“I cannot wait to fuck my wife tonight,” Sin said as he took my ear between his teeth and tugged.
I hissed, my knees weakening so that his arms were the only things holding me up. He took my mouth again in a passionate kiss. Vaguely, I was aware of clapping and cat calling from our assembled guests but embarrassment was drowned out by pure lust.
Just when I thought I was going to have to climb him, rip off his clothes and ride him like an animal in heat, he pulled away to place his forehead against mine. His uneven breath wafted across my lips, heady and smoky as his fragrance.
Our friends and family were waiting to congratulate us, to party in celebration on the absurdly extravagant yacht that Santiago had lent us for the occasion but for now, it was just us, Sinclair and me.
“You look better than any fantasy I could have had.”
I blushed.
“And this blush…” His thumb trailed over my pink cheekbone. “My wife has the prettiest blush.”
“Your wife,” I echoed, momentarily stunned. “We’re married.”
“Yes, that is typically the result of a wedding,” Sin teased, his rare boyish grin appearing.
“Do you think we deserve this, to be this happy?” I wondered out loud for one tremulous moment.
His forehead pressed hard into mine, his fingers squeezed firmly where they clutched me. I knew if he had his way, we would be stitched together cheek to cheek, thigh to thigh, knitted forever as one person. That was how much he loved me, and more, how much he yearned to possess every inch of me. My mind spun with giddiness, pure euphoria.
“There is no way in my mind or in the minds of anyone here today that we were meant to be anything but together. Fuck the consequences, fuck the right or wrong of it.”
Whatever the inception of our relationship, we had evolved and grown into something bigger than morality. We had cheated and lied and caused inexorable heartbreak in each other and those closest to us. We were sinners, undoubtedly, of the highest order. There was no way to deny or forget those truths. They just didn’t matter anymore. Maybe it was about damn time the villain had a happily ever after.
I pressed my lips to Sinclair’s, showing him how much I agreed with him, how much I only really cared about him, about us. How selfish my love was and how okay I was with it.
When he pulled away again, his eyes blazed with glory, an athlete who had trained and trained and imagined the win and who now, finally, held his prize in his hands.
“You are mine,” he said in fierce triumph.
“Toujours.” I agreed.
THE END