My gaze drops to her mouth, painted soft pink. Then lower, to where the dress dips just enough to hint at the swell of her breasts. The lace overlay creates patterns on her skin that I want to trace with my tongue.
Focus.
But how can I focus when she's standing there in white, looking like every dark fantasy I've tried to bury? The bride in her wedding dress, about to become mine in the eyes of God and law.
My cock hardens. Here. In church. At the altar.
I shift my stance, grateful for the suit jacket's coverage.
"The rings?" Father Miguel asks.
Nico steps forward from his position near Pietro, producing two simple gold bands. We kept them basic. No time for customization with the rushed timeline.
I take Sophia's hand. Her fingers tremble slightly as I slide the ring on.
"With this ring, I thee wed," I repeat after Father Miguel, but the traditional words feel insufficient.
With this ring, I claim you. With this ring, I promise to burn down anyone who threatens you. With this ring, I swear you'll never spend another night afraid.
Sophia takes my ring from Nico. Her eyes meet mine as she pushes it onto my finger.
"With this ring, I thee wed."
Her voice stays steady, but I see the storm beneath. The questions. The doubts. The fear that this is all pretense.
If you could see inside my head, piccola, you'd run screaming from this church.
Because right now, all I can think about is lifting that dress. Spreading her across the altar. Claiming her while she's still wearing white, still?—
"You may kiss the bride," Father Miguel announces.
Finally.
I cup Sophia's face, my thumb brushing her cheek. She tilts her chin up, lips parting slightly.
The kiss must be casual since we have an actual audience now.
But the moment our lips touch, control shatters.
I deepen the kiss, one hand tangling in her veil while the other pulls her against me. She makes a soft sound and her hands grip my jacket.
The photographer starts snapping pictures
Someone clears their throat. Pietro, probably.
I pull back. Sophia's lipstick is smudged, her pupils dilated.
"Congratulations," Father Miguel says, though he looks scandalized. "May God bless your union."
"Just a few more," the photographer promises. "These need to look perfect for tonight's release."
Sophia poses like she was born for this, smiling at the camera, leaning into me at just the right angle. But I feel the tension in her body, the performance she's maintaining.
"One more by the altar," the photographer directs.
I pull Sophia back to where we stood moments ago. The photographer adjusts his lens while Pietro checks his phone, probably coordinating tomorrow's reception security.
The compound feels different when we return. Giulia has strung white lights through the dining room, and fresh flowers sit on every surface.
