Since Loch proposed, he’s been planning it. We lie in bed, talking about it. We fuck, fantasizing aloud about it. We’ve been online, teasing our followers with it. We’ll post an edited version for them.
But this week, he hasn’t let me come. Edging me.Dominating me. Denying me. Knots of desire bind so tight in my core, it’s as if Loch holds my threads, controlling my release. It only makes me love him more, need him more, trust he’ll give me everything I want.
Except…
“I wish your brothers were here.” I glance up at him. “And your mom. I get why they’re not; it just sucks.”
“I know.” He winces at the horizon. “They send their love and hate they’re missing this. It’s just… they need to be together. It’s?—”
“I understand,” I soothe. “Your brother Alexsi’s new baby is in the NICU, and I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, “Seattle’s a long flight.”
I appreciate why Loch’s family isn’t here, and why I haven’t met them yet. They live on the West Coast now, and his newborn nephew isn’t well. It breaks my heart for them. I’m not mad; just worried. But he says they’ll be at our wedding.
At least my family came to our party. Dad. Vale. Nadine just left. Thankfully, though, Michael, my godfather, didn’t come. Of course, my dad invited him, but I went to Michael’s law office, begging him not to.
He agreed. He was kind about it, while I cringed because I suck at this.
Keeping a secret.
My only secret.
I don’t know how to play it cool around a first… whatever. I just know it’s awkward as hell because I can’t tell Loch about Michael.
If I do, Loch will have to keep the secret from my dad, and Loch doesn’t have a lying bone in his body.
It doesn’t feel fair to ask him to do it. It’s my burden to bear, not his.
It’s why I don’t ask about Loch’s first, the woman who trained him. So he won’t ask about mine.
I just want to move on and focus on our future. Our marriage. Our love.
With his body pressed to mine, I swear this man can read my heart. Loch signals the DJ for another song, a sexy one, changing our vibe.
“Kick off your heels,” he says sweetly.
“Wait… what?” I stammer.
“Take them off and step on my shoes. Let mereallylead you.”
“But, Loch, I?—”
“I’m sorry, Babygirl. What?” He smirks because I know better.
I love our roles: Dom/sub. “Yes, Sir.”
I kick off my heeled sandals, wincing as my size ten feet meet the tops of his shiny Oxford shoes, the size of boats.
“But what if I’m too?—”
“Too loved?” He grins, unflinching.
Loch’s feet step lightly to the music, like I’m a feather and he’s my air, floating across the dancefloor. He kisses me, vowing, “You’ll never be too much for me, Alena, because I can never get enough of you.”
Doubt gone.
Body sailing.
