Livia
Aedan lifts me off my feet just as easily as he did last year, throws me over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs of my apartment building. I let out a squeal, gripping onto his muscles, holding on for dear life and loving the way his tuxedo does nothing to soften his rock-hard shoulders.
“Still can’t handle your liquor, eh, wife?” he quips.
“Shut your face.” I giggle, and slap him on the back. “And put me down, you animal. I don’t want to be carried out by a beast like you.”
He laughs, holds me one-armed, and opens the door to my apartment, carrying me across the threshold. He kicks the door closed behind him and carries me to the couch. He lays me down and I look up at him, weaving from side to side, champagne coursing through me—but lust courses with more fire, heating up my body, burning to my fingertips. As Aedan stands over me, he looks like a man who could be on the front of a magazine, rugged as all hell and handsome, too.
“You better fuck me hard tonight,” I say, smiling up at him.
He leans down, placing his hands on my legs, high up on my bare flesh near my pussy. At once, my pussy gets wet, so wet an ache moves through me, right up to my nipples, to my face; champagne and tingles mix until I can’t tell the difference between the two.
“Maybe you’re too drunk,” Aedan says. “Maybe I’ll have to play the gentleman again. Maybe I’ll have to let you get some sleep and wait until you’ve sobered up.”
He smiles at me with that wicked, cocky grin which even after a year hasn’t lost any of its effect.
“Don’t play with me,” I warn him. “I’ll claw your eyes out.”
“I thought you were more of a pen-stabbing sort of lady?”
I dart my hands up, clutch onto his beard—now wilder and madder than ever—and pull him close to me.
“Wait a sec,” he says. “I have a wedding present for you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Look.”
He dislodges my hands, falls to his knees, and yanks my underwear down.
Then he pushes my dress up, revealing my bare, hungry pussy, and puts his head between my legs. His beard tickles my lips, my clit, but his tongue is what I feel the most, poking through the tickling hairs and rubbing hot against my clit. He licks slow, at first, and I’m so caught unawares I just sit there. Then the lust builds inside of me and I reach down, grab onto his hair, and push his face close into my pussy. He grabs my thighs and pulls me, a cry of surprise escaping me, close to him, so close that it feels like his tongue is inside of me... No, his tongue is inside of me!
He tongue-fucks me, tongue-fucks me hard, the tip of his tongue going all the way to my burning spot—a spot he knows intimately by now, a spot he knows well how to please. He waggles it around inside of me, my wetness covering his tongue, his beard, his chin, and then—and then—
He lifts me, spins, lies on his back and maneuvers me with all his hitman’s strength so that I’m sitting on his face.
I grip his abs through the fabric of his jacket and ride his tongue, ride and ride as the orgasm hits me. Hits me hard, barrels into me.
My pussy goes tight around his tongue, trapping it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I tear through Aedan’s tuxedo, my clawing fingernails turning it to tatters, and shift my hips on his beard, feeling his tongue writhe deep inside of me. I float, higher and higher, and then something strange happens. I giggle, giggle in a carefree way, giggle like I could never giggle with anybody before—before I found somebody I was infinitely comfortable with. I giggle as the orgasm takes me, whisks me away, whisks me away into our new life...
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I cry. And then: “I love you, you dirty fucking Irish bastard.”
He lifts me up, stands, and then begins to unbutton his trousers. “Do you think we’re done, baby?” he says.
I grab my dress and pull it over my head. I’ll never get used to the way he looks at me, I think.
“Not even close,” I reply.