Chapter 14

Liam

12:36 AM THURSDAY

All of Becky’s kisses taste like my cum. In another life, I might have cared.

But she’s my Becky now. My fiery-haired, fiery-tempered hot little mess.

Mine. All fucking mine.

My woman, my lover, my wife.

She’d better fucking taste like my cum.

Just means that she’s doing her job right, doesn’t it?

Becky has my cum in her hair. She has it on her bridal veil. It’s dripping from that silly little tiara she picked out: SLUT, it spells out in sparkly pink rhinestones. She picked it out specifically for that reason, wild little thing she is.

“Slut,” she told me, smiling as she held it up to the light. “It’s perfect—I’m your slut.”

And if I wasn’t in love with her by that point, I certainly was after.

It’s insane, is what this is. It’s not normal, and it’s certainly not what anyone would have expected.

Eight months ago, Becky Brooks was so-called “saved” by my tosser of a step-brother. She agreed to marry the dumb bastard and made the worst choice of her fucking life in the process.

And now, tonight, just days before the ceremony between them is supposed to take place…she’s married me instead, and I’ve baptized her in my cum to seal the deal.

The marriage license is signed. The fees are paid, the priest said the words, and she kissed my mouth while I showed everyone in this little fucking rent-a-church that Becky Brooks is mine.

Best of all—she chose me. She tossed her fucking ring at her pathetic excuse of a fiancé and she ran right into my arms. Right where she belongs.

“Any sins to confess, love?” I say, leaning against the back of the confessional booth and pulling her against me.

My cum dangles from an upper row of her eyelashes, clinging to her cheekbone every time she blinks. I wipe it away and let her suck it off my thumb.

“Well,” she giggles, “I just did that. Seems worth confessing.”

“I concur, darling. You’ll have to do penance for such naughtiness.”

“Should I say a rosary?”

“I think I’ll just spank your ass red again like the little tart you are.”

She coos at that—and fuck’s sake, when Becky coos, it’s like my cock swells another three inches taller, and my heart fucking explodes.

I need to have it inside her…now. Immediately. It’s not a want, it’s an urgency. A need.

I’ve fucked women from all walks of life. Fresh-faced eighteen-year-olds and aging grand-duchesses. Strippers, doctors, lawyers, and escorts. The notches in my bedpost come from nearly every country in the world—women of every race, religion, creed and kink…

In a room full of every woman I’ve ever fucked, I know damn fucking well that I could sniff out Becky Brooks by the smell of her wet fucking cunt alone. The rest of them would be welcome to just watch—because if ever there’s been a match for me, it’s this gorgeous little redhead that I now have the pleasure of calling my wife.

Not Becky Brooks anymore, but Becky Black.

That makes my cock even fucking harder.

I bloody like the sound of that.

“Confess to me,” Becky coos at me while I pick her up by the thighs and hold her body against mine. “Tell me your sins now, Elvis.”

“Mm,” I moan. “That’s a very long list, love.”

“Good,” she gasps as I slip a hand up her skirt and between her legs. “That means you’re—oh. God, fuck, that’s good—that means you’re bad, doesn’t it.”

“Rotten to the core.”

“I like you rotten,” my bride tells me while I roll her clit beneath my thumb.

I watch as her eyes roll back in sheer, unbridled pleasure. “I fucking bet you do.”

“Tell me, though,” she moans. “Tell me how bad you are.”

I chuckle. I have to admire her fucking pluck.

Most women want to ride the wild stallion for a night. They like the idea of taming him, if only temporarily. Or they’re looking for something, it’s fulfilling some kink that a good man could never possibly unravel.

Some hate themselves and are looking for a bad boy to treat them like trash, just to verify their own self-loathing. Those are some of the worst—because they expect me to hate them in that same way, and I fucking love women so I just fucking can’t.

Others think so fucking much of themselves, they expect me to change. Give up this bad boy tomfoolery and become something that I’m not. Something that I never was. As if a good pussy or a set of lips around my cock would possibly make me want to stop drinking or gambling or carrying on all hours of the night.

Those, I think, are even worse. Women like that get off by stripping away everything that a man is, everything that he’s ever been or has ever had.

Becky isn’t like that, though.

I finger-fuck Becky in the tight little confessional booth that we’ve hidden ourselves away in until she’s orgasming around my fingers and moaning into my shoulder. For the first time in my life, I know that this is the woman with whom I’m going to spend the rest of my life.

“I put on these sunglasses so I could stare at your tits during the ceremony without anyone noticing,” I confess to her while she claws at my Elvis cape and gasps for fucking air.

“Yes,” she moans. “More.”

“The whole time you were saying your vows, I was thinking about putting my cock in your mouth.”

“Yes!” she moans again as I lower her to the ground.

Her mouth slides over my cock like she was born to service my hard, thick man meat with her pretty little lips.

“I knew from the moment I saw you I was going to make you mine,” I rasp as she sucks me hard and good, the way blowjobs feel in the best wet dreams. “If Dan hadn’t fucked up so royally—”

“Beyond royally,” Becky gasps, coming up for air then going right back down on me, exactly where she belongs.

“If he hadn’t,” I confess to her, “I would have taken you anyway, Becky. I would have stolen you away just before you walked down that aisle to marry that bloody fucking bastard—”

“Mmmmm,” Becky moans.

“Taken you into a closet—not so unlike this one, really—and I would have let Dan fucking sweat it out at the altar while I took you. Just like this.”

“God,” Becky gasps. “I would have thanked you for it. I would have been grateful for that. Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Outside the confessional, I can hear crashing and banging. There’s the gentle scent of incense, spilled wine, and flame.

“I love you, too, darling,” I confess to her.

“Oh my god,” Becky says, clutching my long, thick cock in her fists like she’s praying. I’m the one confessing—but she’s the one on her knees. “Call me darling again.”

“Darling,” I name her, “Love. Wife. I’ll call you whatever you fucking fancy, Becky, as long as I can call you mine.”

“Mmm,” Becky says with a wild little glint in her eye. “How about slut?”

“My slut,” I purr, stroking her jawline. “Come here, darling.”

I help her to her feet, and I know we can both feel it. It’s something beyond electricity between us. It’s our genetic codes, screaming at each other in ecstasy, begging to combine.

I shouldn’t knock my wife up on our wedding night. Especially not when, as of this morning, she was meant to be my bastard step-brother’s wife instead.

But I want to.

And I might.

“Let’s consummate this, darling,” I say, pressing an eager kiss onto her lips. “I want you.”

“You want your slut?” Becky teases, kissing the corners of my mouth, then my jaw, then down my neck.

“I want my wife,” I growl at her, and then there’s no stopping us.

Whatever happens after that is out of our control. I might be a bad boy…but Becky is a very bad girl to match.

I don’t know what Dan ever saw in her that made him think he could tame her—but now that I’m the one probing Becky’s insides, I know that tame is the last thing in the world I want.