Sotis, it's the simplest monts of perfection that hit you hardest, like watching the woman who nearly punched your mother unconscious beco your wife under strings of Edison bulbs in a converted Cambridge warehouse.
The wedding couldn't have been more perfect if we'd planned it for years instead of days. The industrial space transford into sothing magical with minimal decoration, just white flowers, those warm glowing lights, and the three people who actually mattered, lissa and Ivy's parents. No mother to insult , no Blair to complicate things, no press to docunt every mont. Just us.
The ceremony was beautifully brief. Ivy wore a sleek white jumpsuit that made her look like so otherworldly goddess, purple highlights framing her face as she recited vows that made even lissa tear up. I stumbled through mine, hands trembling until Ivy steadied them with her own. When the justice of the peace pronounced us married, Ivy's kiss tasted like victory and possession.
Instead of a traditional reception, we had a quiet dinner at a restaurant whose na I've already forgotten because all I could focus on was the way Ivy kept touching under the table, her hand creeping higher up my thigh with each course, her purple eyes promising things that made it impossible to concentrate on conversation.
Now we're in our hotel suite, the Boston skyline glittering beyond floor-to-ceiling windows that we didn't bother to close. Let the world see. Let them all see what happens when Ivy Hunt claims what's hers.
Our wedding clothes didn't survive the first thirty seconds through the door. My suit jacket caught on a lamp, her jumpsuit torn down the middle with a savagery that made gasp. Now she's above , gloriously naked, her powerful thighs bracketing my hips as she rides with a feral intensity that borders on frightening.
"Mine," she growls, her voice barely human as she grinds down against . "Say it."
"Yours," I gasp, the word punched out of as she changes her angle, taking impossibly deeper. "All yours, Ivy."
Her lips crash against mine, hungry and demanding. When she pulls back slightly, a thin strand of saliva connects us for a heartbeat before breaking. The sight of it, this primal, animal evidence of our connection, sends a bolt of heat straight through .
My eyes literally cross from how good her pussy feels clenching around , hot and tight and perfect. I've never felt anything like this, never known pleasures could border so closely on otherworldly, never understood how completely another person could own .
I can't hold back any longer. The pressure builds at the base of my spine, electric and overwhelming. With a desperate groan, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her against my chest as waves of pleasure crash through . I spill inside her, each pulse more intense than the last, filling her completely.
"I love you," I gasp against her lips, the words broken by ragged breaths and desperate kisses. "God, Ivy, I love you so much."
She swallows my declarations, her mouth devouring mine as her body milks every last drop from . Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make whimper as she keeps grinding against , chasing her own release.
"Say it again," she demands, her voice a breathless command even as her thighs tremble around .
"I love you," I repeat, the words flowing easier now, natural as breathing. "I love you, I love you."
Her body goes rigid above mine, back arching impossibly as she cos undone. The sight of her, head thrown back, purple highlights catching the city lights, mouth open in a silent scream, is sothing I'll rember until my dying day. She's transcendent in her pleasure, a goddess accepting worship.
When she collapses against , we're both trembling, slick with sweat, and utterly spent. I hold her close, my arms locked around her like I'm afraid she might disappear if I let go. Her heartbeat thunders against my chest, gradually slowing as we drift down from our shared high.
"You're everything to ," Ivy whispers against my neck, her breath hot and damp. "Everything I never knew I needed. I love you."
Her words seep into like sunlight through water, warming places I didn't know could feel cold. We lie tangled together, boundaries between our bodies blurring until I can't tell where I end and she begins. In this mont, we're a single organism, breathing in unison, hearts synchronized in their steady rhythm.
The harsh electronic chirp of her phone shatters our perfect bubble.
Ivy groans against my skin, her frustration vibrating through my chest. It's been ringing relentlessly all day, before the ceremony, during photos, throughout dinner, each ti silenced and ignored with increasing irritation.
This ti, though, sothing shifts in Ivy's deanor. She untangles herself from with surprising speed, lunging across the bed to snatch her phone from the nightstand.
"BRIDGETTE, WHAT IS IT?" she barks into the receiver, her voice razor-sharp with irritation.
I prop myself up on my elbows, watching as my wife's expression transforms from annoyance to sothing darker. Her jaw tightens, purple eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as she listens.
"How bad?" she asks, her voice dropping to that low, controlled register that sends chills down my spine.
I can't hear Bridgette's response, but whatever she's saying makes Ivy's knuckles go white around the phone. The muscles in her shoulders bunch beneath her skin, coiled and ready to strike.
"Right," she says after a long mont. "Send the statent. I'll review it before you release anything."
She hangs up without saying goodbye, staring at the blank screen for several heartbeats before turning to .
"What’s the damage?" I ask, my throat suddenly dry as I watch her expression darken.
She crawls back toward , predatory and graceful, pressing her lips to my neck as she speaks. "The FIA wants to suspend from the Miami race and sprint due to 'conduct unbecoming off track.'" Her teeth graze my skin, sending shivers down my spine despite the gravity of her words.
My heart plumts. The Miami Grand Prix, potentially gone because she defended . "Ivy, I'm so…"
"Don't," she cuts off, pressing a finger to my lips. Her purple eyes gleam with sothing that looks almost like amusent. "Even if they do suspend for a race, it was worth it. Your mother needed to learn that lesson."
She shifts against , her naked body still warm from our lovemaking. "Besides, Cecelia is on the case. I ssaged her earlier to convince your mother to put out a statent taking responsibility."
"She would never do sothing like that," I say, unable to imagine my mother admitting fault for anything, let alone publicly.
Ivy laughs, the sound vibrating against my skin where her lips still linger. "Cecelia is as savage as , baby. She'll figure it out." Her smile turns wicked. "That woman could blackmail the Pope if I asked her to."
I want to ask more questions, find out exactly what this mysterious Cecelia might do to my mother, but Ivy's hand is already sliding down my stomach, effectively short-circuiting my brain.
"Enough about racing politics," she purrs, her fingers wrapping around with practiced skill. "I'm not done with my husband yet."
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