for this.
I didn’t exactly plan to marry Ryan on the brewery floor, but I suspected we might not get the flashy wedding he deserves, and that I should be prepared for anything.
I don’t give a fuck about anything but him being mine, but I would have given him whatever he wanted.
And he asked for this.
“Tate,” Ethan snaps. I raise a brow. “Just say I do.” He’s smart enough not to say moron, but it’s implied.
Fuck. Where am I? I’m not even paying attention. I take Ryan’s strong left hand in mine and slide the ring onto his finger. “I fucking take you as my husband, dollface.”
Ryan smiles.
“D’aww,” the other-other one says. “There it is again.” Hmmm. He might be growing on me.
Ethan says more words I don’t hear. I’m busy watching over Ryan.
Is he okay? He doesn’t look well-rested.
And fuck. I know at least half of the anxiety ruffling his features is because of me, but there isn’t much I can do about that.
I’m a goddamn mess. What happened tonight is bound to happen again if the rules aren’t followed.
Uncle Jasper never bothered to have my brain fixed; his favorite pastime was feeding it and making it worse.
“I fucking take you as my husband, Tate,” he says, his words heavy with purpose. He pushes the ring past my first knuckle, but that’s where it stops, the bandages he wrapped there acting as a blockade. “Guess it doesn’t fit.”
Why does he look so fragile? It’s scratching against my insides.
I need to take him out of here. Wrap my body around him.
Protect him. My fingers catch the bandages, unveiling my battered finger.
It’s an apt little metaphor—this is what I really am, just a raw piece of meat.
Never fully healed. Willing to suffer confinement with Ryan.
Can I be in a cage with Ryan without him knowing I’m caged, too?
The blood helps it slide onto my finger. The swelling makes it a tight fit, but it does fit. Pain burns there as a reminder that we’re joined now.
“With the powers bestowed upon me from the World Wide Web—”
“Oh, my fucking god, no one calls it that anymore, boomer,” Gideon says.
Isn’t he supposed to be the nice one? Maybe there isn’t a nice one.
“Fine, the internet, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss your—whoa, okay.”
I don’t wait for Ethan’s permission to kiss my husband. My husband. Wow, I fucking love the sound of that. I grip Ryan by the head and the small of his back with my sore hands. They throb with pain in time with my cock. I want him. Would love to claim him right here, in front of everyone.
My lips seize his, taking them, mauling them. I tease them with my tongue until he lets me inside. Ryan’s just as eager, catching my bottom lip, sucking, coming back for more.
There’s clapping and cheering from the peanut gallery, the same one that was critical only moments ago. But now that it’s done, they’re embracing us. All except the big one. I catch him out of the corner of my eye, still against the wall, still glaring daggers at me.
Whatever. Ryan’s mine now. Legally. On paper. Actually, that reminds me. I pull away from Ryan. “Where’s the wedding certificate?”
“Here,” Ethan says.
I would have loved to have Luke’s name on here as my witness.
“Tyler, sign this,” I demand.
Ryan gazes across the room to his contrary friend. “Becks, please. It would mean a lot if you signed this.”
He peels off the wall, sighing, but makes his way over. His hand moves with loud strikes of the pen. Ethan adds his signature as officiant.
There. Officially mine on paper. No one’s taking Ryan from me now.
“You two need to sign it as well—don’t get blood on it, for fuck’s sakes,” Ethan says. “I’ll get it to where it needs to go tomorrow.”
“Great. Get the copy to me as soon as possible.” I want to look at it every day. “Everybody, get the fuck out.”
Each of them stops by to pat Ryan on the shoulder, which I tolerate, but only because Ryan needs it. My patience is wearing thin. I don’t like them touching my husband.
Thankfully, finally, it’s just us. And I get him all to myself for longer than I’ve ever had him. We’re surrounded by an empty hush once the last of his friends trampled out. Ryan leans sideways against the bar top, and I take the seat closest to him.
He’s quick to hold up the pen for me, before I can attack him with my lips again. Interesting.
“Are you afraid I won’t sign?”
“A little,” he says.
The pen is in my hand so fast, and I script my large signature. I can’t do much to ease his anxiety, but I can do that. “Your turn.”
He’s the one who hesitates.
“Second thoughts?”
“No. I’m memorizing the moment. Don’t you feel it? Everything’s about to change.”
It already has for me. My center of gravity shifted. I’m questioning everything. I’m desperately attempting to recalibrate yet again, but I might be doomed to live my life on this fucking tilt-a-whirl. At least it will be with him.
“Sign, dollface,” I whisper. “And then I’m going to take you over and over—till you can’t move.”
We’re rocky and unstable tonight, each of us trying to fix it in our own way. We’re probably doing more harm than good, but we can’t deny how much we need each other, even if neither of us will say it.
Ryan signs.
It’s done.
I rip his clothes off and viciously fuck him over the bar top, no mercy, till he comes.
I drag him to the stairs, set him up on all fours, and rail into him until he shoots all over them, wringing him out until he only thinks he’s got nothing left.
His eyes get droopy by this point, but he reaches for me, and I need more.
I put him on his back and make him hold his legs so I can sink my cock deep and claim new territory. I finally come, filling him up.
“Tate,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, dollface?”
“I’m so tired. I might fall asleep, but you can keep fucking me. Don’t stop. Don’t wanna stop feeling you …”
I chuckle on the inside, but school my features on the outside. We’ve destroyed the entire downstairs portion of the brewery. We’re covered in each other—blood, bruises, cum, bite marks.
“I think it’s time to go home. C’mon, up.” But I have to help him off the floor. I’ve ruined him. Okay, yeah, he’s incapable of walking. His head rolls onto my shoulder, and I lift him bridal style under his legs.
He’s my bride after all.
I’ll need to cover him, but then I’m packing him into my car and taking him to my condo.