Page 13 of Absolution (Favorite Malady Trilogy #3)

DANE

Two weeks later

“ W e’re going to The Magnolia?” Abigail’s delicately arched brows draw together as I guide her toward the boutique hotel where we had our first date. “I thought you said we’re going to the beach. I’m not dressed for the rooftop bar.”

She gestures at her casual sundress. The straps of her dark purple bikini are visible at her neckline, a tantalizing suggestion of what she’ll look like in the skimpy swimsuit.

I blink the wolfish glint from my eyes and offer her a teasing smile. “We are going to the beach, just not right now. We’re stopping at The Magnolia first.”

“Dane!” she protests, even as she allows me to lead her into the entry hall that’s set up as a small art gallery.

None of the work on display compares to her masterpieces, but her gaze instantly strays to the paintings. Her lovely eyes shine with an awestruck light as she drinks in the art like it’s the most breathtaking thing she’s ever seen.

All qualms about her outfit are forgotten as soon as she loses herself in her artistic nature.

She’s so distracted that she doesn’t notice Stacy practically bounding down the corridor, Franklin hot on her heels.

His cheeks are a bit rosy above his neat black moustache—he must’ve started partaking of the Champagne I ordered for them already.

And, judging by her giddy energy, Stacy might be a bit tipsy too.

“Abby!” she squeals, “You’re here!”

“Stacy?” She blinks as the exuberant woman barrels into her. “Hey, y’all. What are you doing here?”

She’s baffled but clearly pleased to see her two friends.

A quick, jealous impulse tightens my hand around hers for a moment, but I force myself to remain calm and collected. I can share her attention for a short while. In a few hours, she’ll be mine forever. I can allow her this time with them to make the day special for her.

“Dane got a room for us,” Franklin gushes, then adds in a conspiratorial whisper, “With Champagne.”

“What? Why?”

I curl two fingers beneath her chin, drawing her gaze to mine. I want her looking into my eyes when I say, “Your friends are going to help you get ready for our wedding.”

Her lovely lips part on a soft gasp. “Now?”

“Now.”

My grin is probably sharper than it should be, but I can’t bring myself to soften it in this moment of triumph.

“But…I’m not even wearing makeup. You told me we’re going to the beach, so I only put on sunscreen.”

I cup her cheek. “You are stunning just as you are.”

Franklin lets out a long sigh, and Stacy says, “I brought makeup if you want it. Dane asked if we wanted to help you get ready, and we’re so thrilled to be part of your Big Day!”

“A private ceremony on the beach at sunset, so romantic,” Franklin says with approval.

“But we get to spend the afternoon with you. I have our favorite musicals ready for a singalong while you get glammed up. Dane didn’t give us much notice, but luckily, I already have a thirteen-hour-long playlist ready for emergencies like this. ”

Abigail’s stunning eyes are still fixed on mine, wide and guileless as ever. “I get to be your wife today?” she breathes.

I stroke her purple curl. “Today and every day for the rest of our lives.” I press a quick, fierce kiss to her parted lips. “I’ll meet you on the beach, little dove.”

I force myself to walk away from her before I lose my tenuous control. The craving to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the ceremony right now is nearly overwhelming.

I grit my teeth against the grating sound of her friends’ excited screeching behind me and remind myself that Abigail enjoys their company. They’re important to her, so from now on, they’re important to me.

Every aspect of this day will be absolutely perfect for Abigail, even if that means I have to be parted from her for a few hours.

The next time I see her, my bride will be walking toward me dressed in white, ready to pledge herself to me forever.

The private stretch of beach owned by Meadows’ family is serene and quiet—not a tourist in sight. My partner was all too happy to allow me use of their property for the weekend, even if he did seem a bit disappointed that he isn’t invited to my wedding.

But this moment is only for Abigail and me. We aren’t performing for the sake of others; they won’t take little pieces of our happiness for themselves.

By now, she’s had several hours to celebrate the day with her close friends. That will have to be enough, because I’m not capable of sharing more of her today.

