Helena

Holy fucking shit. I still don’t know why those bitches were laughing, but my man is hot as fuck. I am a lucky, lucky woman. I haven't taken a deep breath since I met him. He flusters me. His voice is sexy as hell with a deep Georgia accent that I have always found hot. He has broad shoulders and is built like a linebacker. If I had to guess, I’d say he was between two hundred and seventy-five pounds and three hundred. His biceps look like he lives in the gym. They are huge. He’s at least six foot four, if not taller. He is the first man I’ve ever met that makes me feel petite. His beard is full except for the places he has been, I think, burnt. Rather badly too. I want to ask questions but I don't. His green eyes are expressive and I feel like he can see into my very soul.

It's like he knows me. Really knows me. His fingers on my pussy made me shake in anticipation. He turns from me giving me privacy, though I don't want or need it. I have no idea what made me so bold.

I can’t believe this man is going to be my husband. I pull on what I think is a sexy bra and panty set from Torrid. Then I dress quickly in a maroon knee-length dress with a bit of flair. It has lace sleeves and a plunging neckline. I also throw the offending leather nightmare of a dress into the trash can. After those go-go dancer boots, I just want to be barefoot, but that won't do right now. I slide on a pair of navy blue ballet flats and grab my matching clutch. From my regular purse, I grab my wallet and my cell phone, shoving them in the bag.

“Ready,” I say. He turns to look at me.

“Shit, you look beautiful,” he says.

“You don't have to say things like that,” I say, then immediately regret it.

“What did I just say to you?” He asks.

“You were serious?” I ask. I am surprised when his hand go around my throat, squeezing me. For the first time, I notice his hands are burnt as well. I can see the evidence of unsuccessful skin grafts on the back of his hands. Others appear to be successful. I stare at his face, learning every welt on it. He looks sexy. Dangerous. Determined. I smile, thinking he looks like he’s mine.

“I would never joke about something like that, Helena. You should know now that I do not like repeating myself. I don’t speak often, you will learn that as well. When I say something, you can rest assured, I fucking mean it.” All I can do is nod as his hands are still tight around my throat. Why the fuck is that so hot? Somehow, I know he’d never hurt me. He slowly releases my throat, allowing me to gradually catch my breath. “Tell me you understand me,” he says.

“I understand.”

“You understand, what?” he asks. I have no idea what he wants to hear here. Purely based on my love of romance novels, he could be interested in Sir, Husband, or Daddy. Oh shit, he could be into something I don’t even know about yet.

“I understand, Husband,” I say, taking a chance.

“Very good, Wife,” he says quickly kissing me. Much too quick for my tastes. He grabs my hand and opens the door. We take a short walk from my door to the elevator.

Back down we go. We locate Peter right where we left him.

Checking my watch, I see that we were only gone fifteen minutes, but it seemed so much longer than that.

“You two ready now? Mr. O’Toole, we got your wire transfer. Ms. Milton, we wired your eight million to the escrow account in your name.”

“Thank you,” I say. Kiernan just grunts. I can’t help smiling.

We meet the minister who was a kind, old man. He married us quickly, at Kiernan's request. He's adorable. Peter and the minister's wife served as witnesses.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

I'm not at all prepared for the kiss we share. It's erratic and positively carnal. The minister clears his throat, but still, we don't stop. He only stops when I moan.

“Come, wife, l need to claim you in our bed.” He takes my hand and leads me. I'd follow him anywhere.

“I almost did,” I say loudly. I laugh when he growls.

“Don't tempt me,” he warns.

“Where are we going?” I ask, changing the subject. He looks on edge and while I like that, I don’t want him mad at me.

“Home.”

“To Atlanta?” I question.

“Yes.”

“What about my things?”

“I had my guy get them. They are already in the car,” he says as he signs the marriage certificate.

“Your guy?” I question taking the pen from him and dramatically signing my name. Edith, the minister's wife gives a copy to us.

“My security, Ezra and my driver, Thomas.”

“Are you Christian Grey or something?”

“No.” Is all he says. He goes back to his conversation with Edith.

“The state of Nevada will mail the certified copy of your license within seven business days. Congratulations. May your marriage prosper. Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you, ma'am. Merry Christmas to you as well,” he says politely.

The next thing I know, we are in the backseat of a Lexus, speeding towards the airport. He hasn't released my hand except for the brief moment I put my seatbelt on.

He's quiet. Like he's got something on his mind.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask, rubbing my fingers over the scars on the back of his hand.

“What position I'm going to fuck you in first,” he says quickly.

“Liar,” I say honestly. Somehow, I know he's lying. He chuckles.

I lean over closer to him and kiss his cheek.

“I know we just met, but you can tell me anything,” I say before kissing his bearded cheek. He doesn’t say anything for several minutes.

“I am having a rare moment of self-doubt,” he finally says. I lean back and stare at him. My eyes wide.

“Self-doubt?” I question.

“You showed me yourself, but I did not return that favor. I knew you’d back out and I couldn’t have that.”

“What are you talking about.”

“It’s not just my face and hands that are burnt.” Oh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask. I don’t have it in me to walk away from this man, but he doesn’t know that. Yet.

“I have never talked with anyone about this.”

“Talk to me,” I say softly.

He kisses me passionately and then he begins to speak.