Chapter 6: A Wedding
The ring was a simple, heavy band of white gold, bought with the last of Jake’s playoff bonus. It sat on Leia’s finger, a constant, weighty surprise. The proposal, if you could call it that, hadn’t been followed by flowers or dates. It was followed by a grim, determined efficiency. Jake operated like he was planning a tactical assault, not a wedding.
“We do it at the courthouse. Friday,” he’d said over cereal two mornings after. “My dad can sign as witness. Your brother will lose his shit, so we tell him after.”
Leia stirred her soggy flakes, the diamond chip—his grandmother’s, it turned out—catching the weak kitchen light. “I want a dress.”
Jake froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“A wedding dress. I don’t need a church or a cake or a hundred people. But I want to wear a dress. A real one. And you have to see it before I buy it.”
He scowled, the familiar defensive mask sliding into place. “That’s bad luck, or some shit.”
“Since when are you superstitious?” she challenged, meeting his glare. “You said I was yours. Don’t you want to see what you’re getting? All wrapped up in white?”
A dark heat flickered in his eyes. He saw the trap, and the lure. He dropped his spoon with a clatter. “Fine. One hour. Saturday. But I’m not holding your purse.”
The bridal boutique was a world of suspended dust and sighing satin, a cloyingly sweet sanctuary that seemed to physically recoil when Jake walked in. He was a bull in a lace shop, his shoulders straining against his plain black t-shirt, his worn jeans and scuffed boots glaringly out of place amidst the ivory and champagne. He stood with his arms crossed, a sentinel of impatience, as a fluttery consultant named Gloria fawned over Leia.
“Oh, you have the most exquisite figure, dear! That bust! We’ll need something with substantial structure.”
Leia felt Jake’s gaze like a physical touch, tracking her from across the room as Gloria led her through racks of gowns. She picked three. One was a sleek column of silk. Another, a princess ballgown with a frothy skirt. The third, her secret favorite, was simple—strapless, fitted through the hips with a subtle trumpet flare, the only adornment a line of tiny pearl buttons trailing down the back.
The changing room was a large, plush cube with a central pedestal and heavy velvet curtains. “I’ll help you into the first one, dear,” Gloria trilled.
“No.” Leia’s voice was firmer than she intended. She glanced at Jake, who hadn’t moved. “My… fiancé. He’ll help me.”
Gloria’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes darting between Leia’s determined face and Jake’s intimidating posture. “Oh! Well. I… I suppose that’s… modern. I’ll be just outside if you need pins!”
She scurried away, leaving them in the hushed, perfumed space. Jake let the curtain fall closed, sealing them in. The air thickened instantly.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered, but his eyes were already raking over the dresses hanging on the hook.
“Help me with the zipper,” Leia said, turning her back to him, presenting the simple cotton sundress she’d worn in. His fingers were clumsy on the tiny metal pull. He dragged it down, the sound loud in the quiet. The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in only a plain white bra and panties. She felt his stare on her skin.
“Which one first?” he asked, his voice lower.
“The simple one. The trumpet.”
He unhooked the gown, heavy and cool. She stepped into it, and he hauled it up her body, his knuckles grazing her thighs, her hips, her ribs. He stood behind her, his breath warm on her bare shoulder. The bodice settled, the strapless top cupping her breasts, pushing them up into dramatic, pale swells. It was snug, perfectly fitted through her waist and over her hips.
“Buttons,” she said, her voice a whisper.
She felt his hands, large and rough, at the top of the back. The tiny loops of silk were a devilish contrast to his thick fingers. He fumbled, cursing under his breath. Each time he secured a button, his finger traced the knobs of her spine. She could feel the heat of him, the tension coiling in the small space. He was hard; she could feel the insistent press of his erection against the small of her back as he leaned in to work the lower buttons.
When the final button was secured, his hands didn’t leave. They slid around her hips, palms flat against the smooth satin over her stomach, pulling her back flush against him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word rough with awe. “You look…”
“What?” she prompted, tilting her head to give him better access.
“Like a fucking fantasy. Like something I don’t deserve to ruin.” His hands slid down, over the curve of her ass, gripping the satin-clad flesh. “But I’m gonna ruin it anyway.”
He turned her on the pedestal to face the three-way mirror. The sight stole her breath. The dress was elegance itself, highlighting every curve. And behind her, Jake, dark and predatory in his black clothes, his hands possessive on her hips, his eyes burning with a feverish mix of reverence and lust. The contrast was obscene. It was perfect.
“This is the one,” she said, meeting his gaze in the glass.
“Yeah, it is.” One of his hands slipped from her hip, trailing around to the front. He pressed his palm against the satin between her legs. “You’re already wet. I can feel the heat through this fucking fabric.”
