That thing in my chest flared. That Tia thing.
She smiled shyly. Shyly. Fuck. My baby girl. She wore these for me. She did so fucking much for me.
She looked so fucking beautiful today. On her wedding day.
“Who do you belong to?” I demanded to know, as I fastened her ankles to the spreader bar.
She looked completely submissive in that wedding gown, looking beautiful, eyes shining with love. With trust. My wife. Lying in a bed of rose petals.
“I belong to my husband,” she answered, tears shimmering in her beautiful jade green eyes.
I shut my eyes and let that wash through me.
Never knew getting married would mean so much. Never knew that my perfect other half was out there. All I had to do was claim her. Had no clue how different it’d feel knowing she wasn’t just mine because I said so, she was also mine before the law, God, the world.
Yeah, it’s been a bumpy road, and yeah, I took someone and claimed her as mine, as much as she resisted in the early days.
Naw, it was far from moral, since she probably only opened up to me because I saved her from a fate worse than me in Mexico, but we were here.
I claimed her, and it would be on the highlight reel of my life, that moment in a bathroom in a hotel in Las Vegas when she first declared that she belonged to me. Not only did I claim her, absolutely willing to hold onto her whether she wanted me or not, but she surrendered.
And she isn’t broken.
My Tia is stronger, stronger and wiser, than anyone looking at her might expect a young beautiful girl to be.
And here in paradise, in the sand by a house I rented for us, we made it legal in front of God, and my family.
And now it was time to consummate our marriage.
My thoughts flashed to my father, and not for the first time today. Pop would’ve wanted a full catholic mass. Pop would’ve wanted four hundred plus guests, including his business associates and everyone else who bowed down to him, slapped his back and were ready to suck his dick if he so much as gave the word. He would not have been pleased with the type of wedding I had instead.
Then again, Pop threatened to hurt her by having a bloody wedding dress left outside my bedroom balcony door when I began to defy him. A signature Tom Ferrano warning. Dare found it and got rid of it before Tia saw it that night, but I saw it after the fact. And it was imprinted on my brain, present in my night terrors.
And then my father shattered my loyalty to him by taking her from me, knowing full fucking well what she meant to me.
Pop would not factor here on our wedding night.
I wanted, no needed, this beautiful fucking dress off her.
Her legs were apart and she couldn’t close them. What a beautiful fucking sight, that black bar holding them open, the red and black leather cuffs with their big silver buckles gripping her small ankles, me in control.
I was always in control with her in the bedroom, but this felt really fucking nice.
I slipped the white rhinestone high-heeled shoes off her feet and tossed them behind me. She wiggled her pink pearl painted toes and gave me a big smile.
Shit. Should’ve taken those panties off before I put the bar on. I threw my tux jacket off, then pulled them down to her knees and then buried my face between her thighs while ripping my white bow tie off.
Goosebumps rose on her thighs, her legs. I pointed my tongue stiff and lavishly licked from her opening to her clit and then I bit down. Her back arched and she groaned.
I had her ass cheeks in my hands. I did it again, eyes on her face. Her hands went into my hair. I suckled that little clit and rammed my third and fourth fingers into her hole together. She cried out as I sucked again and then began working her button with my tongue. I pulled my fingers out to undo my white button-down shirt while continuously working her with my mouth.
She came hard, before my shirt was off.
“Oh God, Tommy,” she cried out. “Fucking fucking, holy shit.”