Engaged (The ABCs of Erotica) (21 page)

Richard reminded me that any church Jim and Judy Elway would want to book was likely spoken for. If we booked a place that would be impressive to their friends, all would be well. And of course, Richard was right.
 

Sneaky, beautiful man that he is, he had booked a room at The Grand 3 months before asking for my hand, knowing that he would. The cake was gorgeous: three tiers, lightest green, with white frosting and large blush colored flowers in spirals around it. The three tiered cake — each tier giant — was set on a bed of real (impossibly green) grass. The Grand was gorgeous, and the food perfect. We swam through the day.
 

Zoe was my maid of honor. Leigh, Ellie, and four other girls from my past made up my bridesmaids. Of Richard’s six groomsmen I met four for the first time.

I’d seen enough of Mom and Dad, my brother and sister. I connected with friends and family, scattered across countries and years. Now the day was over, and done. I had to get Richard alone.
 

Just four flights of stairs and into our room.
 

“Let’s go,” I say. “I think we can break for it.”

Richard shakes his head and gestures toward Leigh, walking toward me, holding Jenny’s hand.
 

“Liza!” she cries out, throwing her arms around me. “We wanted to say congratulations.”
 

“Congratulations,” Jenny says, shifting on her feet. She looks gorgeous in a periwinkle dress that hugs every curve she barely has. I feel a blush and a tingle, remembering the things that we did, back on my first day away from Richard.

We made small talk with Jenny for a few minutes — she and Richard had never met, though he had met Leigh a few times while planning the wedding — until Leigh caught my cues and realized I needed to consummate my marriage. She whispered something in Jenny’s ear. Her face brightened, almost blushed with realization, then Jenny killed her ramble and the two of them left.

“Have fun,” Leigh says, winking.
 

We look around, find our clear, and made it another three steps before Cooper appears from nowhere.
 

“Hey,” he says, looking first at me, then Richard. He extends his hand as he turns to my new husband. “I’m Cooper. Thanks for inviting me.”
 

“My pleasure,” Richard says. “Though I think it’s Liza who deserves the thank you. She was in charge of the guest list.”
 

Cooper shakes Richard’s hand, smiling. “Yeah, maybe so, but it takes a certain type of guy to be cool with exes at a wedding, you know? Seems worth a thank you.”
 

I love Cooper’s smile. He’s trying so hard. I want to laugh, tell him I’m proud of him, clap him on the back. Something.
 

Instead, I let Richard handle it. He says, “Nonsense. I have plenty of exes myself. Liza’s past is part of mine. I’ve heard many things, Cooper. It’s good to know you.”
 

Cooper looks surprised, then turns to me, still smiling. He seems almost jealous, in the sweetest way. He didn’t come with a date, and looked more mature than I’d ever seen him.
 

We say goodbye, and Richard takes my hand. “Now?”
 

For once, I think he’s as impatient as me.

I look around. Mark and Samantha are nowhere. My parents are drunk, talking to old friends at the back of the hall. Dad is over-animating his gestures. Ellie and Dean are making out in the corner.
 

“Let’s go,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
 

Richard squeezes me back. We disappear from the reception, slip into the hallway, walk the long corridor, and slip into the elevator as it dings closed. We ride four floors until the doors ding back open, then, still holding hands and squeezing tight, cross the hall to our room.
 

We stand in front of the closed door, looking from it to each other, holding our stares and listening to our hearts as they pound.

The ceremony was a prelude:
now
we are husband and wife.
 

The Wedding Night
 

We’re finally alone.
 

I don’t know how you did it — I rarely do — but the room is ready, prepared as though moments before. There are strawberries, overly ripe and perfectly cut, fanned onto a small desert plate with dollops of cream in the middle, there is — of course — champagne in a bucket, and many candles burning. The room isn’t quite light, or dim, but it is perfect between us as I stand in the middle of our suite, staring up into the eyes of the man who is now my husband.
 

I try to count candles as Richard holds me in his arms. They’re dripping wax in a single file line from the door, through the room, up three small stairs and in a wide arcing cluster between the sofa and bed where we’ll make love for the first time in matrimony. I lose count at two dozen. I don’t care how many candles there are, I need something to quell my heart.
 

Richard crosses the room. Everything’s silent except for our breath and quickly beating hearts. His footsteps are heavy as we leave the carpet behind and he clomps onto the floor.
 

At the top of the stairs, beside the candles, he kisses me again, taking his time until he finally sets me down and stares, raking his eyes up my body from ankles to hairline and back, studying me like the prize I am. He brings my left hand to his mouth and brushes his lips against my ring. “Thanks for marrying me,” he says.
 

I smile back. “Thanks for asking.”

Time seems to still as we stand at the foot of the bed, our bodies pressed together, hands braided. I wonder if Richard will draw this out. He teases me with another fleeting kiss, brushing my lips before pulling away and stretching my want.
 

I try holding control as long as I can, then surrender.
 

I no longer care. I waited a lifetime to find Richard, then went on a journey to make sure we were perfect. I waited through three months to plan a wedding that would make everyone happy, when I would’ve been perfectly fine going to the courthouse. I waited through an entire endless day, the ceremony and reception: my family, friends, and past.
 

I’m not willing to wait any longer.
 

I kiss Richard harder, feeling him laugh between his lips. I yank his suit jacket down from his shoulders and throw it to the ground.
 

