Always

During the ceremony, I keep my gaze on him.

Through my veil, I can see his eyes, blue and flecked with green, shimmering with appreciation for how far we’ve come. We hold hands the entire time, gazing at each other, both of us seeing our future displayed in the other’s eyes. He is with me—genuinely with me—at this moment.

Though the pews are packed, filled with a jubilant crowd of our families and best friends, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

The church is spacious and bright, with wide arches and intricate crown molding. The space feels hallowed and sacred, while still somehow being warm and inviting. Stained-glass windows capture the dwindling sunlight in the most romantic way, and I marvel as the warm glow streaming through the windows accentuates the cherry wood of the arches and the effervescent pearliness of my wedding dress: a spaghetti-strap, off-white satin gown that clings to my body in all the right places.

I picked my dress not only for the figure-hugging silhouette, but also for the slit that runs nearly all the way up the right side, giving a peek at my toned leg. The white of the dress contrasts with my golden skin and thick tresses of wavy dark hair. The bodice, snug at my waist, tapers out and falls lightly over my ample hips and full ass.

I look hot. In fact, I look downright delicious.

When we finish exchanging vows, the minister pronounces us married, and J kisses me with a full-bodied passion that’s only semi-church appropriate. He definitely gets his message across. I know he wants me, and as my breathing quickens and the walls of my pussy contract, I kiss him back urgently, silently signaling that I’m thinking the same thing.

What's the point of having a wedding at all if you can't look forward to your wedding night?

When we were first introduced, I was hesitant about the idea of a serious relationship. After a lifetime of feeling disappointed by men, I’d finally learned how to maintain stability on my own. I was the sole proprietor of my joy, completely on the hook for my own happiness. I had amazing friends and a career that was moving in the right direction. I lived in a great apartment. I loved my life. I didn’t need anyone to share it with me.

Especially not a man. Letting someone in could mean inevitable collapse.

Still, the amount of pressure I put on myself—the intense individual responsibility that drove my life—sometimes sabotaged my ability to form true connections. On some level, I felt I was above romance, superior to the notion of love. I didn't feel bad about at first, not until I met someone who I knew was worthy of my affection, who I knew deserved more than just the subsidized parts of me. He deserved it all.

J waited, patiently. I wasn’t a princess, and he wasn’t a knight in shining armor, come to save me. We were both adults. He didn’t sweep me off my feet or buy me flowers every day. He met me where I was.

Okay, his sandy blond hair and infectious smile may have helped change my mind.

He was frustratingly handsome, tall in a way that made it impossible for me not to wear heels around him, muscular, with a strong build that could easily encapsulate my petite one. It’s funny, even now, to compare our hands, to see so clearly how the size of his eclipses mine. Yet, when joined together, we’re a perfect fit.

More than anything, it was his intoxicatingly kind, patient, good-humored personality that finally had me questioning my commitment to independence. He courted me with a reverent indulgence that I thought no longer existed in dating. There were long nights of talking and even longer nights of making love. He showed up for me in the moments that mattered, cooked for me when I was sick, took me on getaways when I was stressed with work. He was always there, making me feel cared for, special, and sexy.

Oh so sexy.

Maybe it was the way he looked deeply into my eyes when he spoke, his low voice sending shock waves straight to my core. Maybe it was the way he consistently found reasons to have his hands on me: brushing my hair off my neck, assuredly placing a palm on my thigh or at the small of my back. Maybe it was the way he never wavered in his desire to be with me, even when I wasn't quite convinced that I wanted to date anyone.

I still remember the first time we made love. We felt around for the perfect combination of our desires, tested our mutual boundaries. J was perfectly happy to let me fly, and I was glad to know that he would always be a safe place for me to land.

The second time we had sex, he showed up at my door late one night. The streets were wet and icy from a snowstorm the night before. I didn’t think anyone should be on the roads.

I was preparing for bed when I heard him knock.

We had spoken on the phone earlier that day, but for some reason, he came to see me anyway. The moment I let him in, I found myself pressed against the door, trapped by his body.

"Hey baby," he whispered into the crook of my neck.

"Please tell me you didn't drive all the way here in this weather."

"I came to check on you.” His voice was tender.

I melted at this, any and all worries fading away. My body took over. All I wanted was pleasure. Lucky for me, he was offering it on a silver platter.

His hands roamed, groping my breasts, caressing my ass. I was on fire as I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him in for a kiss filled with restless desire. He bunched the hem of my silk nightgown until it was around my waist. I moaned, temporarily distracted by the cool air suddenly dancing on the exposed skin of my thighs.

"You really could have called first," I said, not able to resist the urge to chide him.

As if in response, he slipped two fingers inside me. I gasped. Already, I was embarrassingly wet. He nipped at my neck, his warm breath sending shock waves through my already drenched center as he teased me, pulling his fingers from inside me only to push them back in, deeper.

"I could have," he agreed.

He knew how to manipulate my body, how to leave me aching and wanting more. I pushed him away, ready to take this up to my bedroom, but he blocked the movement, pressing a firm hand against my abdomen, holding me in place as he dropped down to his knees. He understood my nuanced need to surrender better than any man ever had.

