by Hazel Grace
Marty couldn’t keep his hands off me, peering into my eyes as if I was the only thing he could see or wanted to look upon all night. We danced our first dance close together, his arm possessively around my waist, and I froze the memory to my brain.
It’s one of the most joyous days of my life. The day I became Mrs. Marty Shelton, the wife of my savior. The man who brought me out of my shell. The only person I’ll ever want to stand by.
Emmy cut into our love-fest, asking for a dance with my new husband, and he begrudgingly agreed but not without pressing a long kiss to my lips before he left.
And at the window of our bedroom, I peer down at the scene underneath me.
Everyone drinking—besides Reagan—and dancing around. My sister-in-law demanded I go take a moment for myself and freshen up while she kept her brother at bay for a few songs.
I took it—wanting to feel it all and let everything sink into place.
I’m a wife.
I have a husband now.
A family.
A new life that I can build and nourish.
A future of my own.
Taking one last look at the small gathering below, I take Reagan up on freshening up in the bathroom, reapply some blush and mascara to my face. With a genuine smile in the mirror, I stride to the stairs to rejoin the party before I hear a phone ring.
Pivoting towards the sound of it in my room, I notice my ringtone on the cell Marty bought me.
Scooping it up off the dresser, an unknown number appears, then the ringing stops. About to place it back down, it begins to go off again, and I hit the green button to answer.
“Hello?”
“Tell Em and your new husband to stop looking for me,” the other end growls, composing my brows to fall. It’s not until I open my mouth to ask him who this was that it hits me like a legit flashback.
“Bishop?”
“Yep.” I clutch my phone harder, moving towards the middle of the room to pace the floor.
“They’re worried about you, especially Em. She—”
“I didn’t ask for a report,” he snaps. “Just do what I said.”
“No,” I deadpan. “They’re your family. They care about you.” Silence answers me, forging a sheet of anxiety to blanket over me. “Bishop, where are you? Please...come home. I’m not sure what happened or why you left, but they can help you.”
More radio silence and I pull the phone from my ear to see the backdrop of a field filled with yellow daisies.
He hung up.
I let out of frustrated scoff, squeezing the poor device in my hands because Bishop is a jerk. A stubborn and selfish fool for not letting anyone know where he is.
And they call Mills an idiot.
“I hope you’re not calling a taxi or some shit to leave me already.” I let out a relieved exhale, relaxing my shoulders as I turn to find Marty propped up against the doorframe and taking up most of the space there. “And you better not have another boyfriend, sweetheart. I’m a jealous husband.”
“Really? I never noticed.” Pushing off the wall, he takes his time advancing on me, mindful to take it easy. “Are you sore?”
“A little,” he replies. “But that doesn’t mean I’m calling it a night with you, sweetheart.”
I lift my lips. “I would hope not. I have high expectations with all the things you’ve whispered in my ear tonight.”
Marty smiles, true and breathtaking. “And I mean it.” His eyes flick to the cell phone in my hands. “Who were you talking to?”
I grip the item harder in my palm again, nervous that I might upset him and on our special day. Marty can put up a front easy, but I’m not completely blind to see that Emmy’s distress of Bishop’s sudden disappearance is starting to wash over him.
“Bishop.”
“Bishop?” he repeats.
I nod. “Yes. He called me on an unknown number and—”
“Fucking dickhead,” he mutters, averting his gaze from me. “He would do this sort of shit on my wedding day.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it—” Marty reaches out and gently tugs me into his space.
“He’s calling because he knows we’re all here.” He laces his fingers with mine. “And he’s alive, so there’s that.”
“Marty,” I chide. “You guys are so worried about—”
“I am,” he replies. “Was. Did he sound good?” I think back to his cranky tone and how strong it felt from the other side of the phone.
“Normal,” I reply. “Mean and snappy.”
Marty smiles. “Good.” His other hand finds my waist and digs lightly into my flesh. “Now, I came to find my wife so we can kick everyone out of here.”
I glance down at my phone. “It’s ten o’clock.”
“Perfect. More time.”
“One more hour,” I protest through one of Marty’s growls. “And then we’ll kindly tell everyone we’re going to bed.”
“To fuck,” Marty notes. “You’re not going to fool anyone, sweetheart.”
“I’m not going to say that,” I reply with a smack to his chest. “But what about Bishop and—”
“Uh, uh,” he tsk. “No talk of another dude when it’s just me and you. Repeat it with me.”
I roll my eyes. “Me and you.”
“Right. One more dance, and we tell everyone to go take a hike.” He pivots around and pulls me with him to walk out of our bedroom.
“I said one more hour,” I laugh.
“We’ll meet halfway, baby.” He peers over his shoulder, his mischievous eyes glinting at me. “That’s what married couples do.”
I can’t believe I’m here with the woman of my dreams—that never really made it there, but she’s everything I could’ve hoped for—in my arms. We sit and watch my second family dance around, all acting like morons with drinks in their hands.
