Chapter 38: The Unwrapping
His boots thudded on the porch steps and then he kicked the bedroom door shut behind us, the latch catching with a final click that sealed out the music and the laughter and the whole rest of the world. Allan set me down gently, but his hands stayed on my waist, his breath warm against my forehead. I reached behind my back and found the zipper tab, pulling it down in one long, steady drag. The white dress loosened, then slid, pooling at my feet in a whisper of fabric. I stood before him in the delicate bridal lingerie I had bought weeks ago, the lace barely there, and his breath caught. His eyes went dark as flint struck to steel, and he crossed the space between us in one stride, pulling me against him and kissing me with a hunger that had been banked for eight long months.
My fingers found the top button of his shirt, and I worked it loose slowly, feeling the heat of his skin through the cotton. One button, then another, and I pushed the fabric aside to reveal the lean muscle of his chest, the light dusting of hair that ran down his stomach. He watched me, his breathing uneven, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. I slid the shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, and my hands went to his belt. I unbuckled it with a sharp clink of metal, unfastened his pants, and tugged them down his thighs. He stepped out of them, left in nothing but his boxers, the bulge straining against the fabric. I hooked my thumbs under the waistband and pulled those down too, and his cock sprang free, thick and hard, already slick at the tip. I wrapped my fingers around him, feeling the heat of him pulsing in my grip, and his head fell back with a groan.
I could feel the pulse of him in my hand, that thick, heavy heat that had been a promise between us for eight months. Eight months of stolen kisses and whispered nights, of his hands roaming but never quite going where they ached to go. Now we were married, and there was no more waiting.
Allan looked down at me, his eyes dark and hungry. "Sabrina," he breathed, and my name sounded like a prayer on his lips. "I've wanted this. I've wanted you, all of you, for so long."
"Then take me," I said, and the words came out rougher than I expected, raw with months of want. "I'm yours. I'm finally yours."
He didn't need any more encouragement. He swooped down, his arms hooking under my knees, and lifted me clear off the floor. I gasped, grabbing at his shoulders as he carried me the three steps to the bed. He tossed me onto the mattress, and I bounced, the springs creaking under me, my hair splaying across the white sheets. The lace of my bra had shifted, and I could feel the cool air against the tops of my breasts, the hard points of my nipples scraping against the delicate fabric.
He climbed over me, his body a wall of heat and muscle, his cock bobbing heavy between his thighs. He looked at me like I was something precious, something holy, but his hands were anything but reverent. He reached behind my back and found the clasp of my bra, unhooking it with a practiced flick. The cups fell away, and I shrugged the straps off my shoulders, letting the scrap of lace drop to the bed beside me.
Allan's breath caught, his gaze fixed on my breasts. He had seen them before, through tank tops and thin dresses, had felt them pressed against his chest during slow dances and heated kisses. But never like this. Never bare and bared for him, raw and presented and his.
"God," he said, his voice low and rough. "You're so beautiful."
He lowered his head and took my nipple into his mouth. I cried out, my back arching off the mattress as his tongue lashed across the sensitive peak, as his teeth grazed the tender flesh before he sucked hard. My hands fisted in his hair, holding him there, and pleasure jolted through me like lightning.
He gave my other breast the same attention, licking and sucking until both nipples were stiff and aching, glistening with his spit. Then he kissed a trail down my stomach, his lips parting over the quivering muscles as he went lower. I felt his hands at my hips, his fingers hooking into the sides of my bridal thong. He dragged it down my legs, the lace snagging on my thighs, and I lifted my hips to help him. He tossed it aside, not even bothering to see where it landed.
He knelt between my spread thighs, staring down at me. I was completely bare to him, my cunt swollen and slick, my thighs trembling with anticipation. I could feel how wet I was, the slickness of my own arousal coating my skin, and I saw his throat work as he swallowed.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "Sabrina, you're soaking."
"It's for you," I said, and my voice cracked on the words. "All of it is for you, Allan. Please. Please."
He positioned himself at my entrance, the fat head of his cock pressing against me. The pressure was there, the promise of fullness, but he paused, his eyes meeting mine. "Are you sure? We can go slow."
"Don't you dare be gentle with me," I said, and I meant it. I reached down and wrapped my fingers around the base of his cock, guiding him to my slick opening. "I've waited for this. I want to feel all of you."
He pushed in, and the sheer size of him stole my breath. I had never felt a man inside me, I was usually the one with the dick, and it had been nothing like this. Allan's cock was thick, thick enough to stretch me, and the resistance was immediate. I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders, and he stilled.
"Fuck," he breathed, his forehead against mine. "You're so tight, honey. So goddamn tight."
"It hurts," I admitted, but I wasn't asking him to stop. I was just stating fact, the burning stretch of him as he eased his way inside me. "Keep going. Don't stop."
He pushed deeper, another inch, and then another, the pain sharp and exquisite. I could feel every ridge of him, every vein, the way he filled me completely, and I knew I would never be the same. I would never be empty again, never be the person I had been, because I was his wife and he was inside me and this was forever.
He slid in all the way, his hips flush against mine, his balls resting against my ass. I was full, so full I thought I might burst, and the pain was beginning to shift, to melt into something else. Something deeper. Something that coiled low in my belly and spread outward in waves.
"Move," I begged, dragging my nails down his back. "Please, Allan, fucking move."
He began to move, a slow, grinding withdrawal that made me clench around him, and then he slammed back in, hard enough to make the bed slam against the wall. I cried out, a raw, animal sound, and the pain was gone, replaced by a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
"More," I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder. Don't you fucking dare hold back."
He didn't. He drove into me with a rhythm that was as desperate as it was primal, his hips slapping against mine, his balls slapping against my ass with every thrust. The headboard slammed against the wall, and the sound filled the room, punctuated by my moans and his grunts.
I could feel my orgasm building, a crescendo rising from the base of my spine. It was too much, the fullness, the friction, the sheer overwhelming sensation of my husband's cock fucking me into the mattress.
"I'm close," I gasped, my voice breaking. "Allan, I'm so close."
"Cum for me, baby," he growled, his rhythm never faltering. "I want to feel you cum on my cock."
His thumb found my clit, circling it with a pressure that was almost cruel, and I shattered. My back bowed off the mattress, my cunt clenching around him in waves, and I screamed his name. He followed me over the edge, his hips slamming into mine as his cock throbbed and pulsed, filling me with his hot release. I felt every spurt of him, the warmth spreading inside me, and I held him, held him as he shuddered and collapsed on top of me.
We lay there, tangled and sweaty, the scent of sex filling the air. His weight was heavy on me, but it was the good kind of heavy, anchoring me to the earth. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, and he was still inside me, softening now but still-present, still mine.
"Sabrina Cole," he murmured against my throat.
"Allan Cole," I whispered back, and I smiled into his hair.
This was my life now. This man, this bed, this town. This body that had been a stranger, now made home. I held him tighter.