I grinned like the brat I was and dragged my own hands over my hips, waist, ribcage, until I tugged the neckline of my dress down over my tits, cupping them just enough to make him lose his mind. “So possessive. I married a caveman.”
He tugged me even closer. “You married a man who knows how to make you come in three minutes flat.”
“Two, if you use your mouth,” I shot back. “Which I know you’re dying to.”
He snarled, grabbed my hips, and flipped me onto my stomach in one motion. The dress twisted beneath me, silky and disheveled, exposing my bare legs, the air hitting the damp lace between my thighs. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even pretend to.
Callum dragged me back until my hips hovered off the edge of the bed, feet planted on the tile floor. The position forced my back into an arch, back, my hands braced on the sheets in front of me. I could barely catch my breath, let alone stop the laugh that escaped, flushed and aching, the sudden movement jolting heat straight to my core.
“Callum—oh my God?—”
“We just got married,” he growled behind me, his breath hot at the nape of my neck. “So now I get to do this. Whenever andhoweverI want.”
“This is ridiculous,” I managed, squirming as I looked back over my shoulder.
His voice dropped, guttural. “So’s this fucking dress.”
He reached between my shoulder blades and traced the open edge of the backless design, fingertips dragging down until he hit the small of my spine. His other hand reached for the tartan again. A symbol that bound our vows. That boundmeto him now.
In one smooth, practiced motion, he caught my wrists behind my back and began tying them. The fabric was snug but never cruel.
I didn’t fight it, because he had me in my favorite position: submissive and pliant to his demands. I’d be rewarded for making him feel good, and I couldn’t fucking wait.
“I was going to change first,” I teased, half breathless, half teasing. “At least let me out of the dress.”
“No, it’s too late for that,” he grunted. “Leave it on.”
A shiver rippled down my spine.
Then his fingertips brushed across the garter—the one he gave to me before I walked down the aisle. He groaned as he traced it up my thigh, fingers featherlight, reverent, like he was touching something sacred. Then he crouched low, and my knees almost buckled when his stubble scraped the inside of my thigh.
He groaned like a man possessed, then captured the thin lace of the garter between his teeth and dragged it down slowly, inch by inch, until it slipped free and fell uselessly to the floor.
“You wore it,” he breathed, voice wrecked. His breath brushed my skin, a gentle graze that made me tremble.
“Of course I did,” I whimpered. “You wanted me to. And who am I to deny you, mari?”Husband.
He rose again, trailing his hand up between my legs. His fingers found the soaked fabric of my panties and pressed—just once—then again, lower this time, slower, until I was grinding helplessly into his palm, hips rocking forward without permission.
“Good girl,” he murmured, thumb circling through the damp lace. “My perfect wife.”
My breath turned erratic. My thighs trembled. Heat pulsed through me in slow, overwhelming waves as my body answered him without hesitation—arching, opening, chasing. Every nerve felt tuned to him, every sensation amplified by the certainty that this pleasure was mine now. Ours. Forever.
I let myself sink into it, into him, into the knowledge that I belonged here—tied, open, loved like this. That I would give him everything, gladly. That I trusted him with every soft, exposed part of me.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, voice rough with awe. “Soaked through already.”
My head dropped forward with a gasp, forehead pressing into the sheets as I melted under his touch. “For you,” I mumbled, barely coherent. “Always for you, husband.”
Callum chuckled darkly, pressing his forehead to the small of my back. “Say that again.”
“My husband.”
“Again.”
“Mon champion.” My voice cracked as his fingers pushed the lace aside and found my slick heat. “Sir. Mon amour. S’il te plaît?—”
“You want me to take you like this?” he growled, fucking me with two thick fingers, slow and deep andsosmug. “Still in your wedding dress, wrists tied with the ribbon that sealed our vows?”