Mind you, there are only five of them, but they are entertaining enough to watch. My commander, Ledger, showed up late, dressed to the nines in a suit, and pleasantly shocked to meet Stormi. Undoubtedly, he knew I was getting married, but maybe it was her beauty that took him back a little. I know it still does for me.
Everybody by the Backstreet Boys plays off Emmy’s speaker, and Mills starts to breakdance on the grass, obviously getting more buzzed as more time goes by. The thirty minutes that Stormi and I agreed to on the way down the stairs has already passed, but she’s laughing and jumping in from time to time to dance with Blue and Emmy so I’m just biding my time until I can rip her dress in half and finally fuck my wife.
Stormi leaps off my lap and quickly spins to face me. “I’ll be right back.”
Beginning to scurry away, I latch onto her wrist and halt her from taking another step.
“Not without a proper goodbye, wife,” I voice because I’m her bitch now, and I can’t stop. I can’t give her space nor check myself from sounding like a needy fuck who just had her sitting on my lap ten seconds ago.
I’m highly obsessed with my wife, and I don’t want the rehab or for this to become mildly generic. I crave forever with her just like this—with babies someday.
Stormi leans in, clasping my bottom lip between hers and sucks gently, creating my cock to twitch for more. She doesn’t give me any tongue, which is what I want.
No, she knows that less is more. And more is what her ass is going to get for teasing me.
“See you in a sec, husband,” she mutters against my mouth before fleeing away to my friends.
Emmy welcomes her with extended arms as she sees her approach, and Stormi steps into them. Mills and Kyson are too busy drinking out of their red solo cups now and Blue...no clue where that crazy bitch went.
“She’s lovely,” Ledger conveys, stepping closer to me from my left. “Can’t say I’d want anymore for you, Emric.”
“Thank you, sir. She’s...perfect.”
“Indeed.” He pulls up a folding chair and positions it next to me. “Which is why I hate to bring this up now, but it needs to be discuss
ed.”
I crane my neck to look at him, his peppered hair neatly styled along with the stubble along his jawline and chin.
Ledger has been in command for B723 since he found me to join. He’s somewhat of a stern father figure but lets us slide when he knows he can look the other way.
“I need you to go find Bishop,” he imparts. “He’s been gone almost three weeks, and now I’m starting to get worried.”
“He called Stormi tonight,” I reply. “Off a random number.”
Ledger narrows his eyes. “What did he say?”
“For Em and I to stop looking for him.” Ledger lets out of scoff and leans back in his chair with his arms folded.
“Not going to happen. I don’t know what Emmy has done already but start pulling out all the stops. I want him found and brought to me.”
I nod. ‘Done."
“Have Kyson or Mills go to the fucked up place he might be. You’re a married man now, can’t have our new girl see you come home beat up.”
I twist my face, unamused. “Thanks.”
He slaps me on the back and chuckles, standing to go. “Keep me updated...and your family would be proud of you, son. I know I am.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, snatching a red cup of his own off the table of food, and joins Kyson and Mills. Meanwhile, Emmy and Stormi are laughing and dancing away while his words capsize into my brain.
My gut twists as I peer down at the green grass I’m sitting on. My sisters would be fawning over Stormi as much as Reagan and Emmy do. They’d be at her side, wanting to welcome and learn everything there is to know about her. Ma would warn me to treat her well, Papa would sit down and parade about how hard it is to be a husband or some bullshit.
But they’d be here.
And they’re not.
And if they were I may have never met Stormi. I wouldn’t have joined the U.S Marines or been found by the Samaritans, which lead me to the U.S. Reagan, and I would never be related, and that means I may have never been around to save her from Wade’s dirty deeds. Stormi could still be locked up in that shithole of a house and possibly raped by her dad’s friends.
I stretch my jaw, pushing back painful memories of my past and a small panic attack that starts to crawl its way down.
This is my life now. I was meant to be here.
My cell buzzes in the pocket of my khakis, and I mindlessly reach for it. Powering on the screen, a notification from Stormi appears to which I quickly go to open.
Stormi: You look like you could use an angry fuck.
I glance up, searching around to where she was before, but she’s not there. My phone vibrates in my palm.
Stormi: I’d be happy to offer you some relief, husband.
The word “husband” commissions a warmness in my chest—my heart, my wife. My reality was this—her—she was mine forever. And I was hers. I’ve never belonged to anyone before where the somewhat functional beating organ of mine works on double-time just to please Stormi.
Me: Where are you?
Stormi: Tell me how you’re going to fuck me first.
Geezus Christ.
I don’t know the ingredients of how I made Stormi act like this, but I have a feeling it was always there, waiting for someone to scratch the surface. She has some of her innocence the way she still blushes at things I say, but this...I’m going to die at an early age from the stampeding of excitement and anticipation that constantly sprints through my body.
Another song plays jerking my focus back to the present and the party that still holds people I want to just leave already.
Me: Real hard, sweetheart, if you keep teasing me out in public.
Stormi: Just hard?
Me: Stormi...I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll be walking bowlegged.
