I have to admit it—Grace did a spectacular job organizing our wedding. Every detail was flawless. The banquet was rich and warm, the laughter around the tables endless, and the party that followed? Unforgettable. People danced, drank, cried—we cried. Derek and Sebastian found a way to tease Nate by pulling me out of his reach each time he tried to dance with me. For a while, I was able to forget what tomorrow meant.
But now, in the quiet that follows the celebration, the weight of it returns. I can see it in Nate’s eyes. The way his smile doesn’t quite reach them. The guilt, the ache, the apology he doesn't know how to voice. It kills me. Because I know it’s not his fault, and yet… I still wish we had more time. Just a little more time.
I never imagined getting married would be so exhausting—physically and emotionally. So when Nate scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing, bridal-style, and carries me over the threshold of our home, I exhale a shaky breath of relief.
He places me gently down inside, then turns and locks the door with a soft click, sealing us away from the world. I let out a breathy laugh as I take off my heels, the ache in my feet is nothing compared to the tight ache in my chest.
When our eyes meet again, something shifts in the air—warmth, tension, longing.
His gaze darkens with intent, and he starts walking toward me with slow, measured steps. I let my shoes fall beside me, my fingers nervously tugging at the hem of my dress. My teeth find my bottom lip, but it’s no use—I’m already trembling.
He stops right in front of me and gently lifts my chin with a single finger. “You’re a blissful vision, Isabel,” he whispers, his voice thick, eyes stormy with love and want.
I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, slow and deep. “Would you help me take off the dress?” I murmur against his lips.
A low growl rumbles in his throat before—without warning—he hoists me over his shoulder like a prize he’s finally claimed. “I’ve been waiting for nothing else since this morning,” he chuckles.
“Nate! Put me down,” I squeal between laughs, thudding my fists playfully against his back. I silently pray he doesn’t drop me, but also never want him to let go.
When we reach the bedroom, the door creaks open and I freeze in his arms. The entire space glows in soft golden light—candles flicker on every surface, and red rose petals blanket the floor and bed in scattered perfection. It’s warm, intimate, safe.
He sets me down gently, his hands never leaving my waist. Then, slowly, reverently, he reaches for the zipper of my dress, his knuckles brushing along my spine. As the fabric loosens, he dips down, his lips following the trail down my back, kiss after kiss after kiss.
Each soft press of his mouth is a spark against my skin, sending delicious shivers rushing through my body. My breath catches, and I find myself leaning back into him.
When the dress pools at my feet, Nate gets up and spins me around. His eyes roam over me, dark and hungry, pausing on the lace I changed into after the ceremony. The corset may have been stunning, but I couldn’t breathe in it. I wanted this. To feel him. All of him. To not be bound or laced in.
I’m in a delicate white lace bra and matching thong now. His fingers lightly skim my hips as he drinks in the sight of me, his mouth twitching into a crooked, reverent smile.
My hands find the buttons of his uniform jacket undoing them one by one, wanting nothing between us. Not clothes. Not time. Not duty.
“You look so delicious,” Nate whispers, his voice husky with desire as he kisses the sensitive curve of my neck, his fingers working the clasp of my bra with practiced ease.
I try to unbutton his shirt, but my hands fumble, trembling under the heat of his mouth on my skin. Each kiss leaves behind a mark of longing, a promise. When he finally steps back to shrug it off, his gaze travels over my nearly bare body, igniting every nerve ending.
I sit on the bed, waiting—no, burning—for him to undress, watching each slow motion as he removes the layers of that crisp, powerful uniform. There’s something so devastatingly sexy about the way it falls to the floor, piece by piece. I kneel on the mattress, aching, as he takes a final step forward.
He approaches me like a predator—steady, sure, hungry. And God help me, I want to be devoured.
I press my lips to his chest, kissing his warm skin, then trailing my tongue along the hard ridges of his abs. He breathes deeper, his muscles twitching under my touch, and I feel the tension coiling tighter inside him. I make my way down his torso, dipping my tongue into the crease of his V-line, tasting him, worshiping him.
Nate inhales sharply through his teeth, threading his fingers through my hair as I look up at him, desire blazing in my eyes. Slowly, I lower his boxers and free him, licking my lips as his cock stands hard and ready for me.
“So fucking sexy,” he growls, bending to crash his lips onto mine with a hunger that steals my breath. The kiss is molten, urgent, deep—his tongue claiming mine as if he never wants to let go.
As we break apart, I stroke him gently, watching his eyes flutter closed in pleasure. I kiss his tip, then trail down to his balls, taking them into my mouth and teasing them with my tongue while my hand works his length in long, slow strokes. He groans, low and guttural, a sound that makes my whole body ache for more.
I take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head before letting him slide deeper, down my throat. Nate gasps, his hips beginning to thrust, slow at first, then faster—fucking my mouth with deep, possessive strokes. I lose myself in it, in him, letting him take what he needs, gripping his thighs as he lets go with a growl so raw it echoes through the room.
I swallow every drop, licking him clean as I stare up at him, dazed and flushed. He’s panting, his body trembling as he reaches down to cup my cheek.
“I want you... now,” he rasps, voice shredded by desire.
He makes me lean forward onto the mattress, crawling over me like a storm. “I won’t have mercy,” he murmurs against my lips, his hands trailing over my thighs, possessive and reverent. “I want you to remember where I’ve been.”
“Please, Nate,” I purr, my back arching as his mouth finds my nipple, sucking with a greedy intensity that sends jolts of pleasure tearing through me. “Make me,” I beg, and he growls, biting down just enough to make me squirm, then soothing the sting with his tongue.
His kisses trail lower, slower, torturously slow. When his lips reach my centre, I nearly cry out.
