I pull my lip into my mouth as I rock against him, sliding up and down his length. His hips move beneath me as his hands firmly cup my breasts. He moans, grunts, and growls as I move, and I know he’s not holding anything back. He’s letting everyone know what I’m doing to him as my hands grip his jacket. I can’t stop staring at him. The way his head falls back when I slide out of him and the way his neck rolls when I take him in. His tense jaw and slightly swollen lips with my favorite slit running down the middle. The way his body looks in his tux, broad, built, and fucking powerful. Christ, has anyone ever looked this good in a tux before? Doubt it. Seriously, it’s ridiculous. Our sounds fill the room and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m soaked, completely drenched from his expert mouth and the sheer sight of him. I feel him tense under me as I slide him all the way out before I slowly move back down. I know he loves that, the feel of entering me over and over again. Arching into him and throwing my head back, I grip his thighs and begin to move fast, then faster.
“Just like that, love. Christ, I’m not going to last long. You’re so fucking good.” He sits up and wraps his arms around my back, pulling my chest to his face and latching onto my left nipple.
“Reese.”
He sucks it hard, flicking it with his tongue before releasing it and moving beside it to where his mark has completely faded off me. His mouth sucks the tender skin there and I moan against him, my hands grabbing his head and pulling him closer to me. “I hate how they faded. I cried for days when I couldn’t see them anymore.” He moves to my other breast and gives my other nipple equal attention before freshening up the mark next to that one as I rock slowly. Strong hands grip my back and move down to my hips, moving me at the speed he wants and needs. Our eyes are locked and I let him control me because I’ve missed it and he needs it. My orgasm isn’t far, the familiar pull building between my legs and slowly spreading out in every direction.
“Yours didn’t fade on me. It’s still there,” he says as I drop my forehead to his, our breath warming each other’s faces. My mark on him? What mark? The writing? His bottom lip gets pulled into his mouth and I know he’s close.
“How could it not fade? Have you gone without showering for three months?” He slows down my movements, letting me glide along his length and linger where I want. I shudder against him at the speed change, feeling him rub me the way only he does.
“Do I smell like I haven’t showered in three months?” His hands come between us and he begins unbuttoning his tux jacket, pulling it off while I balance myself on my knees. I’m anxious, giddy as hell to see his naked body and watch in amazement as he quickly makes work of his dress shirt.
“No, you smell amazing like you always do.” I lean forward, drop my head into his neck and feel him laugh. I inhale deeply as his shirt is removed, and my eyes go to his right arm where my handwriting is visible in dark blue ink.
“What the… you got it tattooed?” My fingers run over the words that clearly won’t rub off as he studies me. Always watching me. “Holy shit. That’s so hot.” I lean in and trail kisses over the words, my words that I wrote on him, as he lovingly strokes my arm. “Oh, my God. I love that you did that.” My mouth makes its way up his shoulder to the curve of his neck. Grabbing his face with both hands, I kiss and lick up to his face and latch onto his mouth, pulling his bottom lip and sucking on it. He groans loudly as I slowly release it.
“I took a shower the day you,” he shakes his head at the memory, “and it was starting to wash away even though I tried to avoid any soap getting on it. I was so fucking pissed that it was fading, like it was pulling away from me too. Christ, I was mad. I went out the next day and got it made permanent.” He tattooed himself with a reminder of me. “I love that it’s in your handwriting and that you put it there, just for you.” His eyes study mine as I blink rapidly, sending tears down my face. He quickly reaches up and wipes them away, and I bend forward and kiss him sweetly.
“Just for me,” I echo and push him back down on his back and start moving again. His hands grip my hips and pull me up and down, quickening my pace as I roam over his bare chest. Trailing over every inch of exposed skin, my hands become reacquainted with the feel of him, his muscles, and his softness, just him. I run down his shoulders, his arms, his chest, and linger on his stomach, which clenches as I ride him. His gaze is locked on my breasts, driving me to bring my hands up and touch myself. Molding them, I watch his eyes widen as I play with and pinch my nipples.
“Fuck, yes. That’s so sexy, love.” His hips come up to meet me and I drop my eyes down, locking onto his. Harder and faster, I feel him moving through me and pulling my orgasm to the surface as his thumbs press into my hipbones. I tell him to press harder, to bruise me because I want his marks on me, all over me. My hands drop to his chest and I pant against him, feeling him pulse against my walls. “Come for me, Dylan.” I obey, quickly coming apart on top of him and rocking my hips to pull out his orgasm.
I droop forward and sprawl out onto his bare chest, feeling his arms wrap around me as we gasp against each other. “I love slutty wedding sex with you,” I force out through my ragged breath, feeling his body shake slightly.
“Same here. We should really make a habit of this.”