Page 49 of Ruthless Rebel

A possessiveness like I have never known burns through me as the coldness of her rings bites into the skin of my cheek. No other thought exists in my mind when we pull apart, except for making her mine in every way. I dip down, lifting her and tossing her over my shoulder, ignoring her squeals of protest before I turn to everyone else.

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment, my wife and I have something we need to discuss,” I explain, storming down the aisle away from them all.

I hear more cheers and hollers but I don’t stop, I don’t look back. In fact, I don’t do anything but focus on getting us back to the wedding prep room, and as soon as we are through the door I slam it behind us and lock it.

“River, put me down,” Elle demands, and who am I to disobey my wife. I let her body slowly side down my own until her feet are firmly back on the ground, and she stares up at me sternly. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

I walk her back toward the table, sweeping everything off it before depositing her on top of it and shrugging. “We have some unfinished business to attend to, Wife” I muse, slowly dragging my gaze over every inch of her and getting harder with every second. My hands dip beneath the hem of her dress and slowly drag it up until I once again find her knife back in its place. “Didn’t you say you had another dress for the reception?” I ask innocently, fisting the knife and dragging it from its specially made holster for today.

“Yes, I needed something less restrictive for the party," she breathes, watching me with sultry eyes. “Why?” She asks, noting my every move as I reach up and loosen my tie until it hangs free aroundmy neck.

“Good,” I reply, and then without warning I use her knife to slice up the entire front of her dress, ripping it open until it falls apart on either side of her. “Holy shit, baby,” I gasp, taking in the perfect white satin fabric stretched across her chest, with a garter belt and stockings to match. I briefly remember the panties I cut off before the ceremony looking similar, but seeing her pussy bare and stained in my cum is a much better sight.

“Robert is going to kill you for that,” she gasps, looking at her ruined dress, without a care in the world for the man who made it for her.

“If Robert could see how pretty my wife’s pussy looks freshly fucked and filled with my cum, he would understand,” I mutter, stepping between her legs and using my thumb to spread open her pussy lips, grunting at the sight of it still leaking with my cum. “You’re so fucking perfect, Ells, I can’t believe you’re mine,” I tell her honestly, admiring how stunning she looks, as she spreads her thighs wide to accommodate me.

“Well, I walked down the aisle filled with your cum and became your wife, I don’t think I could get any more yours,” she sasses, arching her perfectly shaped brow, and I smirk, tossing aside her blade, and cupping the back of both her knees.

“I don’t know, I think screaming your husband's name as you come on his tongue, and then his cock, would really seal the deal,” I explain, dragging my tongue down her neck and nipping gently on her skin.

She obliges me by instantly tipping back her head and baring more of her throat to me. “Then you better get on your knees and make me scream, Mr. King.”

I smile against her throat as I suck on the skin and stain it with my mark. “As you wish, Mrs. King,” I tell her, before pulling back and dropping to my knees, tossing her legs over my shoulders and relishing the dig of her heels into my back. “Now scream nice andloud for me, baby.”

Then I am feasting on her cunt, lapping at my own cum, as I devour my wife’s pussy like its the last meal I will ever fucking eat, and I don’t stop. Not until she screams out my name four times. Four delicious fucking times. Then I fuck her slow and deep, making her come two more times, until we are both completely covered in sweat, breathlessly laughing at the mess we have made of one another.

We rush to make ourselves presentable for the reception, and when she smiles at me I know everything is going to be okay for the rest of our lives. And something tells me being married to my best friend is going to be fucking fantastic.

24

LINCOLN

The reception is in full swing, as I nurse my fifth drink of the night and pretend I’m not keeping track of Logan’s movements around the room. Marcus and Elle disappeared after the ceremony and didn’t reappear until an hour later, both looking conveniently fresh yet flushed. We then went through the motions of pictures, followed by food, and now I’m watching them sway back and forth together on the dance floor looking beyond besotted with one another, hence my drinking.

Now, it’s not like I’m not happy for them, because I am. Nobody deserves happiness more than they do, but after Logan walked out last night and avoided me this morning, I’m not exactly in the mood to celebrate. We haven’t had the chance to speak to one another all day, and I’m not afraid to admit that I’m spiraling a little. I know my admission must have come as a shock to him, but he didn’t even give me a chance to explain. Now there isn’t any reasonable explanation I can give him, but I’m going to try, and I’m not backing down without fighting for us.

Which is why my eyes are already on himas he finally makes his way across the room toward me. He looks as gorgeous as usual in his gray suit, his eyes a little glossy, as if he too has had his own fair share of drinks, and for some reason I’m nervous.

“Dance with me?” He asks when he reaches me, offering me his hand, all of his usual bravado still intact, but I know it’s a mask.

“I thought we were fighting?” I reply, tipping back the remainder of my drink before finally looking up at him.

“So, just to confirm, when we are fighting we can fuck, but not dance? How modern of us,” he muses, and I can’t help but return his smirk, rising to my feet and sliding my hand into his outstretched one.

Leading me to the dance floor, we ignore the looks of all our family and friends, all pretending not to know that there is something clearly going on with us, and once there, Logan pulls me against him and puts his hands around my neck. It feels natural, effortless, like there isn’t a crater of unanswered questions between us, and I find myself wishing we could stay like this forever. Yet I’m not like Marcus, I’m not exactly destined for happiness. I am my father’s son, after all.

“Lincoln, I’m sorry,” he starts, and I’m sure he doesn’t miss the look of shock in my eyes at his words. “You surprised me yesterday and I reacted before I knew all the details,” he admits softly, and a mixture of relief and unease go to war inside of me.

I’m glad he’s here and talking to me, but there is a part of me that thinks maybe it would be better if he left me and never looked back. I’m not a good person, I know that, yet he is still looking at me like I am everything to him. I want to stop it, stop him, but worse than that, I want to hold on to him and never let go.

I swallow thickly, ensuring my voice is low and firm as I reply, “You were right to react that way.”

“No, I wasn’t,” he interrupts instantly. “I should have trusted my gut, I know you, I know you better than you think I do, and I should have trusted that and not just jumped to the worst case scenario in my mind because I was scared.”

Scared.

That word slices right through me, causing a visceral reaction through my entire body, that I have to lock down tight. Emotion almost chokes me as I ask, “You know I would never hurt you, right?” My eyes are everywhere but on him, not wanting to see the look in his own. I don’t want to see that familiar look of fear I evoke in people.

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