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Chapter 27
David
There’s something strange about standing in a church full of people who are, down to the last fucking second possible, still waiting for you to fuck up.
Jokes on you, motherfuckers. If there’s one thing that I’ll do right for the rest of my life, it’s Vivienne.
Oh, I’ll do her all kinds of right. Especially once the ceremony’s over and I’ve got her all to myself. I haven’t seen the dress yet—much less Vivienne in it—but somehow, that doesn’t stop me from imagining exactly how it’s going to look hiked up over her waist while I bend her over the cake table later.
It’s bad luck, of course, seeing the bride before the wedding. But imagining those long, slender legs of hers giving out while I stuff all twelve inches of royal man-meat into her pussy…
Well, if she looks even half as perfect as the cathedral where we’ll be saying our vows, my cock will end up splitting my tuxedo pants before I even get a chance to get my belt undone.
Everything looks perfect today actually, which is, I can assure you one hundred fucking percent Vivienne’s doing. If it wasn’t for the crowd of people staring me down like vultures waiting to go in for the kill, the whole shebang would be too immaculate to be real.
Which—what the fuck, actually? It’s like everyone’s still expecting me to parade strippers wearing only the flag of my great kingdom down the aisle in the place of bridesmaids and dish out vows so dirty the priest will excommunicate himself out of shame.
Haven’t I proven myself by now? I certainly think so—and, come on, I know you agree.
I’m a changed man now that I have Vivienne—for good.
Plus, it’s way too fucking far into the book for me to be pulling shit like that now. Come on, seriously. You know the drill.
If I was going to fuck this up, I would have done it eight chapters ago—and actually, come to think…I did.
But that’s behind us now.
If I still have amends to make, I’ll make them in the royal bedchamber to the sound of Vivienne moaning my name for the first time as my lawfully wedded wife.
Exactly how it should be.
I’m not about to fuck things up now.
When I see her…I swear to fucking Christ, I hear the seam of my trousers creak threateningly.
Ladies and gentlemen…my bride.
She looks perfect. She always looks fucking perfect. She could be walking down the aisle toward me in a goddamn potato sack—something that, in fact, I did suggest during some of the more agonizing days of dress fittings.
But it’s not about how she looks anymore. Not really. I’ll never get used to the way seeing her steals the breath right out of my fucking throat—that’s a given.
But she’s so much more than her sultry lips, curved into a smug little smile as she walks down the aisle toward me. She’s more than the sparkle in her eyes and the way her hair falls over her shoulders just so...
As much as my past self might hate to admit it, she’s more than that gorgeous rack of hers, too—even though it looks so fucking fine in her gown that it ought to be a sin.
She’s the only woman who could ever put up with my bullshit.
The only woman who could ever make me better. Stronger. An improved man because of all of it.
Winning her love wasn’t fucking easy. I’m still not even sure that I deserve it. But if she’s willing to pledge it to me today…I’d be the world’s biggest fucking jackass if I didn’t accept it.
And, not to worry—I’ll be pledging mine right back, with my title and kingdom along for the ride.
“You’re staring,” Vivienne whispers as she comes to my side.
“Do you blame me?” I ask because if she does, she’s fucking insane.
Vivienne Taylor is a woman who was made to be stared at.