She was. Arousal, thick and urgent, pulsed through her. The setting, the taboo, his raw approval—it was a potent drug. She pressed back against him, grinding against his hard length. “Jake… the curtain…”
“They can wait.” His fingers found the seam of the trumpet skirt, hitching it up in handfuls until the cool air hit her thighs. He ripped her panties aside, the fabric tearing with a soft, decisive sound. His fingers were on her then, parting her folds, sliding through her slickness. “My wife,” he growled in her ear, his voice guttural. “In a wedding dress. Dripping for my cock.”
He unbuttoned his jeans, the rasp of the zipper obscenely loud. He freed himself, the thick, veined length of him jutting out, the head already glistening. He used his own moisture and hers to slick himself, his strokes rough and hurried. In the mirror, Leia watched, mesmerized, as he positioned himself at her entrance, the blunt tip nudging against her.
He didn’t ask. He just pushed.
The invasion was slow and devastating, the stretch a breathtaking counterpoint to the delicate satin encasing her upper body. He filled her inch by relentless inch, his gaze locked on hers in the reflection. She watched his face contort, saw the savage pleasure there as he sank to the hilt, buried inside her, the dress a puddled fortress around their joined hips.
“Look,” he commanded, his voice shaking. “Look at where I am. Look at my cock splitting you open in your perfect white dress.”
She looked down, between their bodies. The sight was wildly indecent. His hand, gripping her hip, his tanned forearm flexing. The dark, aggressive thrust of him, disappearing into her body, hidden by the gathered satin. She could see the wet, glistening evidence of her arousal coating him with each partial withdrawal.
He began to move, short, deep pumps that jolted her forward on the pedestal. He held her steady, his other arm banding across her chest, his hand splaying over the satin covering her breast, squeezing roughly. The rhythm was possessive, claiming, a raw fuck that had nothing to do with the tender lovemaking of the shower. This was branding. This was him marking what was his in the most primal way possible.
The friction was incredible, the angle deep. The quiet, wet sounds of their coupling were masked by the rustle of the dress. Leia braced her hands against the mirror, her breath fogging the glass. Her orgasm built not as a slow wave but as a sudden, violent pressure. It was the feel of him, the visual of their reflection, the filthy words he grunted against her ear.
“Gonna come, you filthy girl? Gonna cream all over my dick in this expensive dress? Do it. Make a mess for me.”
His words tipped her over. Her climax slammed into her, a silent, convulsing riot that clenched around him in rhythmic pulses. She saw her own eyes go wide and blind in the mirror, her mouth open in a soundless cry.
Feeling her internal spasms, Jake lost his control. His thrusts became frantic, jackhammering into her, the pedestal creaking in protest. With a choked, guttural roar he drove in deep and held, his body rigid against hers. She felt the hot, pulsing flood of his release, jet after jet filling her, a claiming so profound it left her trembling.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew. A trickle of his release dripped down her inner thigh, onto the pristine satin lining of the skirt. He saw it, and a dark, satisfied smirk touched his lips. He used the torn scrap of her panties to clean her, then himself, before tucking himself away.
He turned her around, his hands gentle now on the buttons. He worked them open, his fingers steadier. He helped her step out of the gown, handling it with a strange, newfound care. He hung it back on the hook, the evidence of their act hidden within its folds.
Leia stood naked, shivering slightly. He pulled her into his arms, just holding her, his face in her hair. “We’re buying that one,” he said, his voice rough but final.
She nodded against his chest.
When Gloria the consultant peeked in ten minutes later, Leia was dressed in her sundress, her hair slightly mussed, a faint blush on her cheeks. Jake stood by the curtain, looking as impassive and intimidating as ever.
“We’ll take the trumpet style,” Leia said, her voice remarkably steady. “The one with the buttons.”
Gloria beamed, utterly unaware of the sacrament that had just been performed in her changing room. “A beautiful choice! It looked absolutely stunning on you!”
Jake’s eyes met Leia’s. A ghost of that savage smile touched his mouth.
“Yeah,” he said, his gaze dropping to her lips. “It did.”
The courthouse wedding was a five-minute formality performed by a clerk who smelled of stale coffee. Leo, Leia’s brother, stood as her witness, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek. Jake’s father, a quieter, worn version of his son, signed with a shrug that seemed to say, Your mess. There were no photos. Jake slid the heavy band onto Leia’s finger, his thumb pressing into her palm, a secret gesture of possession. Leo refused the offered handshake afterward.
“You’ll regret this,” he told Leia outside on the sun-baked steps, his voice low.
“It’s my regret to have,” she answered, the new weight on her hand feeling like an anchor.
