by Blake, Remy
“Ladies and gentleman,” he starts. “We’re gathered here today to celebrate the union of Brock Marshall and Ivy Colt. From what Brock tells me, you two had a rocky, unconventional start, but after three years together, you’re both better off for it.”
Brock gives me a sly grin, paired with a shrug. Better off for it is the understatement of the century. I try to focus on the celebrant’s words, but I can’t help but want to get past all the pleasantries and get straight to the part where we both say “I do.”
“Now, who’s got the rings?”
“That would be me,” Jude answers. I watch him fidget in his coat pocket and pull out a small white organza bag. He loosens the top of the bag and tips it upside down until two white gold rings land in the palm of his hand.
Jude passes them to Mr. Amos, who gives me Brock’s wedding band. “Ivy, I know this is a surprise, so if you’re not up for it, I have traditional vows that you and Brock can exchange. But if you feel like you want to...”
“I want to,” I say, cutting him off. I hold Brock’s hand and position the band in front of his left ring finger. I raise my eyes and take in Brock’s appearance. His perfect jaw and luscious lips, the permanent stubble that graces his face; it’s the alluring combination that makes Brock look like the forbidden fruit he’s always been.
My father’s best friend, the seventeen year age gap, and just the simple fact that we’re different in all the ways that keep most people apart. On paper we are a disaster waiting to happen, but in reality, all those reasons are why we’re so good together.
“Brock,” I start, licking my lips, trying to hold off my emotions. “I love you,” I breathe out. “God, I love you so much, it’s crazy. It makes me crazy. I didn’t know I could feel like this, I didn’t know I could be this happy. That one single person could make me this happy.”
Stopping to take a breath, I don’t realize tears are falling until Brock’s thumb brushes the corner of my eye.
He’s smiling at me with his own glassy eyes, and it takes everything in me not to fall into his arms and just indulge in our two hearts beating in sync. But I need to find strength enough to say all the things I’m struggling to say right now.
Filling my lungs up with air, I slowly breathe out, holding Brock’s stare. He deserves to hear these words, I want him to hear them.
“I want the world with you. I want every happy moment, every sad moment, and everything in between. You make my days brighter and my nights warmer.” I hear Jude snicker, and I can’t help but laugh too. “We don’t know what the future holds, but the uncertainty of what’s next won’t ever deter me from walking by your side. I love you, Brock Marshall.” I slide the wedding band onto his finger. “For better or worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer; I. Love. You.”
With a shaky breath, Brock takes hold of my hand, mirroring my earlier actions. “Ivy,” he says, with nothing but emotion in his voice. “Ivy. Ivy. Ivy. You came into my life when I least expected it. You’ve kept me on my toes every moment since, and the truth is, I absolutely love it. I love the way you’re both my storm, and the calm that follows. I love that you make me crazy, and keep me sane all at the same time. I love everything about you. Your heart, your mind, your body, and your soul.”
He steps closer to me. “I vow to always support you. I vow to stand proudly by your side while you follow all your dreams.” Slowly pushing the diamond encrusted band down the length of my finger, he says, “You have fire in your veins, and I love watching you burn bright. You make me want to be a better man. The best man I can be. To walk by your side, in this life and all the ones that follow, as your husband.”
With the piece of jewelry now firmly on my finger, he raises his hands to my face and rests his palms on my cheeks. We stay that way, getting lost in the looks of love we both wear.
“With the power vested in me by the State of Florida,” Mr. Amos says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Brock wastes no time bringing my lips to his as Jude and my mother clap in celebration around us. It’s soft at first, a delicate touch, a moment of reverence. He kisses me like he’s found his reason for living, like I’m his lungs, and he can’t breathe without me. And I make sure my mouth tells him he’ll never have to.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I bring him closer to me, deepening the kiss. Our tongues meet for the first time as husband and wife, promising forever with every taste. It’s the beginning of the rest of our lives, and nothing has ever felt more perfect.
Reluctantly, we pull apart and let our foreheads rest against one another.
“I love you, wife,” Brock whispers.
“I love you, husband.”
Brock brushes his nose against mine. “I’m never going to get sick of hearing that.”
Seeing as we’ve forgotten we aren’t alone, my mother is the first to interrupt, reminding me there’s still one too many things that need to be taken care of before Brock and I can get some alone time.
“Let’s take some photos of you two signing your marriage certificate,” she says. “Then a few family photos, and we can go off to the reception.”
I look from her to Brock. “A reception?”
“You don’t want one?” he asks. “Obviously, it would be just us, and a beautiful dinner.”
I run my tongue along my bottom lip while staring at him. I know it’s written all over my face, all the things I want to do instead of the reception. I watch his throat bob, his jaw tighten, and his eyes blaze with need.
“Hold that thought,” he commands.
Grabbing my hand, we walk over to a beautifully decorated table. Our marriage licence sits in the middle, with a pen on either side of it. Mr. Amos instructs us on what to do and where to sign. Once it’s done, we take a million photos, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying it. I’m with three of my favorite people, celebrating the most important moment in my life. Our smiles are huge, and the different kinds of love that flow between us is a never ending gift of gratitude, appreciation, and happiness.
