Page 52 of Broken Vows (Marital Privileges #4)

~ Emerson ~

Almost one year later…

M y hand slaps the roof of a limousine as ferocious tingles race through me.

Mikhail and I are meant to be doing an innocent grind-up to pass the time during a long commute, but as per our last million romps, there’s nothing innocent about it.

My white lace dress is hiked up around my thighs, my panties are soaked through, and the front of Mikhail’s trousers have a wet patch.

But I can’t stop.

I refuse.

Mikhail has been teasing me relentlessly for hours, and it is about time he pays his dues.

“Please…” I shake my head, confident we can’t do this.

Mikhail’s tuxedo is custom, and I forgot to tell the tailor he may need a spare pair. If I give in to the tension, Mikhail will greet hundreds of guests in cum-stained trousers.

I can’t humiliate him like that. He’s faced enough abuse, and the respect he deserves is too fresh to test how powerful it is just yet.

“Keep going, Emmy,” Mikhail encourages, rolling his hips. “Make me come by doing something as simple as rubbing my cock against my wife’s drenched panties.”

His “wife” statement tips me over the edge. I want him now more than ever, and I will have him. It just won’t be like this. I need him inside me so I can tighten around him and milk him with my vaginal walls. I want to be stretched wide by him, and I know the perfect way for us to do that.

Mikhail groans a rough sound of delight that makes my mouth water when I fall to my knees and tug at his belt. He loves having his dick sucked as much as he loves giving head, but that isn’t the cause of the gargle in the back of his throat this time.

It is his remembrance of the silent promise I issue him every time I kneel in front of him, and how I’ve proven over the past twelve months that love is enough.

It’s been a challenging year, but I would be a liar if I said they weren’t also some of the best months I’ve lived. Our mothers are in remission, my sister has her asthma under control, and every day, I’ve shown Mikhail that love is enough.

We’ve grown stronger.

Our bond is unbreakable.

I wish I could say it was as easy sailing for Mikhail and Andrik. Their relationship struggled for months. But as I suspected, Amaliya and Zakhar helped bridge the divide—Zakhar more than I could have ever comprehended.

Kids don’t feel tension. They also don’t have a filter. Zakhar has no qualms telling his uncle Mikhail when he is overdue for a visit, and he is as bossy as his father while demanding immediate ramification of Mikhail’s mistake.

To begin with, their relationship grew outside of the home Andrik and Zoya created for their family. They went on motorcycle rides and trips to local landmarks and tasted every flavor of ice cream at a local parlor.

Over time, Zakhar gave Mikhail more understanding of why Andrik did what he did and reminded him that Mikhail was not the only one to have suffered under the hands of the federation. Andrik’s son was stripped from his life for almost five years, and his mother still hasn’t been found.

Having a better understanding of Andrik’s thought process when he made his decision won’t take away Mikhail’s hurt, but it will help mend things.

The bridge is almost back to its pre-burned condition, and I see today’s event adding a final lick of paint to the charred remains.

There’s something magical about weddings, but they’re even more wondrous when the bride and groom’s big day was delayed for means outside of their control.

Upon spotting my admiring watch, Mikhail’s thumb strokes my cheek. “You’re going to make me come so hard,” he murmurs, thickening further when I tug his trousers to his thighs like they didn’t cost a small fortune. “I’m so fucking hard for you.”

To prove his point, he fists the base of his girthy shaft and squeezes it. The soft rasp of his moan nearly sets me off. I’m so desperate to have him, taste him, that I lunge forward and swipe my tongue across his engorged crown without warning.

As his delicious flavors swamp my taste buds, I float my lips over the wide crest before slowly lowering them.

Groaning, Mikhail’s teeth catch his bottom lip as one of his hands tangles in my hair.

I suck harder when our gazes meet and then swivel my tongue along the vein feeding his magnificent manhood.

Over and over again, I draw him deep into my mouth. His hips grind with every suck as the movements of his hand in my hair guide the speed of our exchange.

He watches me through hooded lids when I take him to the back of my throat.

“Ah, god.” His words are hisses. “I love the way you suck my dick. It’s like you can’t wait to swallow my cum.”

“I can’t.” I pump him with my hand while talking over the wide crown of his cock. “So stop delaying the inevitable and come in my mouth. We have guests waiting for us.”

