Faery Wedding(4)

He rolled his hips again, rubbing his pelvis against her clit in a slow movement. She gasped and threw back her head, the veil surrounding her dark hair like a halo. Masculine pride filled him, along with a sense of the forbidden. Every man wanted to take his bride arrayed in her finery, drinking in the impression of innocence, but not many did. Certainly not before the wedding.

She bit her lip. Her pussy clenched hard, and her soft pants told him she was on the edge. Gritting his teeth, he pressed into her again, harder and faster, until she stiffened and came. Pleasure coursed through him as her body tightened in the grip of her climax, the rhythmic movements milking his cock. A lesser man would have come there and then, but Dev held onto control. He didn’t want to come, not yet. Control now would pay off later, when he finally got her into his bed as his wife.

“That’s it babe, I love to feel you cum over my cock,” he whispered encouragement as she rode him, keeping his hips going to prolong her climax. His hands smoothed down her spine and back up to her neck, where he tilted her head back to claim her lips again. She didn’t fight him, opening easily at the first brush of his tongue, and Dev drank in the soft moans and pants of her pleasure.

She went where he led. Within seconds he knew he was in trouble. Her responses were so sweet and natural. The temptation to say ‘screw it,’ ignore the wedding guests and tumble her to the floor grew until it was almost overwhelming.

She shivered as he broke away. With infinite care he slipped from her, set her on her feet and started to smooth her gown down. Swaying slightly, she had the dazed, star-struck look of a woman who’d been thoroughly loved. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her dress was creased, and her veil sat tilted on what had been an elegant up-do.

Crap. Despite the fact she’d been more than willing and the fierce sense of pride he felt knowing it was his hands, his kisses that had ruined her appearance, there was no way he was letting her go out there like this. He knew she hadn’t been given a choice about marrying him, hence her alcohol-fuelled rebellion last night, and her family was well known to be a pit of vipers. If she went out looking as she did, vicious gossip and rumours would start before she’d taken the first step down the aisle.

It was less than a moment’s concentration to reach into the witching and form the magic into a quick spell. Clean-up spells were literally child’s play for a fae of Dev’s power and prestige. He’d learnt them early on to avoid tidying his room, and to cover up the damage of boyhood scrapes.

Flicking his fingers he sent the magic swirling around her like a mini-whirlwind. It pulled at the fabric of her dress, smoothing the wrinkles before it tidied her hair and set the veil straight atop the restored hairstyle. A smile tugged at his lips as she staggered a little; her eyes widened in surprise at the quickness of the spell.

“Sorry, babe. I gotta go before they realize I’m missing.”

He dropped a quick, hard kiss on her lips and headed for the door. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He had to haul ass if he wanted to get back to the altar before she started her walk up the aisle. If he looked at her again though, they weren’t going to be leaving the room for a while.

He did, however, pause at the door and turn his head slightly to speak.

“Asharra? You look stunning.”



Ash took a deep breath as Dev disappeared out of the door. Her lips trembled as she picked up her abandoned bouquet and smoothed out some of the creased petals. Tears pricked like red-hot needles at the back of her eyes. All she wanted to do was forget about this wedding crap, call him back, and see where what they had led.

She might want it, but that didn’t mean it was going to happen. Not in this lifetime anyway.

Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself down, and called a little of her own magic to ease any sign of tears from her face. She could walk out at any time, but that would mean consigning her family to their collective fate. If they’d been human, with only the human consequences of owing money, bankruptcy and court, she would have. But the De Silve’s were Fae through and through. In their world, when a lender talked about a ‘pound of flesh’ they meant it. Literally.

Hate them as she did, she still couldn’t do that to them.

A deep sigh escaping her lips, she forced some steel into her backbone and walked to the door. She would do this…marry Lord Hunter, and become the epitome of a Fae Lady: coldly unapproachable, tough as nails, and as brutal as her Sidhe ancestors.

With her back straight and her face pleasantly impassive, she pushed the door open and walked into the church. Screw waiting for the knock, she was doing this on her terms and at no one’s beck and call.