Chapter 16: The Wedding Night
The door clicks shut behind us and I've got my back against it before I can draw a breath. Emily presses into me, her hands flat on my chest, her mouth finding mine. Her lips are still salty-sweet, the taste of other men clinging to them, and I kiss her back because she's my wife now, because this is the moment we waited for, because the sweetness on her tongue is hers and that makes it mine.
Her white gown is already half-unzipped. I hadn't remembered it coming loose. Her fingers work at my bow tie, then my shirt buttons, all while her hips grind slow against mine in a rhythm I've only ever watched her use on someone else.
"Let me get you out of this," I breathe.
She smiles. "You first."
I let her undress me. She pops each button on my shirt like she's unwrapping something she's been promised. My chest bares under her palms, and she rides her hands down my ribs, over my belt, her fingers catching on the leather.
"Someone's been waiting," she says, and her hand presses against the growing tent in my trousers.
I am. I've been waiting since before we were old enough to know what waiting meant. I've been waiting through every lesson, every session, every night I lay in my dorm bed with her moans playing on a loop behind my eyes. And now she's finally, finally mine.
She undoes my belt. The buttons. My trousers fall, and my briefs follow, and my cock springs up, hard and small against my belly as I step out of the fabric pooling at my ankles. Three inches, fully rigid. It's all I've ever had, all she's ever been promised.
Emily drops to her knees.
She looks up at me with those wide hazel eyes and parts her lips and takes me in her mouth. There's nothing for her to work with, no length to swallow, no width to stretch her jaw. She inhales me like a sip of water, my entire cock vanishing past her lips to rest against her tongue, and I feel the base of me pressed against her soft, pink mouth.
"Em," I gasp, and my hips jerk.
That's all it takes. The wet heat of her, the sight of my bride kneeling before me in her white lace bra and panties, the realization that her tongue is on my flesh at last. I cum instantly, shooting into the vault of her mouth before I can warn her, before I can prepare her, before I can do anything but shudder and groan and grip the doorframe behind me for support.
She takes it. All of it. Her throat works around me, swallowing, and when she pulls back, my cock is slick, spent, softening, and she's smiling up at me with a glisten on her chin.
"Easy there, husband," she says.
I help her up. "Sorry. I didn't... it's been a long day."
"Long week." She touches my face. "Stand there and watch."
She turns away from me and I watch her reach back behind herself. Her fingers find her zipper and work it the rest of the way down, and she lets the white gown slide forward off her shoulders. It pools around her feet in a heap of satin and lace. She steps out of it wearing her bra, white and delicate, and a pair of white panties cut high on her hips.
"You're beautiful," I say.
Emily smiles at me over her shoulder. Then she unhooks her bra, letting the cups fall away, and her breasts spill free, pale and full, tight with the flush of the evening. She lets the straps fall down her arms and drops the bra to the floor.
She bends over to slip her panties down.
The sight hits me like a fist. Her bare ass cheeks spread as she folds at the waist, and there, between them, is the gaping crater of her asshole. The hilt of that tattoo, the words Blacks Only in stark black ink across her lower back. And below it, the hole itself, no longer a tight seal but an open, dark ring of slick flesh, permanently slack, permanently loose, yawning at me like a mouth that learned to speak a language I never wanted to learn.
I stand frozen on the carpet as she peels her panties down her thighs, and I watch the evidence of every lesson my wife endured written on her body.
She straightens, turns, and for a moment I'm looking at the other tattoo. The queen of spades perches above her bare cunt, a spade rendered in black on the pale canvas of her skin. Her pussy is shaved clean, plump and parted, slick with moisture that isn't mine. The little gold ring of her clit piercing glints in the moonlight.
"See something you like?" she asks.
I can't answer. I just look at her, my bride, and see the marks of twenty men and the hole that will never seal shut again.
