SEVEN MILES TO MONTBLANCHE, the sign reads.

I bite my lip again and watch the headlights pool in the road out of Leo’s windshield, dark towns and houses whizzing by.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m getting married now, at nearly one o’clock in the morning, without my parents’ approval. I’ve never really done anything without their approval — least of all marry someone.

I look over at Leo, and he looks back at me, the scar on his face shining in the reflection of his headlights, and he grins.

Then he takes my hand in his and kisses it, and I grin back.

I’m still not sure how this happened, how I fell in love with a man who terrified me a couple of weeks ago, but I did. Somewhere between toe-curling orgasms, we stayed in my bed and talked until three or four in the morning.

I told him about my strict family, about growing up in one of the smallest but wealthiest nations in the world. About the constant fear that one of our bigger, more powerful neighbors might decide to invade one day, and we’d likely be out of luck.

He talks about the years after his sister died, when his parents both turned inward and practically left him to fend for himself, when he stopped leaving his castle for a while and that’s when all the rumors blossomed. He talks about feeling like a monster, about starting to believe everything that was said about him. Thinking that maybe he really was that man.

Montblanche is a city on the border of Tomassia and Luchenne, a sort of European Las Vegas where everything is open twenty-four hours and you don’t need to apply for a marriage license more than five minutes in advance.

Leo pulls into the first wedding chapel he sees, one barely across the international border. My heart is hammering in my chest, my mind racing as he shuts off the engine and cuts the headlights.

Should I do this? Is this stupid?

Am I getting married at one in the morning in Montblanche just so we can have sex?

Then I look over, into Leo’s eyes, and all my fears dissolve.

This is crazy. It might be stupid, and it’s definitely reckless.

But I know, deep down, that it’s not the wrong thing.

“You ready?” he asks, kissing my hand again.

I smile, even as a whole troupe of bats flutters through my stomach, I’m so nervous.

“Ready,” I say.

* * *

If the people running the wedding chapel in Montblanche recognize us, they do a good job of not saying anything. It makes me wonder how many famous people, or how many royals at least, get married at times and place like this.

Maybe more than I thought.

Getting married is surprisingly easy. We fill out some forms, pick rings, I pick flowers, and then suddenly it’s happening.

The whole ceremony is a blur, and I feel a little like I’m floating above myself, watching someone else get married. As excited as I am, it doesn’t seem real.

At least, not until the very end.

“I do,” Leo says, staring deep into my eyes, my hands locked in his.

I swallow hard. The officiant asks me if I promise to love and cherish, honor and obey, et cetera. My heart’s beating too loudly for me to really hear him.

“I do,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“You may now kiss the bride,” he intones.

Leo slides one hand along my jaw, cupping my face tenderly, and lowers his lips to mine. It’s the gentlest kiss we’ve ever exchanged, almost tentative, sweet and loving and tender.

It still makes my knees weak. Leo runs his tongue along my lip and I open my mouth under his, wrapping my arms around him as his other hand makes its way to my lower back, bringing me in against his body.

He’s rock hard. I bite his lip gently as he pulls away, smiling down at me dotingly, like any good husband.

Even though the officiant is standing right there, he’s not really paying any attention to us. Leo ends the kiss, then leans in, his lips against my ear.

“I’m going to fill you up with my thick cock and make you come until sunrise,” he whispers.

I blush bright red, because even if I’ve gotten a little more use to his dirty talk, he usually doesn’t do it in front of people. But no one else seems to notice, and Leo smiles at me, then at them, and we walk back down the aisle.

* * *

Ten minutes later, we’re walking down the hall of the hotel attached to the chapel, part of our wedding package. I’m giddy and breathless, because I can’t believe I’m married, and I’m also quivering in anticipation for what’s about to happen.

Leo takes out the key, puts it in the lock, and turns it.

Then he turns to me, the two of us alone in this hotel hallway.

“Josephine, I love you,” he says, and his voice is tender and gentle. “And as much as you’re mine, I’m yours, from the day I met you until the day I die.”

He kisses me.

“I couldn’t be happier that someday you’ll be my queen and the mother of our children,” he goes on. “And I wanted you to know that, right here, right now, as crazy as this may seem, when I say forever I mean it.”

“I mean it too,” I whisper.

We kiss one more time, our tongues tangling together, the familiar heat building up inside me. The kiss starts out gentle but gets rougher as it goes, until Leo’s hands are on my ass, squeezing and lifting through the dress I hurriedly put on a few hours ago.

We’re still in the middle of the hallway as he slides his fingers between my buttocks, quickly moving over my back hole and plunging between my lips, reveling in my wetness.

I swallow hard.

“Now will you finally fuck me?” I whisper.

Leo grins and pushes open the door.