Don't Kiss the Bride

“Shhh…” He moves his hand from the back of my neck to my cheek, and with his thumb, brushes away the tear that spilled there. “It’s okay.”

His voice is soft, but there’s a tinge of disappointment riding on it, and I don’t blame him. I can only imagine what’s running through his mind. Not only does he think I’m too young, but now I’m a tease who had a meltdown once his cock was in my face.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, flushing with humiliation and releasing his still-hard dick from my hand. “I’m gonna go.” I start to sit up, but he pushes me back down.

“You’re out of your fuckin’ mind if you think that’s a deal breaker, babe.”

Grabbing my hand in his, he wraps it around his cock and guides it along his length.

“Touch me,” he says, his voice hoarse with desire.

I stroke him slowly, gripping him in my palm and caressing the hot, damp tip. His head bows down, his hair falls over his face, his eyes close. My heart swells with adoration and lust for him. Leaning forward, I put my lips against his flat stomach. His ab muscles flutter deliciously as I rain a slow trail of kisses from hip to hip. I feel like a little kid on Christmas morning, getting an amazing gift in the form of sexy tats and an incredible body all wrapped up with a big red bow of sweetness on top. He groans and grabs my shoulders, pulling me up to meet his lips, kissing me with such hunger I can’t breathe. His hands travel roughly down my body, his fingers dig into my skin. He cups my ass in his hand, squeezing it hard, and slips his other hand between my thighs. I whimper against his mouth when his finger slides into the slickness of my slit and traces slow circles.

My knees weaken. It feels so good.

“Lay down,” he whispers in that deep, rough voice that makes me clench tight around his finger.

I do as he asks, and my heart pounds as he crawls over me. The way his muscles flex as he moves is jaw-droppingly sexy. I can’t believe I get to be with someone so beautiful.

I can’t believe I’m married to someone so beautiful.

Wrapping my arms around him, I pull him down on me, so we’re flesh-to-flesh. We kiss slower this time, savoring and tasting each other. Our bodies meld together, hot, hard and soft. I never knew being with someone could feel this way—so perfect and completely connected.

When we part for air, he gives me an adorably mischievous but sexy grin. “I have to find a condom,” he says with a little laugh.

“Okay.”

He kisses my forehead and holds his lips there for a few moments, inhaling slowly, as if he doesn’t want to leave me. “I’ll be right back,” he finally says.

I’m breathless as I watch him get off the bed and rummage in his nightstand, then his top dresser drawer. Then his closet. My eyebrow rises when he starts fishing through his wallet.

I’m not sure if I should be glad he doesn’t have an endless supply of condoms at his fingertips, or worried that he’s sexually unprepared.

“Fuck,” he mutters, throwing his wallet on the floor. “I don’t believe this.”

“I think I might have one,” I say meekly.

“You do?” His tone is part relieved and part suspicious.

“I keep one in my purse just in case. I’d rather have one than not have one,” I reply, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “Like now.” I pull my shirt over my head and tug it down to my thighs.

“You don’t have to get dressed…”

“I’ll be right back,” I say as he playfully smacks my ass.

When I get to my room and see the two stuffed animals on my bed—one my grandparents gave me when I was little, and the other the teddy bear Jude gave me the first time he came to my house, I suffer a moment of crushing anxiety.

Jude’s friendship has become a lifeline for me.

What am I doing?

Is this going to wreck us forever?

What if he’s disappointed in me as a lover? I’ve already denied the guy any kind of oral sex. Don’t men live for that? What if he never wants to go near me again after this? What if it gets so awkward, he doesn’t even want to spend time with me anymore?

If that happens, I’ll miss our couch cuddles, our movie nights, our goofy talks, and our handholding. Those little intimate moments are everything to me, and I’ll be devastated if it stops.

I take a few grounding breaths, then dig through my purse until I find the condom I threw in there a year ago. My therapist said I have to face my anxiety, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m not going to let it get in the way.