Page 45 of Forbidden Obsessions

“With this ring, I, Olivia, take you, Tomas, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.” She slides the ring onto my finger smoothly, tears streaming down her beautiful face.

Judge Adams turns to me. “With this ring, I, Tomas, take you, Olivia, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.” I glide the ring onto her and kiss her before it’s even announced that it’s time.

Judge Adams clears his throat. “You may kiss the bride,” he says, despite the fact that I already have my tongue down the bride’s throat.

Olivia’s parents are the first to draw us into a hug. “Congratulations!” Mia barrels into my back. Lex gives a small smile and piles in, Mia enveloping her in a hug.

“Hey! Wait for me,” Brent calls, running from the foyer. I’m pissed my parents didn’t give in and decide to attend, but at the same time, who fucking needs them?

I just spent the day marrying the love of my life and was championed by my closest family and friends. Olivia and the Hamiltons are my family now.

“What’s next?” Mia asks in a seductive voice.

I give her a sly smile. “I’m getting Mrs. DeLuca home to eat ice cream.”

Mia quirks a brow. “Which one of you is ice cream in this euphemism?”

“No euphemism. Literal ice cream,” I correct, watching the amusement in Olivia’s eyes. Nobody is brave enough to call us out. We say our goodbyes in a hurry. Nobody calls us out on that, either.

“Ice cream? Really?” She laughs the second we’re in the car.

“You married me,” I shrug. We’re in the middle of an intersection when Olivia’s seatbelt alarm starts going off.

“Olivia, put your seatbelt back onnow.”

“Oh, but Professor. What happened to tradition?” She flutters her eyelashes.

“A joke,” I grit out as she undoes my belt buckle.

“Sure doesn’t seem like one.” I groan in relief and horror as she frees my cock.

“Olivia,” I warn sternly, but it’s too late. She takes me to the back of her throat.

“I don’t know whether to punish or praise you,” I muse, stroking her wild curls.

“Both, please,” she says, licking my shaft. I narrowly miss an abruptly stopping mail truck.

“Ouch,” she winces as I lift her by her hair.

“That was punishment. You’ll get praise when you deserve it,” I tell her with a grin. She squirms.

I carry her from the street to the kitchen the second we get home. My fight has already died down. I just want to praise her in the filthiest, most depraved ways possible.

“Welcome home, Mrs. DeLuca.” I bunch the skirt of her wedding gown and set her on the kitchen island. She watches as I slip each one of her shoes off. I’ve done this for her hundreds of times, yet this time feels completely new, something unequivocal hanging in the balance.

When my hand finds the crotch of her pantyhose, I rip, like a starved animal. My fingers trace the apex of her thighs, trying to pull the useless garment from her legs.

“Do you wanna know what I was thinking about, Mrs. DeLuca?” I whisper in her ear.

“Enlighten me,” Olivia gasps softly, reveling in the sensation.

“I was thinking about bending my wife over the kitchen island and figuring out what a good little whore she is.”

“You’re in luck,” she says, pulling the sleeves down her shoulders, arms, and legs, before coming to rest in a heap on the kitchen floor. Her fingers pull at my belt buckle. The remainder of my clothes join hers in the same pile.

Fisting her hair, I pull her close for a bruising kiss before spinning her. She grips the island as I plant a trail of kisses the length of her spine.

“Tomas,” she whimpers, sending a desperate throb to my waiting cock. I stroke myself, admiring the curves and freckles all over her body.

---