We are driven to the local town hall and as we wait on the plastic chairs, I notice the people who go about their business, casting a curious glance in our direction as we sit stony-faced waiting it appears to die.
Joseph is flanked by two men who stare at anyone who dares glance his way. On the other side of me is another guard; no eye contact, no interest at all. Even my groom is flicking through his phone as if this is merely another appointment in his day before lunch.
I don’t have any flowers, no friends to cheer me on, and no parents to smile with pride as I make my life’s commitment.
I am empty inside. Then again, I can’t remember ever feeling any different, and I’m a little shocked when Joseph’s hand finds mine and squeezes it reassuringly. He is still checking his phone, his attention obviously elsewhere, and yet that simple act of humanity is way more destructive than his silence.
I squeeze it back, grateful for the gesture. I guess he pities me. I pity myself and yet I’m marrying a man who intoxicates me. He is rich, powerful, good-looking and the dream. Yet hissoul is empty. He is a broken shell of a man, and I wonder what stole his heart.
“Mr. Ravera.”
A woman approaches with a hard expression that she attempts to mask with a smile as she glances at the rather somber party in front of her.
“Please follow me.”
I stand, my hand dropping away from Joseph’s, and as we follow the woman, nerves are churning inside me with every step I take.
Shall I refuse, tell the woman I am a prisoner and being forced to marry him? Will she care?
We head inside the slightly impersonal room with a huge window overlooking a garden outside. Light is streaming in, and it doesn’t escape my attention that there is a large wooden cross nailed to the wall.
Pretty flowers bloom on a table set by the window, and various chairs face what passes for an altar. Joseph stands to my right, and I take up my position with an empty heart.
The woman wastes no time. She isn’t even warm toward us, and as she speaks, her words crackle through the air like bullets. No emotion, no sense of occasion, just a cold, impersonal ceremony to deal with the legalities of our situation. All the time Joseph stands there as if his mind is elsewhere. His guards look on, their expressions impassive, and as we are pronounced husband and wife, I make to leave with a heavy heart.
The simple wedding band sits heavy on my finger as Joseph snatches hold of my hand and pulls me back, his eyes searing my flesh, burning me inside.
His intention is clear as his hand wraps around my head and the intensity of his expression causes me to falter.
His finger tips my chin to face him, and he smiles, almost revealing a shaft of humanity, and then he claims me as if he has that right, already aware that he does.
His kiss is strong, hard, and dominant. It strips me of awareness of anything other than this moment. He commands, desires, and demands my response, and it’s an easy one because I doubt kissing him will ever get old. The moment he touches me in any form lights a burning trail through my body that extinguishes everything around me. I fall into his world easily and unafraid as he guides me through unfamiliar territory.
I kiss him back because I want to and not because he is commanding me.
I shift closer, my fingers reaching into his hair, clutching him closer, drawing him in. I will not be controlled without putting up a fight, and as I kiss him back with passion, I couldn’t give a fuck who is watching.
The kiss is eternal, the woman’s sigh inconsequential, as we kiss like starved lovers with no regard for moral decency.
Joseph pulls me closer, his legs moving between mine, maintaining contact, pushing against me, leaving me in no doubt of what happens later.
His grip is tight, powerful, commanding. His kiss probing, claiming his right. I breathe in his musky scent; it fills me completely, and my mind spirals into the possibility that this may not be as bad after all.
“Um, excuse me.”
The woman’s sounds cross, but we disregard her tone. Joseph is in no hurry to end this, and neither am I. His hand snakes around my waist, pulling me in closer. I do the same, running it under his jacket, searching for bare skin. It’s hot and heavy, the atmosphere electric as he moves his mouth to my neck, my head thrown back, giving him clearer access.
“Sir, madam, please.”
Anger is evident in the woman’s voice as we carry on as if we are the only people in the room.
To us, we are.
His kiss is hungry; it matches mine, and sweat is sliding down my neck as my pussy explodes. I want him so badly. Here if I must, and when his hand inches toward my thigh, the woman yells, “Enough. Please. Show some decorum and remember this is an official building.”
We break apart, and Joseph’s cool glare could wither the sun as he fixes her with a ferocious gaze, causing her to stutter, “I have another wedding in one minute. Please, you must leave.”
Joseph grips my hand before turning and walking away without another word, an ominous tension trailing behind him along with his guards. As we stumble out of the room, I notice a woman wearing a beautiful white wedding dress, clutching a huge bouquet. Her smile ridiculously happy as she gazes adoringly at her groom.