I tug on Brock’s arm, and he leans his head down to me. “Let’s have the reception.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Okay, give me a few minutes to get it all sorted.”
A waiter soon appears and ushers us out to a private area in the garden. It’s a real-life picture with its white wrought iron table setting and an abundance of vines hanging above us. The table is set up with a white table cloth, white crockery, and gold cutlery.
Walking around, I notice there is a name card in front of each of the seats. I’m overwhelmed by every little detail, feeling emotional at just how much thought Brock put into this whole day.
Jude, my mom, and I all sit at our designated seats while waiting for Brock. “You did it,” Jude says. “Ivy Colt is now Ivy Marshall.”
“It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn't it? How do you think Brock will react if I tell him I don’t want his last name?” I tease.
“Did I just hear you correctly?” Brock’s voice booms.
I stifle a smile and turn to see him carrying three large brown bags from McDonald’s. “You got McDonald’s?”
“You don’t want my last name?” he retorts.
Rolling my eyes, I stand, clutching on to my dress to stop me from falling, and head over to him. I grab his black tie and pull him close, his ear to my mouth. “I think it’s only fair if I earn it.”
He turns his head slightly, his warm breath on my neck. “I’m going to make you beg for it.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Hey,” Jude’s loud voice interrupts us. “Some of us are hungry for actual food over here.”
“Fucking cockblock,” Brock groans. “Okay, we’re coming.”
“I thought we were having a fancy dinner,” I say, as we make our way back to the table.
“Fancy didn’t fit with my plans, and you love McDonald’s.”
“I do,” I droll. Because I’m clearly incapapble of thinking about anything but sex, I nudge his shoulder. “You have plans?”
“Yeah.” He winks before placing all the food in the middle of the table. We take our seats and he leans into me. “I needed something quick, so we could get to the dirty.”
* * *
Leaving Jude and my mother to their own devices, Brock and I literally race to the honeymoon suite. I awkwardly run in my heels, too excited to care. Brock holds my hand, leading the way, wide smiles on both of our faces.
He sticks the large skeleton key into the old-school lock and turns it. The second the door unlocks, Brock grips the handle and pushes the heavy door and I tumble in behind him.
Catching me, he slams his lips onto mine, lifts me off the ground, and spins. I laugh against his mouth, carefree and light. Happy is an understatement to how we both feel right now.
“This is undoubtedly the greatest day of my life,” Brock murmurs against my skin. We kiss again while his hands roam all over my body. Stuck together, he walks us farther into the room, pushing me till my back slams against the cold bifold windows. “You’re going to stand here while I fuck your pussy with my mouth.” Brock lowers himself to his knees in front of me. He clutches the hem of my dress and raises his heated eyes to meet mine. “I’m going to stick my head under your dress--my wife’s dress,” he adds with a smirk. “A dress she wore to marry me.”
True to his word, he is buried underneath layers of material, his fingers grazing my lace covered pussy. He peeks his head back out, his face flushed, his digits now shifting my panties to the side. “You didn’t tell me you looked like that under there.”
“A wife’s got to have secrets, baby,” I tease, using his new favorite word.
Without warning, his fingers plunge into my wet center, and I moan loudly, my body arching off the glass.
In and out, he teases me mercilessly. “Brock. I need to come,” I pant.
“Not before I get a fucking taste.” He disappears, and I’m greeted by a torturous swipe of his tongue. He alternates between circling and adding pressure to my clit, bringing me to the very edge, only to pull back and stop me from falling.
As he flicks his wrist one last time, the tips of his fingers deliciously press into my core. My body twists into knots before it unfurls, and Brock bites my clit, sending me into an orbit of euphoria.
Brock rises off his knees, shoving my dress back down and smashing his wet, shiny mouth on mine.
The kiss tastes like me, and I don’t care. I want more, I want him, and even after an explosive orgasm, it still doesn’t feel like enough. Our mouths dance, our tongues talk. Together they say “I love you” in all the beautiful and filthy ways they know how.
Guiding us both to the bed, I haphazardly slide his jacket off his shoulders and loosen his tie. The buttons pop as I tear the shirt apart, shucking it off his body. Together we unbuckle his belt and I push down his pants.
“You think I’m the only one getting naked tonight?”
“That’s not how this marriage thing works, husband.” I push his naked body onto the bed and hook my thumbs into the straps of my dress. “You had your fantasy, and now it’s my turn.” He raises an eyebrow at me, but shifts himself to the back of the bed and leans on the headboard. He’s got his legs wide open, his cock thick and hard, resting against his stomach.
The moment he looks comfortable, I drag the thin material down either of my arms, until it’s only the tight corset holding my dress up.
