Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“Yes, you will.” My tone doesn’t leave any room for negation. I cup her face in my large hands, forcing her to look up and meet my eyes. “You’ll take every single gift I give you, Cory. This ring, the financial security, and you’ll take the brand-new car sitting in your parking spot in the garage right now.”
“A car?” she echoes. A stunned laugh breaks through her tears. “Dom, please. I don’t need all of this.”
“This isn’t up for discussion,” I cut off her protest. “Listen to me. I love you, Cory. I care about you more than I care about anything else in this world. I want you safe, I want you taken care of, and you deserve everything this world has to offer you and so much more. You don’t have to earn it from me or anyone else. It’s yours because you hold my heart in your hands.” Christ, the confession feels like a physical weight is being lifted off my shoulders. A declaration I’ve been burying for far too long, for weeks in fact. Cory stares at me, the tears spilling over her lashes, gliding down her flushed cheeks. They aren’t tears of sadness, though. They’re pure, overwhelming relief. The doubt that clouded her gaze for days slowly dissipates, replaced by a fierce, burning intensity.
“I love you, too. God, Dom, I love you so much,” she whispers, her voice trembling with happiness.
That’s all I needed to hear. I lean down, catching her lips with mine, destroying the last semblance of distance between us. I deepen the kiss, entirely consuming her. It doesn’t matter that we’re in a semi-public place. What I want is her. What I need is her, right here, right now.
“Taking you, sweetheart. Out here in the open,” I mumble against her lips. A soft sigh escapes her mouth, and my tongue slips in. My hands grasp the back of her thighs, lifting her with ease. She arches into me, hand tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me into her as if she can’t get close enough. I move us to the outdoor couch, hands slipping beneath the skirt of her dress and finding soft, smooth skin.
“Dom.” Her head tips once her back meets the cushions, and I push the fabric up.
“Want you in nothing but my ring, sweetheart.” She lifts her hips, helping me pull the dress up and over her head. She’s left in a pair of lace panties and a sheer bra.
“You too, well, not the ring, but soon enough.” I work her panties off her body, throwing them to the ground, and once she’s naked, she attacks my clothes. I do my best to help her out, but when she gets like this, so worked up, it’s best if I let her take over. By the time she’s discarded my shirt, my pants, and my boxers, she’s straddling my lap, her hand with my ring on her finger is above my heart, and her soaking wet cunt is gliding along the underside of my cock.
“Take me, Cory. Fuck my cock with that hot little pussy.” She lifts up, hovering above my dick for the barest second before she slams down, all the way down on my length. I let her play for a while, and when she gets close, I take over, fucking her until we both come apart without anything between us or holding us back.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
corinne
Today is the day. We’re at the courthouse, and this is where we’ll say our vows. There’s something to be said about the polished marble halls, the gleaming wood, and shined-to-perfection brass. And while we could have waited to do this with a traditional event, neither of us wanted that. Our family and friends are all we need. Nothing big and flamboyant appeals to us. I’ll save that for the flashy cars, impeccable watches, and exuberant vacations my future husband likes to splurge on so much.
I’m standing in the corridor wearing a stunning vintage cream-colored floor-length dress. The fabric drapes elegantly over my curves, hanging intentionally off one shoulder to expose my bare skin, begging for Dom’s touch. A delicate short birdcage veil, another vintage touch, drapes gracefully to the side of my face, partially covering me. My hair is swept up in a neat, low bun, and my makeup is entirely understated—a few swipes of mascara, a touch of blush, and a lip color that I knew wouldn’t leave a smudge when the time came.
Everything should be perfect, looking amazing on the outside, except a heavy weight sits in the center of my chest. A deep melancholy presses against my ribs every time I look toward the heavy wooden doors of the courtroom.
My mom couldn’t make it.
Her health, the distance, the sheer logistics of a sudden courthouse ceremony—all of the odds stacked up against us, and the empty space feels like a physical ache.