She pads toward the bed and lies down on her back, her knees falling apart in an open welcome. Missionary. The position I dreamed about for years, the one I imagined for our wedding night when we were still in high school and her body was still a rumor I was saving for this exact moment.
"Come here," she says softly. "Make love to me."
I cross the room, climb onto the bed, and settle between her thighs. My cock is hard again, impossibly, stirred by what I saw and by the terrifying truth that it turns something in me I can't name. I position myself at her entrance.
She's open. Even before I push, I can see the way her pussy is slack-gaped, the walls slick and yielding, the product of the fist and the cocks and the relentless use that were all supposed to be practice for this. Supposed to be practice for me.
I push inside.
There's no resistance. No tight ring catching my crown, no maidenhead to break, no sweet clench of virgin muscle welcoming its first visitor. My cock slides deep into my wife, and I feel nothing. She's wet, impossibly wet, her channel a loose, smooth sleeve of heat that can't feel me at all. I'm inside her, I'm wrapped in her, I'm where I've waited eighteen years to be, and I feel nothing but the slap of my pelvis against hers, the slick slide of my cock in a cunt that's been stretched too wide to know I'm there.
"Mmm," Emily hums. She arches her back, her eyes half-lidded, her hands finding my hips. "There you are. Finally inside me."
I pump. Two thrusts, quick, desperate, and I'm coming. My whole body seizes, my hips jackhammering involuntarily, my cock spurting its small, pathetic load deep inside her broken-open hole. I grunt, I shudder, I collapse onto my forearms, and it's over. The thing I waited for. The wedding night. The consummation. It lasted four seconds and I felt none of it.
My head drops beside hers on the pillow. I'm panting, trembling, my face buried in her neck.
She strokes the back of my head, soft and tender. "There, there," she whispers. "It's okay. We did it."
I close my eyes. My cock is shrinking inside her, slipping out on its own, and she doesn't even clench around it to hold me there.
Then she whispers, hushed and warm against my ear.
"You're going to be a daddy."
I freeze. My eyes snap open. I push up off my elbows and stare down at her face, at her innocent, beautiful, beaming smile. A daddy. A father.
"You're sure?" I hear myself say. "We... we just..."
She takes my hand and guides it down to her stomach. It's soft beneath my palm. But as my fingers press in, I feel it. The beginning of a swell. A firm, round hardness that I didn’t notice when I held her at the altar. The hint of a curve pushing against my hand.
"Lucy helped me figure it out," Emily says. "I stopped taking my pills a while ago, just to practice. And when the test came back positive, I almost told you. But I wanted to wait. I wanted to see your face."
I stare at her stomach. Gently, I run my palm over the swelling flesh. A baby. A child. Something is growing inside her, taking root in that ruined channel, nurtured by a womb that's been flooded by every man she practiced with.
"Are you happy?" she asks.
I look down at my wife. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are still kissed raw by strangers. Her body carries tattoos I never asked for and a hole that will never close and a child that isn’t mine.
I think about the taste of semen on her mouth at the reception. The cum on her thigh under the garter. The FaceTime call where she smiled at me while men used her body like a set of holes.
And I look at the swell of her stomach. Our future. Our family. Something that is finally, truly, undeniably ours.
"Yes," I say. "I'm happy."
She beams up at me, and in the moonlight filtering through the curtains, she looks like an angel. A fallen one, maybe. But mine. Forever mine.
I lower my head and kiss her belly, and I feel the tiny, firm roundness under my lips. Life. New life. The proof that everything we did, everything we endured, was for this.
"You're going to be a beautiful mother," I whisper.
Emily runs her fingers through my hair. "And you're going to be a wonderful father."
I don't know if that's true. I know the baby isn’t mine but maybe Kaleb's or one of the twenty men's from the football team or the fraternity's. I don't know if I'll ever touch her again without feeling the ghosts of other cocks inside her. But I know I love her. I know I'll raise this child as my own.
And I know that tomorrow morning, she'll wake up next to me, and we'll be a family.