The officiant waits with me, the surf lapping closer to his shoes with every passing minute as the tide comes in. I refuse to budge. Abigail will have her wedding by her beloved ocean, and I don’t care if the man gets wet. I paid him enough that he’s not complaining.

Or maybe it’s my warning glower that’s keeping his mouth shut. I’m not interested in idle small talk while I wait for my bride.

My genial mask has fallen away entirely, and I intend to be my true, ruthless, cruelly possessive self when we make our vows.

“If the storm draws much closer, we’ll have to move this inside,” the violinist dares to say, gesturing in the direction of Meadows’ grand beach house.

I look out at the dark clouds churning on the horizon and smile. Everything will be perfect for my Abigail.

“We’re getting married right here,” I announce. “Start playing.”

She should be arriving any minute now. I stare at the boardwalk, my intense anticipation for my bride setting my teeth on edge. It’s a discomfiting sensation, but thanks to Abigail, the feeling is a revelation I’ve only known since meeting her. She’s my miracle, my everything.

The wind is just starting to pick up when she appears like an angel blessing me with her presence. She practically floats down the worn wooden steps of the boardwalk, and her bare feet sink into the soft sand as she slowly glides toward me.

The rose petals that I laid out as an aisle for her are whipped up by the oncoming storm, and they whirl around her.

Ivory lace appears to have been painted onto her porcelain skin, perfectly fitted to her bodice.

Her full white skirt swirls as though she’s dancing, and her gossamer veil seems to be lifted by an invisible, benevolent spirit behind her.

Loose, sable curls float around her delicate face, my favorite purple one winking through the undulating locks.

She’s like an enchanted princess out of one of her favorite animated musicals.

Or maybe I’m the one who’s under a spell, because I can’t tear my eyes off her.

Then she’s in front of me, lifting her hands so that I can take them in mine.

Her aquamarine eyes glimmer and glow like jewels, and her rosebud lips are petal pink.

I can’t help brushing my thumb over them to test their soft texture.

Then I trace the line of her fragile cheekbone, lingering on her unique freckle.

The violinist stops playing, and the officiant is speaking. I’m barely aware of a word he says; Abigail has harnessed my full attention. She’s the only person who matters, the only thing that exists in my world.

The wind starts to blow off the ocean with more force, and a light spray from the crashing waves mists around us. The moisture makes her cheeks glisten like a dew-kissed flower.

“Dane.” My name in her breathy voice goes straight to my head in a rush of power and desire.

“I promise to be with you always.” I realize that she’s repeating the officiant’s words, saying the vows I chose for us.

“I promise to honor and sustain you, and I will be true to you in all things forever.”

There will be no “until death do us part” in our ceremony. Nothing will take my Abigail from me. Nothing.

“Abigail.” I savor the shape of her name on my tongue. “I promise to cherish you always. I promise to protect, honor, and sustain you, and I will be true to you in all things forever.”

A single tear rolls down her cheek, brighter and more precious than the diamond collar around her throat.

“With this ring, I, Abigail Foster, take you, Dane Graham, to be no other than yourself. I will have faith in our bond, through all our years, and in all that life might bring us.”

The ring burns like a brand when it slides onto my finger, searing her claim into my flesh, into my soul. I’m hers, completely and irrevocably.

“With this ring, I, Dane Graham, take you, Abigail Foster, to be no other than yourself. I will have faith in your love for me, through all our years, and in all that life might bring us.”

She already wears the emerald engagement ring and the diamond collar, but now I adorn her slender finger with another mark of my ownership.

Abigail is my wife.

I don’t wait for the officiant to finish pronouncing us husband and wife before I sweep her up in a savage kiss.

My tongue plunders her mouth, and she shivers in sweet delight at my feverish onslaught.

Her arms twine around my shoulders, pulling me closer, as though she can’t get enough of me either.

The officiant and the violinist flee the storm, but I’m too caught up in her to relent.