Stormi: Will you leave marks?
Me: Would you like that? To mark you as mine.
Stormi: I’m already yours.
Me: Where. Are. You?
“I’m surprised you can’t feel me,” Stormi asserts from behind me, amusement entwined in her tone. “Isn’t there a universal rule to always watch your back?”
“There is,” I offer. “But you never announce yourself to your prey, sweetheart, unless you’re ready to attack.”
“I’m more than ready.” Her voice is a sweetness that incorporates my wanting to devour her like a diabetic that has a hard time with his sweets. Except I’m never going to curb the way I always want Stormi. I’ll gladly die first before I half-ass how I feel towards her.
“Are you?” I ask, leaning forward in my chair and resting my elbows on my knees. “This is how it’ll always be, forever.” I see the white dress she’s wearing come in my peripheral and she moves to stand in front of me.
“Promise?” I lift my chin to take her all in. The white satin dress that hugs her curves and matches her skin tone perfectly. The light sky-blue locks that she dyed to yank herself out of her old life and make a change.
“I love you,” I commend before using all my strength to push myself to stand. She doesn’t help me, knowing my pride is too willful to ask for help. “You’re it for me. No one else. Now get rid of your friends.”
She lifts a brow. “My friends?”
“Yep. What’s mine is yours now.”
She quirks her lips into a tiny smile. “I think if we just disappear, they’ll get the hint.”
What baby wants, baby gets. Striding for the house and taking her hand, I don’t even acknowledge anyone still partying in our backyard. If they haven’t noticed how wildly possessed and captivated I am by my wife, then they’re all blind.
When we hit the kitchen, I flick the metal lock behind me and back her into it, pressing my throbbing cock into her stomach.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” I mutter, inhaling her citrus shampoo and finding her hips.
“Where are we going?” she asks, a hitch to her voice already evident, which does nothing for my already ruthless urge to fuck her right here and now where Mills will more than slikely try to find a way to mess this moment up.
“Maine,” I offer. “I want to show you the ocean. Then we’ll do the basic ass Caribbean or something. I have a bunch of things for you to look at so you can decide.”
“I want you—” I brush the thin strap of her dress off her shoulder and feel a small shiver detonate from her frame.
“Go on,” I encourage, grazing my lips over the top of her head. “How much do you want me?”
“You know how much,” she replies, hiding right behind her old self. Don’t get me wrong, I love her any which way, but I always want Stormi comfortable with me.
“I’m not sure that I do,” I reply. “You wanted to know what I would do to you first, didn’t tell you fully everything that I had in mind.”
I thrust my cock to graze her torso again, hearing the glitch in her exhale. Moments like this—fuck me—I’m going to live for them. I’m going to be a better man because she’s my number one priority now, and all I want to do is make her happy.
“I love this dress,” I muse, letting the hand that is gripping her hip trail down to her leg. “But I want to shred it into pieces until your flawless body is exposed for me. I crave to sink my teeth here—” I grip the inside of her thigh. “—then I want to lick...right...here.” The tips of my fingers sweep between her lower lips. “I want to hear you moan my name. To feel you shatter when I make you come for the first time tonight.”
Stormi attempts to nonchalantly arch her back into my fingertips that still rest on her pussy, searching for more.
“That’s what I’ll do first,” I finish.
“When do we start?” she presses. I chuckle before bending over to scoop her up in my arms to which she lightly slaps my chest. “Marty, your leg.”
“Is fine,” I counter. “I’m carrying my wife on our wedding night.”
“Not up the stairs, you aren’t.”
I meet her blue eyes. “I was hoping you’d fuck me again at the bottom of them.�
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“With everyone outside?”
“I locked the doors.”
“But your leg—”
“Baby, it’s fine. Just sore. So get me to forget about it.” She rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh, attempting to sound aggravated at my stubbornness.
“Can I suck your cock on the stairs and—” She doesn’t get to finish her words because her lips around my shaft isn’t something I’m ever going to argue about.
I take those fucking stairs that she hasn’t let me down without calling out for me to be careful and don’t feel a damn thing. Screw the floor, the couch, the kitchen, I want her in our bed. Where I’ll wake up next to her every morning and feel her soft body tangled with mine.
I toss her onto the soft mattress, following her with zero strategy. My hands rip through the buttons of my shirt, yanking my arms out and tossing the material to the floor. Stormi’s blues swallow me up, soaking in every inch of my chest as I work my cock free from my pants. She bites down on that lower lip that I love to suck in anticipation, and it only makes my dick throb.
I’m a lucky bastard.
I get this woman.
She’s mine.
And nothing is going to change that.
“Like what you see, sweetheart?” I emit through a perked brow.
“Very much so.” She crosses her legs, trying to relieve some of the pressure that must be built in between them. “And that is all mine.”
The corners of my mouth heave as I position myself over her, ready to remind her that it’s true every single day.
“It is,” I agree. “And I live to serve you, baby.” Stormi extends her arm and cups the back of my head, pulling me closer.