I would care more that there are hundreds of people waiting for us in the ballroom of one of Andrik’s many hotels if anyone could steal my devotion from this man.

Since they can’t, I continue sucking Mikhail’s dick like I was born to do it. It isn’t a hard feat. His pleasure is my pleasure. The wave close to cresting in my stomach is a surefire sign of this.

Pre-cum leaks from his crown when Mikhail’s hooded gaze rakes my wedding dress. My gown is almost custom. A designer who bid to be featured in the wedding of the year didn’t sew it, though. It was made by the woman who made my first dress. My mother.

“You want me to come?” His gravelly, unrestrained voice is enough to bring me to climax, but I hold back, desperate to see where the flare darting through his eyes will take us.

When I nod, he smirks.

“Then you ought to thank your mother for the split in your dress, because I sure as fuck ain’t coming before my wife.”

His wife comment already has my core clenching, so you can imagine how hard it is to stave off my orgasm when he plucks me from the floor, spreads me on the leather bench opposite him, and then loses his head under layers of lace.

My hands seek something to clutch when he blows a hot breath over my pussy seconds before his lips find my clit. Through the delicate material of my panties, he circles my clit with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth.

I climax in a rush that burns through me like wildfire, setting me alight. I buck against his mouth as I sing his praises like our limousine is unmanned. My climax is unending. It lasts forever, and I can’t stop moaning.

“One more.” Both my dress and the frantic thud of my pulse muffles Mikhail’s voice, so he repeats his request. “One more, then you can make me come.”

My back arches when he tugs my panties off like he knows I packed a spare pair, and then I sink into the sticky leather when his tongue flutters over my sensitive skin in rapid succession.

He eats me with a hunger that hasn’t dispersed a smidge over the past twelve months, and I surrender to the madness.

I grind my hips upward, mashing his face with my pussy and increasing the friction. The tingles racing through me turn blinding, and I am at his complete mercy in a shamefully quick time.

I need this orgasm more than my lungs need air, but it won’t relent. No matter how hard he sucks at my clit and tongues my pussy, the storm doesn’t roll in.

Don’t get me wrong. It feels amazing, but the needy clenches of my pussy, desperate for something to cling to, are frustrating. I need him inside me. Now.

When I tell Mikhail that, with the added word of husband , he turns feral. He thrusts my dress up until I’m almost lost underneath it, wets the head of his cock with the evidence of my arousal while scrubbing at his drenched lips with his free hand, and then enters me with one forceful thrust.

The sudden intrusion is painful, but it is also explosive. I come with a mangled scream of his name, my body convulsing as relief splinters through me.

Through a hooded, lusty stare, Mikhail continues lunging forward, fighting through the squeezes of my pussy, coercing him to join me on the dark ride.

He extends my pleasure by adding a heap of wicked words to the thrusts of his hips. He makes my orgasm last forever. I can’t stop coming. Screaming. And they make Mikhail even more unhinged.

He spreads me wide with his hips while sinking into me deeper. Over and over again. His pace is manic, and I lose my mind more with every precise pump.

Mikhail’s eyes are locked on my face, his lips glistening from my earlier arousal, his nostrils flaring with every breath.

He looks so beautiful above me, so powerful, it is almost unfair.

His personal development has grown in leaps and bounds over the past year as well.

He is more confident and self-assured and not tempted to hide it behind a cocky, arrogant demeanor.

He loves fiercely and honorably, and I’m so fucking grateful I am the one he loves.

“I love you, Coal,” I murmur, my voice heavy with sentiment. “You’re the reason I burn, and I am honored to call you my husband… for real this time.”

He bottoms out at my uterus as a rush of pleasure sears his gorgeous face. I climax again when the hot spurts of his cum fill me. His release takes everything out of him. He collapses on top of me with his lips on my cheek and his hot breaths gusting over my bone-dry lips.

I don’t see him staying down long when he feels my body’s response to his reply. “I love you too, Ember. Always have. Always will.”

Fifty minutes later, round two a necessity when emotions spill over, I lay sated and bleary-eyed on the back seat of the limousine. Mikhail sits on my left, seemingly unruffled. His hair has the sex-mused look all women crave, and his expression announces complete satisfaction.

When I harrumph, disgusted at how perfect he looks after a marathon romp session, his lips curve into a smile. “We can skip the church and go straight to the reception if you’re tired.”