Page 32 of Vows in Sin

S eraphina

I don’t know what he’ll think, how he’ll feel, or most importantly, what he’ll say.

However, what needs to be done must be done.

Tonight.

The grass is sparkling with dew, the estate glowing under the moon, sparkling in that nighttime way, how it gets when everything looks too perfect to be real.

No one sees. No one knows.

But even if they did, I wouldn’t care.

He pushes open the creaking shed door and carries me inside. It smells like cedar and dust and motor oil—an odd mix, but one that immediately warms me. The moonlight slices through the cracks in the wood, casting a silver glow over everything.

He sets me down on the old table inside, my bottom hitting the firm wood with a satisfying bump, a prelude of what’s to come. I slide myself further onto its top, biting my lip with tension.

Reign watches me with that desperate hunger in his eyes. The kind that strips me bare and makes me feel see, all at once.

“You want your toy tonight?” he asks, already pulling open the drawer where we keep our stash.

I nod, lips parting.

He places the curved vibrator in my palm, his fingers lingering.

“Hold it against yourself,” he says softly. “Don’t come until I say.”

I obey. Of course I do. I lift my skirt—no panties, like always for him. Watching him, I part my thighs, every small gesture bringing more longing to us both—and press the toy against me.

Electricity. My thighs tremble. My breath catches.

The world already begins to melt away.

Reign unbuckles his belt slowly. Methodically. The sound makes my heart pound. I watch. A show meant for my pleasure. Eyes locked on mine, he folds the leather and cracks it once in the air, a promise snapping into the air.

I give a full-body shiver.

“Let me watch you come,” he murmurs. “And don’t be quiet.”

The belt slides over the tops of my parted thighs, teasing me as he dips it between my legs. He raises the leather, bringing it down in a quick snap, hitting my inner thigh with a smarting strike.

My back arches.

Another snap. Another fire blooms.

I cry out.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he growls. “Do it just like that. Let me watch you. Let me hear you.”

The orgasm coils tight in my core. Beats away from an impending explosion. My eyes are squeezed tight, but I open them so I can see him. He stares at me, so turned on by this, by me. I’m bared to him, vulnerable in this display, yet powerful in my hold over him.

The warm hum of the vibrations. The cool air caresses my inner thighs. His hungry eyes are on me. The belt in his hand. It’s too much. I come apart, shaking, gasping, curling around the orgasm. “Yes! Oh my god.”

The moment it’s over, I thrust the toy at him with trembling fingers. He chuckles. I can’t even look at the vibrator when I’m finished. “Hurry. I want you.”

Reign tosses the toy in the drawer to be cleaned. He grabs me by the hips and turns me around, bending me over the table. My belly presses into the edge as he flips up my skirt and strokes a palm over my ass.

His hands are big. Warm. Protective yet punishing, his skin smooth yet working callouses rough as they caress my curves. His voice is low, a demanding growl. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” I whisper. “You, baby.”

“Mine. All mine. Mine to mark. Mine to fuck.” I cringe at the whistle of the belt cutting through the air, dreading and craving the heavy thud of the leather, the biting sting of the strike. The belt lands again. Again.

Each strike sends fire through me, burning away everything but him. I moan, helpless, loving every second. When I’m shaking and nearly undone, the belt drops, he’s on his knees, behind me. Like I’m the alter and he’s ready to worship.

But I’m the one praying. “Please. Reign. Please.”

“I know what you want, baby doll. And I’m going to give it to you.” He grips my hips, warm and punishing, fingers locked into my hipbones. I grip the table, moaning deep as he kisses a line along the belt strike.

His tongue soothes where he marked me, then drifts lower. I quake. Mouth gapes. Head throws back, eyes closing. I inhale a gasping breath as his mouth covers me.

Hot. Wet. Demanding surrender.

I cry out, loud as unrestrained, his tongue teases and devours. I grip the table for dear life, sobbing his name as I come again. He doesn’t stop until my knees can’t hold me.

Then he lifts me, cradling me in his arms, carrying me to the pile of clean blankets we keep for nights like this. He lays me down gently, stripping me slowly like I’m made of silk and glass.

I help him with his shirt—his arm never quite healed right—and then watch as he undresses completely.

“My man,” I whisper, full of awe.

He groans like those words destroy him. Then he’s inside me, rocking into me, holding me like the world might break apart if we’re not touching.

I needed this. But looking into his eyes, I realize he did too.

After, he pulls me into his chest, and I curl into him, soft and warm and full of aftershocks.

“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair.

“Love you too,” I whisper, smiling against his chest.

We lie like that—two criminals in the dark, hearts racing, hands tangled, wrapped in a safety the world can’t touch.

“What had you so wound up tonight?” he asks, dragging a finger over my breast, teasing my nipple until I shudder. “Was it all that wedding talk?”

I shake my head. “No. I was just nervous. But I’m not anymore. Thanks to you.”

He pulls back slightly. “Nervous? About what?”

I hesitate, reaching under a corner of the blankets and finding that tiny cold object that means so much to me. To us. My fingers shake as I draw it out from its hiding place.

“Hold out your hand?” I ask, a quake in my voice.

He gives me a look, but he does, with a strong hand reaching out toward me, trusting me. I slide a silver band onto his ring finger, settling it just below the second B in Tabby’s name.

He stares down at the ring, unaware. “What’s this all about?”

“A proposal,” I will myself to say. “Renan Bachman, will you marry me?”

His eyes go wide.

“I even asked Tabitha’s permission last week,” I tell him. “That’s why I was so tense at the table. I was worried she’d slip.”

He stares at the ring. Then at me.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“100%.”

“Then hell yes.”

He pulls me into him, tight. His heart pounds so loudly that I can feel it echoing through my chest. He growls, taking me in his arms, and ravishing me all over again.

He kisses every inch of my face, warm lips against my skin.

Whispers how much he loves me. How much he wants me to be his wife.

When he comes, he holds me tight, wrapping himself all around me, heat muscle, power, protection.

“We’re getting married,” he moans, holding me as the last of him twitches inside me.

“We’re getting married,” I whisper. “Which means a wedding. Eloise will be thrilled.”

“Everyone will be. But most of all, me.”

I study his face. “Thrilled enough to wear a tie?”

“If it makes you happy, then, yes, babydoll. I’ll wear a tie. For you.” He kisses my forehead. “Tickety-boo and all.”

“We’re going to be husband and wife. That’s super tickety-boo.” I wrap my arms around his neck, claiming him as mine. “And you have to dance with me at the reception.”

“Disco?” Raised brows.

I shrug. “Naturally.”

“You planning on wearing steel-toed boots under your dress?” he asks.

“We’ll practice,” I assure him.

“Okay, sweetheart. It’s your toes at risk.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Bachman,” I whisper, finally letting myself daydream about being his wife, being a member of the family I’ve grown to love so much.

“We will be, soon,” his voice rough with feeling. “And here we are.”

“And here we are,” I echo back. Our special thing. “Now kiss me, already.”

“Will do, Doll.”

And he kisses me, his bride-to-be.