After Richard’s jacket, his tie, his shirt after that. I force myself to go slower, blooming anticipation as I slip buttons through holes, one at a time until his bright white shirt is open and flapping. I practically tear the shirt from his body and drop it on top of the jacket. I rub my hands all over his hot skin: strong arms, powerful shoulders, well-muscled chest and trim waist.
 

I love him so much, and can’t believe he’s mine forever.
 

Richard places his hands over mine and presses them to my body. He looks into my eyes, still smiling, teasing me with more kisses, reclaiming control, moving us back into a slower dance until he dips his finger between my lips.
 

I nibble his digit, knowing
now
things will start.
 

Except I feel playful instead. I push Richard away, laughing.
 

He grabs me, roughly but playing. I push him again.
 

He drops a finger down the top of my dress, into my barely there cleavage. I laugh, wag my finger, shake my head, and push him away. Richard laughs with me as he grows more insistent, pushing his pelvis against me.
 

I feel how hard he already is.
 

He kisses me again, and I sigh into his mouth. He lowers me onto the bed. I expect Richard to ravish me, but am not surprised when he doesn’t.
 

He falls to one knee by the foot of our bed and takes my hand. Kneeling, he looks into my eyes and says, “Thank you for marrying me, Elizabeth Elway. You’ve made me the luckiest man on the planet.”
 

“White. My name is Elizabeth White. I’ve earned it, so please don’t forget.”
 

Richard grins. I can see him thinking of some clever way to answer. I cut him off. “Fuck me,” I say.
 

I giggle as he laughs, more playful than usual, more playful than he’s been all morning, afternoon, evening, and the three months before now. He lifts my dress and disappears beneath it.

I cover my mouth, laughing.
 

I fall back on the bed, squirming as he works beneath my dress, parting the panties from my pussy and lightly licking me, not devouring me as he usually does — or always does when our waiting is stretched.
 

My head falls back and I cry out.
 

Finally, what I’ve been waiting for.
 

He adds two fingers inside me, sliding them in and out as he flicks his tongue on my clit.
 

He’s having fun — he’ll never be under a wedding dress again — so I let him play, even though every part of me needs more than his teases, needs this dress off my body.

Richard refuses to stop or slow, intent on his fun. The only thing I can, or should do is sink back, relax, and enjoy it. I close my eyes and wiggle on the bed, then lightly lift up, press my hands to the back of his head — still under the dress — and push down so his face wedges deeper between my folds and his tongue stabs me harder.
 

It must be stifling. He grunts with labored breath. I grab my dress and give him air. He pulls his face from my pussy as I do. Richard looks up, smiles, shows me two fingers, then returns to my slit and slips them inside me, plunging to the knuckle as I moan.
 

Richard holds two fingers firmly in my hole, strong, steady and straight as he sucks the clit just above them. I have to turn away, because it’s too hot to look down, and I want more than he’s willing to give me. My garter feels hot on my skin. My lacy panties that will be worn only today — they go with the dress — are soaking. Richard’s fingers and mouth make me want to attack him. After the three months of waiting, I
need
him in a way that’s more desperate than not.
 

But Richard is a man who knows what he wants. What he wants now is to make me cum, before entry, using only lips, fingers and tongue.
 

He plunges until I cum. As I shake, he holds his fingers as I clench around them. “This isn’t fair, Richard,” I pant. “I need you to fuck me. We’re married now. I want married people sex.”
 

I laugh. He laughs with me, but doesn’t move his fingers, or start to fuck me.

He says, “This
is
married people sex,” then explores my pussy, still with his fingers, parting the lips and swirling my interior. I feel raw from cumming and waiting. My body hums like he wants me. Scents are strong in our beautiful room.

Why won’t he hurry?
 

I chew my bottom lip and wonder why I’m complaining. It isn’t as if Richard will give me less later for giving me more now. He’ll want me after I cum three or four or five times as much if not more than he does now. I should luxuriate in his control, patience, and devotion. I should know most other men would tear into me like they wanted — and like I wanted them to — rather than treating me with the tenderness I deserve.
 

Richard licks me into another orgasm. This one I welcome.

I push his head into me. He resists, wanting to lick me slowly. He sets the tip of his tongue near my asshole, then drags it in long lines up to my clit. He does this repeatedly, clearly loving the way I am shaking.
 

We find a rhythm together. He presses his lips into me. They tighten. Rather than licking or sucking, he nuzzles into me, lightly gobbling. I scream out, finish cumming, then reach down and grab him.
 

Now I am insistent.
 

Now I am no longer
willing
to wait.
 

Now I will take what is mine, from husband to wife, and stuff it inside me.
 

I pull Richard from between my legs. He comes to the bed, wraps me in his arms, and kisses me like I’ve longed to be kissed. I circle my hands at his back and press my fingers into his flesh. I feel my ring on his skin. It makes me hotter.
 

Now we’re married.
 

I can’t kiss him hard or deep enough. I want to swallow him.
 

He laughs. “I love how much you want me.”

I say, “Let me show you,” then shove him onto the bed.
 

I attack his belt, unbuckling the buckle and yanking it from his pants. I unbutton his pinstripes and pull out his cock. It’s giant, hard, and hungry. I wrap my hand around the base and hold it straight so it’s pointing like an arrow to my mouth. I look down, see my ring glistening against his skin and smile. Then I close my eyes and drag my tongue from bottom to top, slowly.
 

I take my time on his dick like he did on my pussy, holding his giant pole straight as I lick him.