It’s excruciating to look at Bellamy during the ceremony. Her skin is deeply blushed, and her smile is radiant—so radiant it’s all I can do not to take her now, right in front of the congregation, right in front of the priest.

There is none of her earlier fear. Her nerves have settled under my hands.

A crackling buzz settles over all the sound in the chapel—the rustle of guests in the seats, the drone of the service, the call-and-answer. Even our vows are liquid, waves of her crashing into my hearing, and I’m sure I stumble over one or two of the words. Laughter reverberates from the soaring ceiling back down on our heads, a happiness I’ve never deserved.

“You may kiss your bride,” says the priest, his voice reaching to the very back of the chapel, and the moment my lips touch hers, everything is clear.

Bellamy opens to me, audience be damned, and there’s a moment of breathless silence followed by whoops and applause.

“You put on a good show,” I murmur into her ear, aware of the camera taking our picture.

She laughs, her head tipping toward my shoulder. Does she know what a gorgeous line this will create, her in her white dress, me in my black suit, up at the front of this soaring chapel? She might have been aware of it when all this began, but now it seems like second nature. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“What? Brought you a wedding gift? It’s a lovely piece of...jewelry.”

We go down the aisle arm in arm, and for once Bellamy doesn’t question any of it. She waves like she was born to be here, in this church, with me.

Our wedding party follows us out and we form a reception line. Jessica is first to greet us, her eyes teary. “That was beautiful.” She kisses us both on the cheek. “Stunning. Best wedding I’ve ever been to.”

“Aside from ours.” Alex cuts in to shake my hand, to kiss Bellamy’s cheek. The rest of our friends are right behind him, hugging her like they’ve known her all their lives, and it makes all of me feel warm and whole. Fuck. Do I have to be grateful to Andrew for this?

He’s the first out of the church and the first through the line, blue eyes stormy. He shakes my hand firmly and looks me in the eye. “Congratulations. Beautiful service.”

When he steps over to Bellamy, she raises her chin in the air. “Thank you so much for coming, Mr. President.”

I want to double over with laughter, but I keep it together. My parents are next, effusive and laughing, darting their eyes over to the photographer when there’s no telltale click. These photos are going to run in at least one outlet, probably an exclusive—Brian’s handling all that. I know I signed off on something.

My parents and Andrew are like the first droplets of rain in a storm, and after that it’s a rush of people, a riverbed overflowing with congratulations. They clap me on the back so hard my shoulder gets sore, but the real ache is Bellamy, standing so close, and so clothed.

I have to get her alone.

Finally, we get to the end of the line, and Bellamy’s bridesmaids have gathered her things from the bridal suite. From here, it’s a short ride to the reception.

We’ll ride alone.

“Got everything?”

“I think so,” Cate says, her arms full of Bellamy’s bag and the shoes she wore when she left the penthouse this morning. “We could probably do one more sweep to see if—”

“Good.”

I take Bellamy by the arm and steer her outside.

It’s warm, for the first week of April, and the sunlight is delicate outside the national cathedral. Bellamy looks up at me with worry knitted into her forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Go. Let’s go.” I give a jaunty wave to the photographers penned in on the sidewalk, then pull open the back door of the SUV as gallantly as I can manage. Bellamy’s hand trembles on mine while she steps in, and I climb in after her.

Jameson is up front, next to the driver, and I slap my hand against the back of the seat. “We’re good.”

“Congratulations, sir,” he says, a knowing smile on his face.

The next place my hand lands is the button to raise the privacy barrier.

Bellamy sits perfectly still until it’s at the ceiling, and then she launches herself toward me. “You look upset.” Her voice is strained, her face pale with worry.

“I’m not upset. Come here.”

I lift her, dress and all, onto my lap, and sigh. This is what I’ve been waiting for all day. She runs her hands through my hair while I run my hands up her bare thighs to her bare pussy. Bellamy throws her head back, her lips parting in a silent gasp, and then she sucks in a breath. “Graham—we can’t.”

“We can, and we will.”

She leans forward and becomes a tigress, her mouth ravenous on mine, and when I hold her down, the slightest pressure makes her scratch at my shoulders underneath my shirt. “It was cruel, what you did.” Her lips move against my neck and she bites down, not hard enough to leave a mark but hard enough that my cock jumps in my pants. “That was filthy.”

I take her jaw in my hand and am rewarded with a wave of wetness. “And look at you. You’re hot and wet for it. You need it. You crave it.”

Two fingers inside of her, and she’s already riding the wave up to a delicious, delirious orgasm. “Wait.”

“Wait?” Her gray eyes are huge. “No, please don’t make me wait.”

“Wait.”

I take my fingers away and she lets out a whimper of disappointment, but it’s only so I can unzip my pants, let my cock spring free, and lift her hips away from mine.

“Oh, fuck.” Bellamy braces herself against my shoulders. All this time, and she’s still tight. Her opening is swollen and lovely and I pull her down, inexorably, onto my crown.

Her breasts rise under the demure neckline of her dress as she takes me in. As I impale her, her body stretching around me, her body finally surrendering to the invasion. She pulses and clenches around me and I circle her hips with my hands, holding her in place.

Bellamy swirls those hips as best she can, getting my crown to hit that rough, secret spot inside of her, and I grit my teeth.

I’m not going to come.

Yet.

I take her hair in my hand and tug it backward so that she has to look into my eyes. “Have you been a good girl?”

“I don’t—” She swirls harder, hips rocking, the sound of her sweet wetness gentle in the air. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s see.”

I reach behind her.

The handle of the plug is still there, nestled between her creamy cheeks. “You have.”

I twist it, pushing it deeper inside. She moans.

“I can feel it,” I say into her ear. “I can feel it inside you while I fuck you.”

“Dirty,” she gasps. “So dirty.”

“Tell me you love it, sweetness.”

“I love it.” Her eyes are hazy with heat. “I love you. I love you, Graham. I love you.”

She says this to me while I twist and tug at the plug in her ass, and that’s it—that’s the last moment I can hold back from her. It’s so deliciously filthy, watching her face as I do it, that I know I can’t live without it.

Even if she can.

Even if she’s another person who will see the good in everyone but me, I can’t walk away from this.

“Graham, I—”

“Come.”

The moment I give her permission, she erupts, loud enough that I know Jameson can hear.

I don’t care. I’m too swept up in my own climax, underneath the white cloud of her dress. Bellamy falls forward, her forehead on my shoulder, and shudders with the last of her release.

There’s a gentle knock at the privacy divider.

Shit—we’re here.

How long has the car been stopped?

Bellamy lifts her head.

“You’re going to make me go to the reception like this, aren’t you?”

“So wicked.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “And yes.”