“Oh. My. God,” I breathed, trembling at the thought of what was to come.

With his free hand, he caressed the inside of my thighs, burying his face into my wetness. I moaned, squirming against the door as he continued fingering me, sucking my clit into his mouth. I threw my head back in a moment of pure ecstasy, stopping myself just short of the rigid surface behind me. My body felt pliable, a combination of both need and fulfillment flooded my system. I bucked hard against his face as I basked in the sensation of surprise and appreciation for his welcomed intrusion. He was steadily building up momentum, his tongue languishing me in the most tender places. His fingers remained steady, keeping a concise rhythm as they curled inside of me, pushing up against my g-spot.

I felt primal as I climaxed in the most beautifully desperate manner. God, he was good.

He looked up at me, an irritatingly charming grin splayed across his face as I tried to breathe normally, struggling to regain my composure. Damn it.

He placed delicate kisses on my hip flexors, moving down and gently tugging the skin on the insides of my thighs with his teeth. I sighed, running my fingers through my hair, intending to cool myself down when instead he dove back into my sensitive pussy, reigniting the flame of passion with renewed ferocity.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” was all I could utter.

I came over and over again, right there, against my front door. With no concept of time or space, reality faded away at the mercy of his hands. I could have married him that night.

Until J, I’d maintained a firm hold over my life. I'd grasped every ounce of control I could get my overachieving, micromanaging hands on, but his devotion allowed me to release the firm hold, to be a little wilder and a little less measured. With J, I finally felt free from managing responsibilities and predicting outcomes. Being intimate with him felt like coming home to my body. It’s always languid and intentional, beautiful and earnest. I’m still smitten.

For the wedding, we rented out one of our favorite restaurants on the lower level of the small boutique-hotel which also happens to be the same location as our first date. A wrap-around terrace spans the length of the restaurant, so we leave all the doors open letting the warm night air filter in. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and accents of white chiffon and gardenias line tables and chairs. The pure white accents complement the glossy violet haze that prevails on the dance floor which is now packed with all of our friends. The band compels us all, a mix of bright Salsa classics and, of course, our favorite 90s music that brings a loud and vibrant joy to an already lovely party. I salsa until my legs hurt and sing along to every song, belting out lyrics with my sister and girlfriends.

The reception, or “after-party” as I’m calling it, goes by in a blur. Music fills the space, champagne is poured, and kisses are exchanged. I love the energy. There is a sense of never-ending euphoria, the bliss of being with the people I love on a magical night.

What is it about weddings that puts people in such a good mood? Maybe it’s just the free booze.

Dancing with my husband is electrifying. I sway in his arms, twirling my hips, brushing my ass against him. He holds me, hands firmly on my waist, swaying with me and guiding me to the rhythm.

About halfway through a particularly sexy song, I turn around. When I look at him, my whole world comes into focus. Past and future blend into one, awakening an inextinguishable desire within me. A desire for more than just dancing.

His icy blue eyes turn dark. He knows what I’m thinking. I want him inside me so badly.

His breath is warm on my neck as he whispers in my ear, "We're going upstairs. Now."

"Oh? For what exactly?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

His eyes grow darker, smoldering as he says, "All the things I can't do to you on this dance floor. I've shared you enough for one night. Now, I want you all to myself."

We sidestep people on our way out, gliding through a sea of dancing couples and family members. I blow kisses to some of my friends as we make our way through the crowd. Pausing on the way, I tell my sister to keep the party going.

"Don't let everyone leave on our account. Keep dancing!"

She smiles and waves me off.

Just as we begin to walk down the hall towards our suite, J hoists me off the ground and into his arms. "What are you doing!?” I squeal, laughing as he dips and spins me, taking his time on the journey in.

"I'm carrying my bride over the threshold,” he says, looking at me like it's obvious. In my lust, I’d forgotten about this particular post-wedding tradition. I squeal, laughing as he dips and spins me, taking his time on the journey in. I kick my feet, playfully nudging his arm, signaling for him to put me down. He smirks and instead throws me over his shoulder.

"Seriously, J?!" I say, rolling my eyes at the gesture.

"That time was just for fun,” he says with a grin.

I am eager to change out of my gown, touch up my makeup, and prepare for my wedding night. But, as it turns out, my new husband has other plans.

He places me on top of the bed, pressing his weight against me, trapping me underneath him. Resting his arms on either side of my head, he makes it clear that I’m not going anywhere. I sigh. His dominant side never fails to turn me on.

I rake my fingers up and down his chest, pressing my hands against his shoulders. He leans in and kisses me, hard and slow, like he wants us to savor the moment for a lifetime.

I whimper, involuntarily pressing my hips up against his. He pulls away, eyes burning into me as he trails a hand down my décolleté, over my breasts, and across my stomach until he reaches my center.

My dress has gathered around my waist, leaving the bottom half of me completely exposed, save for a pair of white lace panties. He presses his hand against my pussy, caressing me over the wet fabric, circling my clit beneath the lace. Only when my panties are drenched does he change course.

