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Eventually, he let go of my face and took my hands.
I did not hear a word that the officiant said. Not a single one. I must have participated since we were married at the end, but I hadn’t comprehended what I was saying beyond knowing that I was binding myself to Jay.
There was one line that stuck out.
“Till death.”
Wren decided on taking out the ‘do us part’ bit of that since she’d decided even death wasn’t bad or wicked enough to go up against Jay.
Till death it was. And beyond that.
Then there was the kiss. The kiss that was definitely not intended for public consumption. There might have been applause, I wasn’t sure. Because I was Jay’s wife.
Till death.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I breathed.
“You’re my wife, it’s my job to be doing this,” Jay replied, his voice thick, my dress bunched in his fist. My custom Vera Wang bunched in his fist. Something that might’ve bothered me if Jay wasn’t currently fucking me against the wall in one of the rooms of the house Wren had rented—well, hopefully rented and not bought—for the wedding. Not even in one of the rooms far away from our wedding reception. Apparently, Jay hadn’t wanted to take an extra minute to gain some distance when he all but dragged me off after we were pronounced man and wife.
Man and wife.
Which was why I hadn’t protested to him dragging me off, bunching up my Vera Wang and making me come loudly with all of my friends and family drinking champagne on the other side of the wall.
Jay’s eyes were glued to mine, radiant intensity pouring out of them.
I clenched my hands against the lapels of his suit as my orgasm rushed over me.
“Don’t you dare close your fucking eyes,” he demanded the second I started to squeeze my eyes shut.
I kept my eyes open, watching as he lost himself inside of me.
“If I could’ve said my vows with my cock inside of you, I would’ve,” he murmured, stroking my face.
“I think that would’ve made for an interesting wedding video,” I snickered.
Jay didn’t laugh, of course. He was too busy doing his intense, heart breaking, panty melting thing.
“I don’t worship, don’t believe there is a higher power, and if there is, I know I’m damned.” His voice was rough against my skin, against my heart. “But you, your pussy clenching around me, that’s my church. That’s my fucking place of worship.”
Then he kissed me.
Then, the world ceased to exist.
Eventually, he pulled out of me, set me down on an armchair while he went to the adjoining bathroom to get a washcloth. He cleaned me efficiently, gently, slowly, causing me to quiver every time the washcloth moved over me.
Somehow, magically, my dress got nary a stain. It was the magic of Vera. It was the magic of being man and wife.
Till death.
It was while I was straightening Jay’s suit, I found it.
“What’s this?” I wondered out loud, moving my hands around Jay’s torso, brushing against something cold, hard and foreign.
Jay grabbed my wrists and pulled them back.
I glared at him and pushed his suit back to see the holster he was wearing, the kind they wore in movies, except this was very fucking real.
“You’re wearing a gun on our wedding day?” I questioned, my voice low.
“Yes, Stella, I’m wearing a gun on our wedding day,” he replied coldly. There was a challenge in his tone. Not an ounce of apology.
He was daring me to say more, to talk about the absurdity of the groom being armed on his wedding day. On our wedding day.
Why hadn’t I expected this? I’d gone in knowing everything, the guns, the streets, the Russian fucking Mob. This was the most important day of our lives, the most special. It was pretty important that the both of us remained alive, and Jay would do anything to keep my safe. Including reciting his vows with a gun strapped to his body.
I leaned in to kiss him, tilting my head up, laying my lips on his gently at first then more passionately. He responded hungrily, despite what we’d just done. He kissed me back like we hadn’t seen each other in years.
We stopped, eventually, even though I would’ve been happy to drown in that kiss. “We should get to our reception,” I grumbled, my hands smoothing down his lapels.
Jay’s eyes were green stones. “If that’s what my bride wants,” he conceded in a hoarse voice.
“What I want is a bed, you and to be out of this dress,” I whispered. Jay’s hands flexed at my hips. “But,” I continued, “Wren will straight up murder us, even with your gun, if we ditched her ‘reception that will make the royal family call me to plan all their future wedding, which of course I’d never fucking do after what they did to Meghan,’ ” I said with a pretty spot-on Wren impersonation if I did say so myself.
