“Ladies and gents, lovers and haters, sinners and saints,” I croon into the microphone, “it’s that time of the week again. Thursday, just twenty-four hours away from the happy ending of your workweek. You’ve got Mr. XO here and tonight’s theme is Happily Ever After.”

“Let me just start by making an important announcement. I have been given permission by the future Mrs. XO to state that I am officially off the market. Yes, that’s right listeners…she said yes! So, in the spirit of happily ever after…I want to hear yours. Drop in a line to remind us that this adventure called love is all worthwhile.”

“…so nervous I actually fainted and fell into the chuppah, knocking myself out. The hospital had to keep me for observation for twenty-four hours. So we spent our honeymoon at St. Luke’s instead of the Maldives. Twelve years later and she still teases me about it.”

“…always thought he was a complete asshole. But once we actually got to know each other I saw how sensitive he really was, just really bad at expressing himself, ha, ha. And the way he proposed…it was perfection. I couldn’t ask for a better man.”

“…so at any rate, the whole balloons getting caught in the electrical wires kind of ruined the proposal. Especially when the fire department came to put out the fire. But she said yes!”

“…sat there by my side through every chemo appointment. When the doctor finally announced that the cancer was gone, that’s the day he proposed. He didn’t even need to ask, of course I was going to marry him! Both yours truly and our marriage have been going strong for five years now.”

“…celebrating our twentieth anniversary this weekend. I think I love her more now than the day I married her.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

It’s about time, I think to myself as I lean in and kiss Prynne. Slightly less risqué than the one I gave her after our first date. Slightly less chaste than the one she initially tried to give me.

All for the sake of family.

The wedding has been a simple affair held in a church just outside of Rutherford. Or at least as simple as a wedding with a quiver-full of Flanders (and née Flanders) can be. My mother’s custom Vera Wang mother-of-the-groom dress and my father’s Mr Porter suit make an interesting contrast against the handmade dresses and second-hand suits on the Flanders side of the family.

There will be another wedding party more suited to our style with our friends back in New York. We’ve already reserved the bar at the top of the Sexton Hotel for the occasion.

By now the Flanders Flock show has officially gone off the air. Well over ten years seemed like a long enough time. There was also some noise about the family not being entirely faithful to the Quiverfull movement when it came to gender roles, occasional vices, and family planning. No one has come out and said it, but I suspect all, including Prynne’s parents, were relieved that the show was off the air.

“I think my father has finally warmed up to you,” Prynne teases, as we have our first dance.

“You think?” I tease back. “I suppose he had no choice but to accept me now that he knows about your hobby-turned-career of writing smut. Who else would have such a brazen hussy?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Well, I did get him to walk me down the aisle, so there’s that.”

“I have a feeling he might get a bit chilly if he knew what I had planned for our honeymoon.”

She giggles. “Are we going to scandalize the South of France?”

“I think that might be an even higher bar than New York. From what I hear, there are at least a few nude beaches scattered around the coast. Which just begs the question.”

“What’s that?”

“How far do you want to go Mrs. Connors?” I growl into her ear and pull back to give her a grin.

She beams up at me. “All the way Mr. Connors.”

“Oh, Rhys.” Prynne’s moans rise above the noise of the people walking along the Promenade des Anglais outside our window. Even if the weather here in Nice wasn’t perfect, we’d still have the windows open and curtains pushed back. Our penthouse suite is on the seventh floor here, with a bed that faces the sea…and any locals or tourists who happen to be sunbathing.

I hum against her clit, matching the buzz of the ocean and wind and chatter outside. The sound Prynne makes is almost certainly reaching the ears of anyone in the vicinity.

My eyes roll up past the white triangle of skin before me where she kept her bikini bottom on this morning. The rest of the landscape is pure golden tan, all the way up to those pink lips as they gurgle out another incoherent noise.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she groans as I plunge two fingers into that tight hole of hers. There’s something viciously territorial that rushes through me, knowing my dick is the only one that’s ever explored this wonderland. These days, the dripping wetness that coats my fingers is not as necessary as it was that first time.

“That’s it, that’s the spot Rhys,” she mewls as I curve my fingers up to massage that X that marks the spot inside her to make her instantly come.

It’s been an adventure, discovering each other this way, each of us learning exactly what turns the other on. I know she likes it when I’m on top, her left leg thrown over my shoulder. She knows I love that final moment when all she does is repeat my name over and over.

I pull up to kneel above her and inspect my handiwork. This here is the look of an utterly satisfied woman. She smiles through heavy breaths that cause the small, hard peaks of her nipples, which have turned just as dark honey-colored as the rest of her, to rise and fall.

“Ready to consummate this marriage?” I say with a grin.

She laughs and wrinkles her brow. “Didn’t we already do that too many times to count?”

“We’re still on the honeymoon, dear wife. Every fuck counts.”

She laughs again and my eyes fall to those two perfect mounds that shamelessly jiggle with delight. I lean in on two hands above her.

“Tell me you don’t want this every day for the rest of your life.”

“Every day?” she says raising an eyebrow as she looks up at me. Her eyes scroll down to my dick which is rock hard. “I think I can handle that.”

“Well, then,” I say with a grin as I fall down between her open legs. I draw the left one up to my waist and she hooks it around my back. “Let’s get rockin’.”

I slip in, nice and slow, just the way she likes it. Prynne closes her eyes, sighing as her fingers rake lightly down my back.

“You’re still so fucking tight,” I groan as I reach the hilt. I take a moment to enjoy the feel of every inch of her clinging tightly to every inch of me.

“Tell me how much you fucking like this,” I growl. She loves hearing me talk dirty in her ear. “Tell me this sweet pussy is all mine.”

“All yours, Rhys,” she cries.

“That’s right, milk it. Clench that sweet cunt hard around my dick.”

That sets her off. Her cries become more intense, louder, fiercer.

“They can hear you, Prynne. Everyone outside knows how dirty you like being for me. And now it’s official, you’re my bad girl, no one else’s. I’ve already marked my territory.”

I feel her pussy spasm, the words shooting a path straight from her eardrum right to her g-spot. She’s milking it all right. I feel that pressure start to build in my groin. Good lord, what this woman does to me in so many ways.

As the sky outside transitions from light to dark, we climax together during that perfect moment in between when a burst of color filters everything. It’s not nearly as impressive as the scream that erupts from Prynne’s mouth as she reaches that apex.

You’re welcome, France.