Stella leads me back to our wedding reception like we weren’t just falling apart in each other’s orgasms.
We take our time, dancing and mingling with guests. I order a whiskey from the bartender, my eyes drawn to the dance floor.
Stella, Ansel, and Blythe have become inseparable. Stella looks like she just stepped out of a bridal magazine, twirling in the middle of her two best friends. They’re a mix of chaos and sunshine, the three of them. I can’t help but stare at my wife. Her smile lights up any room—and it always pulls me out of the darkest ones.
My gaze shifts across the room. I spot Theo—and Mac—both locked on Ansel. The girl is beautiful, sure, but she’s chaos wrapped in bubble gum pink. Not Mac’s usual type, which makes the way he’s undressing her with his eyes even more interesting.
Then there’s Blythe’s husband, parked in a chair with one leg out, a beer dangling from his fingers. His expression is... off. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. And the way he’swatching his wife—arms lifted, spinning under the lights—his face twists into something close to hate.
Why any man would look at her like that is beyond me.
Suddenly, I hear Ansel shriek from across theroom: “FRIENDSHIP NEVER ENDS!”She’s singingWannabeby the Spice Girls at full volume—and using it to remind me exactly where I stand.
I take that as my cue to walk over to the chaos. I hug Blythe and Ansel, pulling them both in.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “For being part of Stella’s life.”
Then I wrap my arms around my wife’s waist and pull her close. She melts into me, and I kiss her slowly. The DJ starts playing something soft. Everything else fades—guests, music, lights—and it’s just the two of us, drifting in each other’s arms.
“Stella, baby,” I murmur, brushing my lips against hers, “let’s go back to the hotel.”
She smiles, wicked and warm. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
She grabs my hand, but instead of heading for the exit, she tugs me toward Ansel.
“Oh, fuck—I have to do the bouquet toss first.”
Ansel claps her hands, rounding everyone up. A few single women shuffle into place, laughing. Stella turns her back to them, lifts the bouquet… and gently tosses it—directly to Ansel.
Ansel screeches like she just won the damn lottery.
And across the room, Theo looks like he’s calculating the exact trajectory to the nearest exit.
We say our goodbyes and head back to our honeymoon suite.
She walks a step ahead, dress still wrinkled from when she rode me into the floorboards earlier. My hand finds the small of her back like it always does, like I need that contact or I’ll lose my damn mind. Because the truth is, I haven’t recovered since the storage room.
Not from the way she straddled me on that crate of locally brewed beer like she had something to prove. Like sheknewI wouldn’t last long once she started riding me like that—whispering filth against my throat, taking every drop of my orgasm with that fucking look in her eyes.
And yeah, maybe I’d gone into that room thinking I’d be the one wrecking her. But she got there first. She took control like she owned me, and I let her.
Now we’re back in the suite, the door clicking shut behind us, and it’s like the air changes. Piece by piece, she peels the night off her body. Her heels hit the floor with a thud, one after the other—like a warning. She slides off her earrings, eyes locked on mine, and sets them down like a dare. Then the veil floats to the dresser, light as a whisper—the final piece of tradition falling away.
She unzips her dress, lets it fall to the floor, and walks toward me in nothing but her garter and the kind of look that makes me forget how to speak.
My mouth goes dry—my pulse stutters. I don’t move—can’t—because if I touch her now, I’ll ruin the moment. And maybe that’s the point. Perhaps she wants me ruined.
“Stella,” I manage, voice wrecked.
She steps in close, presses her palm to my chest. “Don’t talk,” she whispers. “Just feel.”
Then her fingers slide under the lapel of my jacket—slow and unhurried. She peels it off my shoulders drops it to the floor like it’s in the way. Her hands find the buttons of my shirt, working them open one by one, knuckles brushing my skin like fire.
“I want to see you,” she says—soft but commanding.
I let her undress me.
Let her strip away every layer until there’s nothing left between us but heat and history and the way she looks at me like I’m hers.