I glide the hidden zipper at my side down my torso, watching Brock’s face when the material falls and my sweetheart bustier and lace panties come into view. All of the edges are a thick white, while the rest of the material is sheer, almost transparent; my nipples, my pussy, my ass, all on display--for my husband
I bite the edge of my lip seductively. “Like what you see?”
His hand wraps around his dick and he starts stroking himself. “What do you think?”
I climb up on the bed and walk to him on my knees. I straddle his waist, and his hands automatically take hold. Tilting his face up to mine, I lower my mouth to his and press soft kisses all over him. The corner of his lips, along his jaw, down his neck and back up again.
“Take it off me,” I breathe out. “Take it off me, and make love to me, your wife, for the very first time.”
Dexterous fingers reach around to the back of my corset and start unclipping the ladder of hooks that grace my lower back. When he’s done, he pulls it off and throws it on the floor.
Surprising me, he fingers the thin material and rips my panties in half. Like fucking Superman--right off my body.
His hands and eyes roam over my body, skimming up the length of my thighs, caressing my ass cheeks, grazing my nipples. My head falls back as every touch sears my skin, leaving scars. Scars I want, scars that say you’re mine. Scars that say I love you. I want you. I need you.
“Inside you, baby,” Brock growls. “Inside you. Now.”
I wrap my hand around his shaft and lower my body onto his. Warm and slick, I slide up and down his hard cock, reveling in that full feeling.
Gripping my hips tighter, he pistons into me, until we’re slamming into one another. Vigorously. Frantically. Desperately. Trying to climb into each other’s skin.
His mouth latches onto my breast, and his wet tongue around my nipple ignites a throbbing, delicious ache in my lower stomach.
“Mouth, Brock,” I say hoarsely. “Your mouth on mine.”
His tongue thrusts into my mouth and I suck on it. We feast on one another until our bodies soar to the pinnacle of pleasure. We erupt together. Just like when we said our vows earlier, we become one; exploding, shattering into a million tiny pieces of bliss.
“Fuck,” Brock says, breathing heavily into the crook of my neck.
“You can say that again.” Ragged breaths fill the room as we both come down from an indescribable high. I pull back and look at him. “Shit. Brock. That was the best fucking sex of my life.”
“I told you marriage had its perks, baby.”
A laugh bubbles out of my chest. “That you did.”
Brock traces the shape of my lips with his finger. “I love you, wife.”
I love the sound of that word. Wife. I let the weight of it wrap itself around my heart as I wrap myself around my happily ever after. Kissing behind his ear, I whisper, “I love you too, husband.”
* * *
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TEMPT | DEBAUCHERY
Failing wasn't an option, but apparently falling for my professor was.
Attending the prestigious King University is one of the many things I must do to keep my parents happy and my trust fund secure.
Having a stellar transcript is another. Unfortunately, my grades are slipping and the only available option is setting up extra help with my professor.
After the first study session I know I’m in trouble. Her tempting lips and the honey scent of her perfume tests my resolve until it crumbles. One shared kiss and I’m willing to risk it all.
Professor Martínez may be my downfall, but falling never felt so good.
* * *
DEBAUCHERY is available NOW and FREE with Kindle Unlimited
* * *
Read on for the Chapter 1 of Debauchery.
Chapter 1
Connor
“The end of this semester is so fucking close, I can smell it,” Grady says. “Then we’ll be one step closer to graduation.”
“And then we’ll finally be free. No more classes. No more of these bullshit midterms. I can’t fucking wait,” Reid adds.
“Speak for yourselves,” I chime in. “Law school is calling my name.”
“Calling your name? Connor, bro, that bitch is holding your future hostage,” Reid says.
“Right?” Grady concurs. “Go to law school if you want to live.” His
shitty Terminator impersonation has the three of us laughing, but the truth of his statement grates on my nerves.
Growing up together, we’ve been in each other’s pockets for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing about me or my life that they don’t know, my struggle with going to law school included. But it doesn’t mean they really understand what it means to live under the shadow of Connor McAdam Senior.
The man is a tyrant, and even that word feels a little too nice to describe him.
Here in Georgetown, he’s royalty. In fact, all our parents are. Owning some of the biggest businesses in the country, our worlds have been entwined with money and notoriety since before we were born.
Attending the most elite high school in Washington, naturally we transitioned on to the most prestigious college in the country.
Most kids would kill to be here, but for me this place lost its shine a long time ago. Probably when my father decided to turn my college experience into his own personal game. I usually imagine him sitting at his desk, the makings of a board game in front of him, all the pieces akin to things in my life. And he just moves them around. Pushing me in any direction whenever he wants. Wherever he wants.
Grady and Reid tell me to stand up to him all the time, but they don’t have a father like him; they don’t seem to understand it’s a battle I won’t win.
Instead, I spend my days like this, lazily lying on the campus lawn with my friends while we soak up the fresh bout of fall and do our best to conquer the always present self-inflicted hangover.
It’s not ideal, but nothing grates on my father's nerves more than me half-assing life. I never strive for anything more than average because the way it riles him up is priceless. It gives me enough satisfaction to push on through.