In one swift and sexy motion, he tears the lace, ripping my panties off. I am left bare, shivering with my desire as he slips a thick finger inside me. My walls contract, and any hesitation vanishes.

He has me.

I cry out as he slides a second finger inside of me, pushing, twisting, coaxing out my wetness, making my back arch.

"Oh God, please…" I moan.

"Please what?”

"You're killing me."

"Am I?" he says, clearly enjoying it. "Tell me what you want, then."

I sigh, defeated by the delayed gratification. "God I need you to fuck me, please."

He stands up, not breaking eye contact with me as he undresses. From cuff links to loafers, he strips down completely. He stands in front of me, muscles bare, chiseled in all of his gorgeous sculpted splendor. My arousal builds as I watch, still in awe of how he looks naked. Good enough to eat.

Sometimes, it seems as if he is carved from stone, his hard and unyielding edges balanced by the soft malleability of my curves. I sit up, moving closer, longing to feel as connected to him as possible.

Grabbing my thighs, he drags my body until I am at the edge of the bed, kissing me again, this time more intensely. My whole body shudders as he wraps my hair around his fist and tugs at the root. He knows how wet this makes me, how much I crave the sensation. I am breathless and dizzy with anticipation.

Maybe it was all the champagne I indulged in, or maybe it was just the buzz of our wedding night, but I feel bold. I break our embrace, lowering myself down until I am directly in front of his hard cock. I grab the base of his shaft, stroking him, circling the head with my tongue. I smile inwardly as he lets out a low moan.

"Norah, now you're killing me,” he moans.

"Well, it's only fair," I say, smiling. I love the power that I have over him with his cock in my grip.

I continue, running my thumb along the underside of his balls, teasing him as I nuzzle his hardness against my face. I know he wants me to take him in my mouth, suck him, to let the length of his cock slide down my throat.

But I want to make him wait for it.

I plant tiny wet kisses along the shaft as J swears under his breath, impatiently trying to jerk away from my grasp.

Suddenly, he’s had enough. Before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling me off of him and pushing me onto the bed. The combination of arousal and whiplash sends shivers through my body. My reaction only seems to intensify his desire as he presses harder, burying my face in the bedspread. I moan loudly, squirming in the vulnerable position.

He brings a hand to my ass, squeezing the flesh. My body tenses, I know what is coming next.

His gaze is intense, penetrating, as he inspects my body. Leaning into me, he kisses my neck. I wrap my legs around his torso, pressing my breasts softly against his chest.

Sensing my need, he trails his hands down, cupping them, pinching and twisting my nipples. I moan, the emptiness in my pussy becoming almost unbearable. He toys me, rubbing his cock along my slick folds, taunting me with the release I am begging for.

It is torture. Pure, delicious torture.

A breathy whine escapes my lips as he finally pushes in all the way, stretching me open. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for, we’ve been waiting for.

"Look at me," he says.

Fighting the urge to close my eyes, I meet his gaze, relishing in the intensity of it all. At this moment, I feel so unbelievably proud of myself. Proud that I have chosen love. Proud that I have chosen a future. And proud that, above all else, I still choose myself.

"J, what are you waiting for?" I say after a long moment, the anticipation building at a speed neither of us can handle much longer.

He chuckles, as if I’m adorable. "I'm just taking it all in. Admiring my sexy wife.”

I roll my eyes, blushing in spite of myself. "Well, can you take it all in later? Right now, your sexy wife needs to get fucked."

"Yes ma'am," is his only response as he finds his rhythm, pounding into me with deep, forceful thrusts. The head of his cock brushes against my cervix, making me scream. I can feel every inch of him inside me. I’m drowning, lost in a sea of ecstasy.

He whispers my name into the crook of my neck, each syllable making me shudder with exquisite abandon, calming me down and stoking my fire all at the same time.

"Norah, you're so fucking beautiful," he says. All I can do is smile, hold him closer, bask in the bliss.

His thumb circles my clit, the gentleness of his touch contrasting his forceful thrusts that threaten to push me over the edge. I scream again, not holding back as I feel his cock pulsing inside of me. His thrusts become rougher, reaching deeper than I thought possible. He is beginning to lose control, I can feel it. His nails dig into my thighs, holding me open. I moan, unable to close any part of myself off to him. He holds me in his arms, fucking me with all his strength.

Then I am over the edge, losing myself in him, surrendering to my desire. My pussy clenches around him, my body convulsing with pleasure. I feel him come with me, our orgasms colliding.

He continues thrusting, riding the wave of his own climax while drawing every last ounce of pleasure out of me. I want to capture the moment and hold onto it forever, to take it with me through all the trials and tribulations that I know will come with married life.

But all I can do is be present. So I feel every tingle, every shiver, every pulsation. I let it all flow through me, satisfaction cascading over my body.

As his thrusts slow, he smiles at me, sweeping his big hands up and down my sides, caressing my waist.

"God, you are so lucky," I say, letting my eyes close.

"Why is that?"

“Because. Now you’re married to me.”

Photo by Mikhail Konetski