Thunder rumbles around us, and warm, fat drops of rain slide down our faces to wet our lips. I don’t stop claiming her mouth until lightning forks over the whitecapped waves. Her safety is more important than my desire to fuck her in the sand while the storm rages around us.

I scoop her up in my arms and take off toward the house at a run. Her delighted laugh is the sweetest melody I’ve ever heard.

I climb the boardwalk stairs and stride along the aged wooden planks toward the beachfront mansion. It’s all I can do to get her to the shelter of the porch before I shove her up against the wall and wrap her amethyst curl around my fist. I crush my lips to hers, and she meets me with equal fervor.

Lust burns in my veins, pulsing hot enough to cause me pain. I revel in it, sinking into the feelings that only Abigail can give me.

I drop to my knees so I can worship her.

My fingers tangle in her voluminous skirt, tearing at the delicate material as I shove it out of my way. I find her bare thighs, and my fingers sink into her soft, creamy flesh.

She grabs at my hair, and my scalp tingles with carnal awareness when she tugs my head up so that I’ll meet her flame blue gaze.

“I want you,” she pants, trying to pull me up to kiss her again.

I shoot her a wicked smile and graze her clit with my teeth through the thin barrier of her white lace panties. She cries out, and I firm my hold on her before her knees buckle.

“Watch the storm,” I command. “You will remember every detail about this day.”

She shivers, and her gaze locks on the horizon. Her eyes are intensely focused on the ocean, as though it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.

I keep my eyes on her gorgeous face as I hook my thumbs beneath her panties and drag them down her legs. The scent of her arousal mingles with the smell of freshly fallen rain and salty ocean spray, intoxicating. I take a long moment to simply breathe her in as I watch her study the storm.

Her eyes flash brighter than the lightning, and her sharp cry wars with a clap of thunder when I press a tender kiss to her clit.

Her cunt is hot and wet on my tongue, and I never want to stop tasting her.

I’m a man obsessed, devouring her pussy like I’m starved for her.

Soft whimpers give way to deep, guttural moans as she begins to grind her hips into my face.

Her fingers firm in my hair, and I allow her to direct me where she wants me.

I promised to give her the world. The least I can do is satisfy her every erotic desire.

“Dane, Dane, Dane…” She whispers my name like a litany, and I’m drunk on her desire for me.

With every flick of my tongue over her clit, she winds tighter and tighter, until she’s quivering in my hands.

I slide two fingers into her tight sheath. “Come for me.”

She shatters on a scream, and I nip at her clit while I rub her g-spot. She’s so stunning when she comes undone; she holds nothing back. Her willowy body shakes, and she rotates her hips, wantonly drawing out the last aftershocks of her orgasm as she stimulates herself on my tongue.

My cock strains against my trousers hard enough to ache, and I’m done waiting to claim my bride.

I surge to my feet and unbuckle my belt.

“Yes,” she urges. “Please fuck me. I need you.”

I free my cock and find her slick opening. She locks one leg around my hip, opening herself to me.

I pause, making both of us suffer.

But I want something from her first.

“You love me. Say it.”

She blinks, and her eyes soften. “I love you, Dane.”

I enter her in one brutal thrust, and she releases a guttural cry. I’m going to fuck her to the edge of pain, and she will feel this vicious union with every step tomorrow.

My fingers sink into her ass, and I lift her so that I can fill her more deeply. Her hands fly to my shoulders for support, her eyes going wide.

“I’ve got you,” I promise through gritted teeth. “Now, say it again.”

“I love you!” she cries as I rut into her. “My Dane, my Master.”

Pleasure builds, hot and fast, swelling inside me with ruthless force. I snarl and hold back my release. She’ll come again before we’re finished.

With each brutal thrust, she starts up a new litany: “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

I can’t hold back any longer. Her cunt grips my cock, and I come with a roar. As I brand her with my cum, she finds her own completion. Her fingernails bite into my shoulders as she screams my name louder than the booming thunder.

We’re joined in perfect, savage pleasure.

Husband and wife.

Forever.