Bound To His Bride

How we even made it here in one piece is beyond me. As it is, I drove here with Abby literally in my lap, kissing me, moaning into my goddamn ear, and stroking my cock through my jeans.

The. Entire. Drive. Here.

And it ain’t modesty that stopped me from pulling over to the side of the road and fucking her right there, traffic or pedestrians be damned. It’s that deep down, I know we’re not entirely safe out there. By now, the Lucretas know the score. By now, they know exactly what’s happened, and I’m willing to bet every thug in the city is after us with the price the family probably has on my head.

We’ll be safe here until the rest of my plans can come together.

“Here” is basically an abandoned old factory building in the shittiest part of Queens. The old factory floors have been divided up into loft spaces, but there’s nothing fancy about them, that’s for damn sure. Most of the other tenants are artists or just eccentrics. A few musicians and a writer or two.

And me, the ex-strongman, ex-bouncer, soon-to-be ex-fixer for the mob.

The place ain’t pretty, or fancy. But then, Abby never gave a shit about either of those things. Our place in Hell’s Kitchen was nothing to write home about either, but it was home.

Of course, when the rest of my plans come together, things are going to be different. Way, way different. But that’s later. For now, all that matters is that she’s back in my arms, and we’re safe here.

I groan into her, kissing her ferociously as she moans into my lips. I fumble behind me for the buttons, jamming the one for my floor, but as we start to rise, I reach back again and jam the stop button.

…There’s no way I’m making it all the way up five floors before tasting her again.

Not when I’ve still got the taste of her on my lips. Not when she’s been writhing against me the whole drive here—biting my ears, kissing my neck, rubbing my cock and generally being the most tempting little tease in the history of the world.

…Fuck is it good to have her back. My heart. My everything. My one and only. My wife.

She’s wearing a hoodie sweatshirt of mine from the backseat of the Mustang—so big on her that it’s practically a dress. Which is good, because all she’s wearing under it is a soaked, mostly stretched and ruined pair of panties. She whimpers as I press her against the wall of the elevator, my mouth dropping from her lips to her neck, biting and sucking before I start to drop to my knees.

“Colm…”

“Spread your legs, baby girl,” I groan, pushing the oversized sweatshirt up over her hips.

“Spread your legs and let me taste you again.”

She moans as I drag her panties down, peeling them away from her slick, glistening pussy. The gusset clings to her wetness before pulling away, and when I yank them down her legs and off her feet, there’s nothing stopping me from moving back in. My tongue drags over her slit, teasing up from the very base of her pussy all the way up until I’m rolling it over her clit. She shudders, panting and sliding her fingers into my hair as I growl into her.

Goddamn did I miss this. I mean I missed every single fucking thing about her, but it’s the sweet, familiar, candy taste of this perfect little pussy that has me lusting for more—like I need to taste her again and again. Like she’s a drug I need another hit of. A drink I need another shot of, always.

She whimpers when my hand slides up the back of her thigh, hooking her leg up over one of my shoulders and spreading her open even more for my hungry tongue. I groan, my tongue pushing in and out of her, tasting her sweet little cunt as she bucks and writhes for me. The taste of her drives me wild and has my cock achingly hard for her. My pulse roars in my ears, and when I slide my hands to her ass and grip her tight, yanking her against my mouth, she starts to tremble and shake.

“Oh fuck, Colm!” She cries out, her legs shaking as her hands tighten in my hair.

“Please,” she whimpers. “Please, fuck me!”

The beast roars inside of me, and my cock throbs hard enough to practically rip a hole right through my jeans. I can feel my balls swelling, filling with cum as my precum drips liberally from my swollen head, soaking through my boxers and my jeans.

And oh, I’m going to fuck her alright. I’m going to fuck her until she never forgets the feel of my cock pulsing inside of her, stretching her wide and filling her up like nothing else ever could. But not here. Not in a damn elevator—at least, not for our first time since she left me. No, when I take her again—when I make her mine again, and claim her all over again—it’ll be in a bed. It’ll be with her surrounded by comfort, like the queen she is.