Smiling, Brandon nods, then turns his attention to me. “And do you, Octavia Ruth Hodkins, take Knight Anderson Taylor to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and obey, to promise and care for, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
I open my lips to say no. To deny him. To scream that this is all wrong, that Knight and I barely know each other, that he’s insane and I’m vulnerable, and that this is all ridiculous. But then the weight of the promise Knight just made starts to sink in. I’ve only been to a handful of weddings before, but I’ve watched them on TV and in movies, and the vows Brandon just asked Knight to make aren’t the same ones he asked of me.
He asked Knight to vow to protect and worship me, to care for and honor me. Then he asked me to love and obey Knight, to promise to care for him, and even though I know I should, I don’t say no. I don’t denounce this wedding or those vows, or who I am to Knight and who he is to me. I don’t end this madness even though I should. Instead, I do the thing I absolutely shouldn’t do.
I say, “I do.”
Knight reacts the moment the words slip from my lips. I glance down just in time to see him slipping a ring onto my finger before he drops my hand and reaches for my face. Cupping my cheeks in his huge palms, he leans forward and captures my lips with his.
The pounding of my heart and his seems to find synchronicity, beating in time while his tongue slips into my mouth, and his hands curl themselves around both my face and my soul. Softly laughing, Brandon continues to speak, but I don’t think either of us hears anything else he says until “It’s my greatpleasure to pronounce you husband and wife” permeates my mind.
Not releasing me for several more moments, Knight finally pulls away, ending the kiss to rest his forehead against mine. Two long moments pass until the other man—whom I haven’t been introduced to—clears his throat and steps forward, a manila folder in one hand and a pen in the other.
“Thank you, Roger,” Brandon says, taking it from him and opening it.
Knight repositions me so I’m pinned against his chest, his arms keeping me close, even though I’m not trying to get away. I can feel the feral, frenetic energy pulsing from him, and my pussy clenches and tightens, reminding me I’m not wearing any underwear.
Gesturing to the sofa and the small coffee table in front of it, Brandon sits, placing a sheaf of papers down onto the table.
Practically carrying me the few steps to the couch, Knight sits, pulls me onto his lap, then reaches around me and takes the pen Brandon is holding outstretched toward us. Signing his name on the parts of the paperwork Brandon points to, he passes the pen to me, then shuffles forward in the seat, not releasing me, but allowing me to get close enough to sign the paperwork without me having to move.
In the deep recesses of my mind, I know this is a chance for me to protest. If I don’t sign the paperwork, then none of this is official. We might have said “I do,” but it’s just an act, a play without the legal documentation.
But instead of taking the opportunity to get out of this, my arm moves without my permission. I’m confident that it’s not really me who signs my name, because it can’t be me who is willingly changing my fate and marrying a stranger. But as I hand the pen back to Brandon and stare down at the papers, it’s right there. My name. My consent. My choice.
“Congratulations,” Brandon says happily, shuffling the papers together neatly before placing them back in the folder and handing them off to the woman who rushes forward to take them. “I’m so happy for the two of you. Are you having a reception or doing anything to celebrate?”
“Not today,” Knight tells him. “This was just for us. I’ll send you an invite when we decide to celebrate with our friends and family. Right now, though?—”
Brandon’s slow smile and twinkling eyes tell me he knows exactly what Knight wants to do right now, and it’s not small talk and party plans. Holding his hands up, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry. I can see we’re outstaying our welcome. We should file all these papers and make this all legal anyway. But again, congratulations to you both, and I’ll look forward to that invitation. We’ll see ourselves out,” he says, slapping Knight on the shoulder, before winking at me, standing, then striding over to his colleagues and leading the three of them back out the way they came in.
“Oh, my…” My words and chain of thought dry up as Knight lifts me up, pulls his dick out of his pants, parts my thighs, then spears me with his cock, dragging me down his length until my butt is on his lap and I’m gasping from the shock of being full of his dick.
Curling one arm around my waist, he uses his grip on me to slide me up and down his dick, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing fast and frantic as he fucks me, until just like he promised I would, I orgasm, screaming so loudly that if he had neighbors, they would definitely have heard.
“I can’t believe…” I pant, my forehead slick with sweat, my thighs shaking as he slowly relaxes his hold on my waist, allowing my legs to collapse and my body to slump back into his chest. “What we just did.”
“I’ve made you orgasm seven times during intercourse before now. I don’t understand why that would be unbelievable,” Knight states, barely breathing hard.
“That’s not…I mean…” I stumble over my words, my heart racing, my chest heaving up and down.
“I apologize for not having Brandon perform the entire ceremony while you were sitting on my cock, but it seemed appropriate to stand for such an auspicious occasion. I know I also promised to make you come the moment you were legally mine, but I wasn’t willing to allow Brandon or his associates to see my wife’s needy little pussy.”
“We just…You just…I just,” I struggle to speak, embarrassed and shocked, and almost too orgasm sloppy to talk.
“Got married and had sexual intercourse. Yes,” he says so matter-of-factly that his voice sounds normal, with not a hint of him being out of breath, even though my own chest is still heaving with exertion.
“Oh my god,” I pant, suddenly dragged back to reality and the reminder that we just got married. What did we do? What did I do? “Was that all legal?” I gasp.
“Legal?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly. “Our wedding?”
“Yes. Did we really just get married? Or was that just…I don’t know a show, or a scene to make the sex better?” I ask, unsure what I want him to tell me.
“Judge Lodge owed me a favor. Our wedding was perfectly legal. We’re married,” he states, a smile curling the sides of his lips.
“No,” I whisper.
“Mrs. Taylor.”
