Beautiful Beginning(46)
straggler guests heading to the patio for cocktails, and maneuvered me on
the outskirts of the crowd to avoid getting stopped every three feet on our
way to the photographer. “And before you ask, Will tripped and dropped my
wedding ring in the parking lot when he was trying to show me how good a
job they did polishing it. I’m about two seconds from pulling you into the
bathroom and forcing you onto your knees, so if you blow up at me or flip
out about the dress or ring or the flooded lawn now, you will only convince
me you need a dick in your mouth, and you’ll completely derail the agenda
for our wedding day: pictures, dancing, food, dancing, cake, long hard
f*cking. Watch what you say next, Ryan.”
When we returned to the party, music pulsed from large speakers on the
veranda and I felt high, drunk, outright giddy from the day and the man at
my side. He never let go of my hand, but even if he’d tried I wouldn’t
let him. I loved the sharp press of his (dented) wedding ring between my
fingers, and the way he kept lifting my hand to kiss it but really it
seemed like he just wanted to make sure his ring was still there.
We made the rounds and spent the next couple of hours greeting everyone who
came and getting lost in introductions and hellos. The guests ate the
appetizers, and everyone seemed to get a little day-drunk and wild. Truth
be told, it was overwhelming having so many people here. By the time dinner
was served, the crowd was roaring, knives clinked against glasses almost
every ten seconds in shameless bids to have Bennett kiss me.
Each time it grew a little dirtier until I worried he was going to clear
the wedding table with a sweep of his arm and lay me down on it. But when
Kristin told us the band would be starting our first dance song soon, and a
symphony of knives tinkling against crystal rang out, Bennett simply leaned
over and said, “If you put your tongue in my mouth again, I’m leaving
this f*cking wedding and taking you to bed, Mrs. Ryan.”
“Well, I’ll then keep it chaste, Mr. Mills. Because I want cake.”
His eyes fell closed and he leaned forward, gently touching his lips to
mine. How did he manage to blend sweet and commanding so seamlessly?
We walked to the center of the dance floor amid hushed silence. The first
few chords of the song began and Bennett gave me a devilish grin before
pulling me close with both hands gripping my ass. The room exploded in
raucous cheers and I looked up at him, shaking my head as if it bothered
me.
It so f*cking didn’t.
Without shoes, I was so much shorter than he was, and still sometimes hated
not being able to see him eye to eye, even when we were dancing at our
wedding. I stood on my tiptoes, swayed in his arms, and after only about
half a minute I felt him reach around my waist and lift me so we were
face-to-face, my feet dangling several inches off the ground.
“Better?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“Much.” I twisted my fingers in his hair and leaned to slide my mouth
over his.
Camera flashes exploded around us and I could imagine hundreds of pictures
of Bennett holding me, spinning me slowly, my still-dirty feet telling
anyone who would look at the picture in the future what kind of wedding day
we’d had: perfect.
The song drew to an end, but it was several long beats after the final
notes before Bennett put me down.
“I love you,” he said, letting his eyes roam my entire face before coming
to settle on my lips.
“I love you, too.”
“Holy shit. You’re my wife.”
Laughing, I said, “We’re married. That’s insane. Who let this happen?”
He didn’t even break a smile. Instead, his eyes grew heavy, his voice even
lower. “I’m going to disrespect the f*ck out of you later.”
The entire surface of my skin felt flushed and silvery.
He released me, letting me slide down his body and groaning quietly as my
hip pressed against the length of his cock, half hard already. “I’m
tempted to disrespect you now,” he said. “But my wife wanted cake.”
We drifted apart a little as another song started and I felt my father’s
hand press to my back. Bennett turned, taking his mother in his arms. As we
danced with our parents, we caught each other’s eyes over their shoulders
and grinned, giddy. I felt like closing my eyes and letting out the
loudest, happiest shout ever heard.
“Your mom would have had a great time today,” Dad said, kissing my cheek.
I nodded, smiling. I missed my mother in this sort of hollow-throb way. She
hadn’t ever been the cool mom, or the fashionable mom; she was the sweet
mom, the hugger mom, the overprotective mom. She would have hated Bennett
at first, and the thought made me laugh out loud. Mom would have assumed he
was a prick and that I could find someone more giving, more connected, more
emotionally available. And then she would have seen him look at me in an