He pistons his hips with vigor, and I moan again in response.
So freaking full. My heart. My dreams. My body. It’s all him.
Pain and pleasure mingle in an invigorating prickle that is drastically different than our first time. It’s no less raw and real, but this isn’t in the dark or in our private room. This is bold and beautiful and claiming. I’m not exposed here, half naked and hovering over the bustling streets.
I’m owned and seen and valued. Liberated. Like I’ve always craved.
He did it. Smashed every resolve and objection I had to pieces. All the proclamations he’s made in passing flit around me.
“I’ve always been hyperaware of your existence.”
“Everything I am is yours. Everything.”
“Is that what you think? That I don’t want you? That’s not possible. The issue is that I want you too much, Little Moon. I’ve been relegated to an eternal nightmare, and you are the one source of fucking light.”
This isn’t new for him either. He’s barely told me any details about his past, but that eternal nightmare is evident. So, I’ll be the light he needs. It will break my brothers and only solidify the outrage they would’ve pointed at Ty anyway. Even so, whether or not he’s giving me a choice, I’d make it anyway. Being Ty’s is what I’ve always wanted.
But I don’t say any of that because being fucked on this balcony and making him work for me is the freest I’ve ever felt.
With one hand burning into my hip, he snakes the other around me, slinking inside my sweetheart neckline until his fingers clasp my nipple, tinkering with the piercing in a delectable sting.
I purr appreciatively into the muted raucous of the streets far below us. “What’s the point of this? You can’t fuck a commitment out of me.”
The hand on my hip roams to the front, beneath my scrunched dress, and dips down to rouse my clit again. “Want to bet?” he goads. “You’re already succumbing to it—the way your body molds to mine and our heartbeats sync and your weeping cunt clenches mycock. There’s no denying it. By the time you pant my name, you’ll be confident in who you are.”
That strikes a chord because up until he arrived in Vegas, I’d never felt so lost. But he found me—in more ways than one.
It takes a beat for me to respond because his pumps and slams have picked up their pace, his mammoth cock hitting the bull’s-eye every freaking time. Due to that perfect aim and the foray on my clit, I’m nearly heady enough to surrender. But what kind of fool would I be if I didn’t milk this while also being able to claim that I did my due diligence, investigating the wisdom of this life-altering decision?
“Why don’t you spill the goods? I’ve been a little lost, Ty. Who am I?”
“My wife,” he replies without reservation. “I told you, you’ll never be lost again. True north, Little Moon.”
“I’m not your wife yet.” That retort unfurls with a quiver because the city lights are blurring into a streaky rainbow, obscuring all else. Including any coherent thoughts.
“You are,” he says, thrusting so fiercely that the railing cuts into my ribs and my whimpers enwrap us. “Shh,” he coos. “You’re doing so good, taking all of me.”Pump.“I wish you could see this.”Slam.“How perfect we fit.”Harder.“How stunning we look.”More.“You were made for me.”
Made for him.I love that. But I’m not sure I understand the rest.
“What do you mean, Iamyour wife?” I rush out as I feel my body crest the euphoric wave. Heated and weightlessness. Floating and flying.
His rhythm never wavers as he explains, “This ceremony is just a formality. You’re already my wife, Rena. I drew up the paperwork, signed it for us, backdated it to yesterday, and filed it. So, it’s done. I did this for you. And someday, I’ll give you the wedding of your dreams.”
I wish I could be furious about that. Livid. But he wanted to ensure I was his so much that he executed a hostile takeover with amarriage license, and his orgasm gifts are out of this world, so who am I to complain?
Everything sways and fades and topples around us.
I’m about to inform him that I’m going to come when he hits me with, “Tell me you know who you are, or it all stops. I’m only interested in fucking my wife.”
“Yours, Ty,” I squeak. “Mrs. Reynolds. Don’t stop.”
His hold on me tightens everywhere so that his warmth and weight and scent trump every other element out here. All I feel is him. And all I want is him.
“That’s my good girl,” he praises, wrenching my face to his so that he can stare into my eyes as we plummet off the edge together—the metaphorical edge, of course. Or that would be an unfortunate outcome.
He kisses me wildly, as though he wants to lap up my very soul, but I’m finding that theafterwith Ty is as passionate as the buildup and even the leap off the summit. How could I not say yes to this?
“I have no doubt that I want to study that gorgeous face for the rest of my life.”
