Page 152 of Kill for a Kiss

She smiles wider at me while I take a deep breath to try to calm my hammering heart. It barely does anything. After a while, the priest says something—I almost miss it from how nervous I am—but I catch the words, “husband and wife.”

And then Elle’s in my arms, right where she should be, and I’m kissing her.

The entire church erupts in applause and cheers. Still, I barely hear anything around me. Because right now, there’s only her.

Only Elle. The girl who survived. The woman who saved me. The wife I would walk into hell for and still call it heaven as long as I’m doing it for her.

***

The reception’s set under a wide canvas tent, sturdy enough to standup against the sticky heat, with one side air-conditioned where the cake sits on display. Most of the guests have migrated toward the cooler air, hovering near the buffet tables and bubbling glasses.

At the center of the main table, there’s a full lechon. A perfectly roasted pig with crispy skin blistered gold with a glistening apple in its mouth. Elle catches me staring and leans into my side, her voice low enough that it’s just for me. “Jade told me if there’s no lechon at a Filipino gathering,” she says, “it’s not a real party.”

I tilt my head toward her, a mere breath away. “Trying to impress the people with tradition, my thoughtful wife?”

She smiles bright again. “Just making sure we don’t embarrass ourselves by skipping it.”

I huff a laugh under my breath. She makes it look easy, getting through an event like this. It’s too many people all in one place. It’s so hot I can barely breathe. But I think that’s more to do with how breathtaking my bride—no, mywife—is in her reception dress.

The tables are piled with grilled seafood, garlic fried rice, and plates of fruit beading under the heat. The conversations have shifted, lighter now and washed clean by the ceremony.

Movement catches at the edge of my vision. A short woman in her forties, wearing glasses. At her side is a tall man who looks like a retired athlete. Jade and Peter. I know them by reputation, not by face. They were Clo’s former closest friends, the ones who slipped away before she let corruption take over. After the gala, Jade and Peter told us how they’ve been ghosts for years, pulling strings in the background, trying to undo some of the worst that Clo’s caused.

Months have passed since then. With their help, we’ve fixed a lot of things, but not everything. We’ll eventually get there.

But right now, Jade’s holding up a canvas. It’s a painting of the wedding. Of Elle standing at the altar, light glowing around her like a fitting spotlight. And of me too, staring at her like she’s the sun.

I hadn’t noticed Jade painting during the ceremony. That alone tells me how far under Elle’s spell I’ve fallen. I want to sink into her spell even deeper. I don’t ever want out.

Jade steps closer and holds the canvas out for Elle to take. “Congratulations,” Jade says with a proud grin. “This moment deserved to be captured. We’re so happy we could be here for you two. I know my brother would’ve loved to see how his daughter grew up to be the incredible young woman you’ve become. The one you were always destined to be.”

“Oh, yeah, he would’ve loved this,” Peter adds, clapping my shoulder lightly. “Well done, you two.”

Elle cradles the painting to her chest. We thank them, and they slip back into the current of the party.

My wife excuses herself to find a temporary home for our new painting. She should expect me to always follow her. And I do, even if it’s hiding under the shade. My stealthy steps trail after her with no hesitation.

When she quietly sneaks into the empty church to store our first wedding gift, I cover her mouth and press her front against the corner wall, my arm coiling around her waist.

“It’s me,” I whisper.

She hasn’t made a sound, but then she laughs silently, her shoulders shaking with excitement I didn’t expect. But I’m glad she finds this thrilling.

I smirk, pressing my lips on the shell of her ear. “The honeymoon starts now,” I growl.

“Sterling,” she scolds weakly.

“Elle,” I say back, kissing her hair. “I can be quick.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she lifts her dress up.Fuck, yes.

I know she doesn’t deserve a quick fuck in a dark corner. But god, do I need to feel her.

Preparing her to take me makes my heart sing. Hearing her beg sets my nerves on fire. Sliding myself inside her feels like coming home. Feeling her flutter around my cock and squeeze me like a vise makes me bite back a groan.

And when she comes apart with my fingers on her wet clit, I follow her over the edge, filling her with every drop I have. I made a vow that I’d follow her wherever she goes. I’m fulfilling it.

***