“You’re mine,” he says. “Come for me, Hazel. Come on my cock.”
At this last command, I release, bucking beneath him as my body closes around him, hugging him and milking him as he releases as well, warm liquid pumping upwards, deep inside of me.
We both collapse on the bed now in the afterglow of the best sex we’ve ever had, legs tangled together, his cock still partially inside of me because even while soft, it’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.
“Say it again,” I say to him in a breathless whisper.
“Say what?”
“Tell me you love me.”
He smiles.
“I love you,” he says. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I close my eyes and smile too, happy beneath his weight, his scent, a part of him inside of me now.
“Now you say it again,” he says.
“I love you,” i reply.
“No. Not that,” he says. “Tell me you belong to me.”
“I belong to you, Vincent. I’m yours.”
Epilogue
Hazel
“If rainon your wedding day is good luck, what’s snow?”
“Frozen good luck,” Kristen answers authoritatively.
I look at my best friend in the reflection of the vanity mirror as she tweaks my hair, wrapping a strand of brown hair around the curling wand and then spritzing it with hairspray until it’s a satisfactory combination of “elegant and playful.”
Her words, not mine.
As my maid of honor, she’s been here for me since the beginning. When Vincent and I got back together, I expected her to react with shock. To try to talk me out of it, reminding me of the violent scene in the laundry room of the hotel at Startup Week NYC, reminding me of the painful breakup I’d endured a year before.
But my best friend was surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. Even more so after she met her own fiance, a close friend of Vincent’s who just happens to be his best man today. Together the four of us make quite the group. Two powerful men with unimaginable wealth and influence…and two curvy women blazing a trail of their own, determined to get their business off the ground organically, without the men in our lives pulling any strings to help us get ahead.
That’s right. Though Vincent and his friend offered multiple times, we refused to take their investment money. We trusted that our app would take off on its own, just by its own merit, by the fact that it’s a good idea with a lot of women who need it.
And we were right.
After Startup Week last year, we had investors flooding our email and phones. We got our pick of the lot, and went with a female-led VC firm that enables us to call the shots and maintain majority ownership over the company.
I think we made the right choice.
“You. Look. Amazing,” Kristen sighs, sitting next to me and looking at me in the mirror. “I can’t believe it. How is it already your wedding day? It seems like just yesterday, you were telling me how Vincent is dead to you, how you’reso totallyover him and ready to date again.”
I shudder.
“I was wrong,” I say, thinking of the creep who spilled his martini all over my dress back in NYC. The same night that I went to see Vincent, knowing he’d be in that familiar hotel room - the room that we’ve come to call ours.
The door of the bridal suite opens and the wedding planner pokes her head in.
“Oh, you look lovely!” she gushes. “It’s time. Remember - kick your dress out as you walk and -”