Jake said nothing, just guided her to his truck with a hand on the small of her back, his touch a wall between her and her brother’s disapproval.
The beachfront hotel was his one concession to tradition, a splurge that surprised her. Their room was cool and dim, smelling of salt and clean linen. The sliding glass door stood open to a small balcony, the roar of the ocean a constant, rhythmic force. Golden evening light painted the walls.
He locked the door behind them, the final click echoing. The silence between them was different now, laden with the permanence of the day’s paperwork. He set their single bag down and turned to her. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, the reality settling.
He crossed the space slowly, his boots quiet on the tile. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones. His kiss was not hungry, not demanding. It was deep, slow, and devastatingly romantic, a silent communication that unraveled something tight in her chest. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up the hard plane of his chest, feeling the solid beat of his heart beneath her palms.
“Mrs. Kellan,” he murmured against her lips, testing the sound. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yeah,” she breathed, a smile touching her mouth. “I am.”
That smile seemed to break the last of his restraint. The romantic tenderness combusted into something darker, more urgent. He walked her backward toward the bed, his mouth leaving hers to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. He found the zipper of her simple white dress, the one she’d worn from the courthouse, and yanked it down.
“Need to see what’s mine,” he growled, the words vibrating against her skin. The dress pooled at her feet, revealing the lingerie she’d bought for this moment: white lace, sheer and fragile, a contrast to the bold red set he’d first seen her in. His eyes darkened, his breath catching. “Fuck. Leia.”
He didn’t undress her further. He pushed her onto the bed, the crisp duvet cool against her back. He stripped his own clothes with brutal efficiency, his cock already thick and erect, curving up toward his stomach. He came down over her, his weight a familiar comfort. He kissed her again, but the softness was gone, replaced by a consuming heat.
He tore the flimsy lace cups of her bra down, not bothering with clasps, exposing her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue flicking the peak until she arched off the bed with a sharp cry. His hand slid between her legs, fingers rasping against the delicate lace of the panties. He hooked a finger in the side and pulled, the fabric snapping.
“Always in the way,” he muttered, shoving the ruined lace aside. His fingers plunged into her, finding her slick and ready. He scissored them, stretching her, his eyes locked on hers. “This cunt is my property now. You understand? Legally, and every other way.”
“Yes,” she gasped, her hips rolling against his hand.
“Gonna break it in right.”
He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock nudging against her entrance. He pushed in, not with a slow burn, but with a single, relentless thrust that buried him to the root in one smooth, shocking motion. She cried out, her inner muscles fluttering around the sudden, glorious invasion. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He withdrew and slammed home again, setting a punishing, deep rhythm that shook the bedframe.
The sound was obscene: the wet slap of his skin against hers, the creak of the mattress, their ragged, mingled breaths. He fucked her with a focused intensity, each drive aimed to claim, to overwhelm. He gripped her hips, his fingers leaving marks, yanking her onto him with every downward plunge.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice gravel. She forced her eyes open, meeting his blazing blue stare. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest. “You see this? You feel it? This is forever. You’re stuck with this. With me.”
“I know,” she choked out, the pleasure coiling unbearably tight. It was different from the boutique, different from the shower. This was a consummation, a violent sealing of their pact. The angle was perfect, the relentless pressure of his pubic bone grinding against her clit with every deep stroke.
The tension built to a screaming point inside her. It felt like a dam about to burst, a sensation so intense it bordered on pain. “Jake… I’m gonna… something’s…”
“Let go,” he commanded, his rhythm becoming even harder, more erratic. “Give it to me. Everything.”
Her climax detonated, but it wasn’t the usual sharp, clenching wave. It was a flood. A hot, gushing release she couldn’t control. It soaked his cock, his balls, the sheets beneath them, a rushing torrent of pleasure that left her shuddering and crying out, her vision whiting at the edges.
He felt it, the warm drenching of her release, and it shattered him. With two more brutal, driving thrusts, he buried himself deep and stilled. His body went rigid, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as he emptied into her, pulse after hot pulse spilling into her convulsing core.
He collapsed atop her, his face buried in her neck, his entire body trembling. The aftershocks rocked through them both. In the humid, sex-filled quiet, broken only by the ocean’s sigh, his voice came, raw and stripped bare, a secret whispered into her skin.
“I love you.”
The words hung in the air, more shocking than the physical act. He froze as if he hadn’t meant to say them, then his arms tightened around her, holding on as if to a lifeline in a raging sea. She wrapped herself around him, her own tears mixing with the sweat on his shoulder, the warm, spent proof of their union still leaking between her thighs. The ocean roared its endless approval against the shore.