Priceless

“Husband,” he corrects. “Call me your husband.” I hear another rip and I know this dress isn’t making it to the reception. He’s barely holding on to his control. He’s been holding himself back for a week and I can’t wait until he fully unleashes himself. He’s been getting me off but I want him to have the same pleasure that he’s been giving me. I’m not so sure that we’ll even make it to the reception at this point. Who even needs a reception or this dress? The only thing I need right now is for my husband to continue to pleasure me. Nothing else matters.

“Wife.” Major nips at my neck.

“My husband. Please make me come,” I beg. I don’t only want my own orgasm but I want him to have one just as badly. I want to feel it deep inside of me. He jerks against me. His warm release spills inside me, triggering my own orgasm. His moan of pleasure as he jerks against me rings out, causing me to come again.

“Was this what you wanted, my beautiful wife? You wanted me to be inside your pussy and to make me come twice. I knew waiting would be worth it.” He continues to move inside of me, pushing all of his hot release deep into me. Thinking about the pleasure that I’ve brought him has me wanting to go another round. I lift my hips, trying to lure him to give me more.

“Don’t tempt me, my love. I’ll stay inside of you and we’ll never make our own reception if your greedy little cunt keeps squeezing my cock.” He leans down, kissing my mouth.

“This is your fault for making me wait,” I tell him with a smile on my face. He rolls, shifting us both, his cock never leaving me so that I’m on top of him. His whole body goes lax under me. I sit up, looking down at him. His hands, like always, go to my hips. He holds me down on him. He thinks I still might try and get away from him.

“We’re married.” I sigh as I place my hands on his chest looking at the ring on my finger. It was his grandmother’s, on his mom’s side. It is breathtaking and I can only hope that I can pass it on one day. It’s the hope I have with each item that I make at work, that it will be cherished and passed down with love.

“I told you a week.” He doesn’t sound smug that he was right. Happiness fills his words. Right now I feel happy too. Still, Major and I are so different. He is not the kind of man I thought I’d marry. In all fairness I’ve never given what I want in a man much thought. I’ve been focused on my career. I worry my lip between my bottom teeth. What if the lust wears off and we’re not compatible? We’ve only known each other a short time but he does keep calling me his love.

I keep calling this crazy but maybe that’s what love is. Crazy. I lay my head down onto his chest.

“Why are we in a limo? Isn’t the reception back at the house?” I let out a long sigh.

“Yes. But I wanted you alone. I knew if I took you upstairs someone would still be banging on the door about this or that. That wedding planner is scarier than my lawyer.”

I giggle against his chest because it’s true, she is, but she gets shit done. Everyone has helped out tremendously this week while I stood there not sure what the hell was happening. I would just answer yes or no questions after being shown a couple of things and told to pick one. Major’s mom has come to life. Everyone has. Even in the midst of all the crazy chaos this felt normal. Our normal.

Chapter 20

Major

“I see the place is still standing. Good job, Jason,” I congratulate my assistant.

I draw Maple forward. She watches with some amusement as Jason nearly trips over his feet trying to get to her.

“Ma’am,” he says, shaking her hand. “Did you enjoy your honeymoon? Italy, right? Lots of great art there.”

“Erm, yes, very nice art,” she echoes faintly. Her cheeks grow slightly pink. The poor girl didn’t leave the hotel. We could’ve stayed in New York for all the sightseeing we ended up doing. It’s almost a miracle that she can walk given how hard I abused her pussy these past two weeks.

“I loved the Pozzo Corridor at St. Ignatius. It’s out of the way but the baroque paintings are so unique.”

“I can’t say that I saw it,” Maple chokes out, likely remembering that the only art she got to see was the markings on the ceiling of our bedroom.