The morning light hadn’t yet broken through the curtains, but our bodies already knew each other in the dark.
There was no hesitation anymore. No guarded silence. Just
the hum of breath between kisses, the rush of skin brushing skin, and the gasp
that slipped from my lips as Matthew pressed his large dick into me—slow, deliberate, and
thick with desire. He stretched me open with every inch, with every stroke of
his hips, and the delicious ache of it made my legs tremble.
His hands roamed my body like he owned it, and maybe he did.
He took his time tasting me—his mouth hot on my neck, my breasts, between my
thighs—drawing gasps and moans from me like music. Each flick of his tongue,
each thrust, was a carefully measured promise: I will love you like this for
the rest of my life.
I gripped his shoulders, nails sinking in as the pressure
built inside me. His name spilled from my lips in choked whispers. “Matthew… oh
my god—don’t stop—”
“I won’t,” he murmured against my ear, voice thick with
need. “I want to feel all of you. Every sound you make. Every shiver.”
He shifted my hips, angled me deeper, and my back arched as
he filled me again—stretching me until I could barely think, until all I could
do was moan and take his massive dick. He moved inside me like a man claiming what was his,
slow and deep and perfect. Our rhythm built with sweat and want, until I was
clawing at the sheets, crying out his name, coming apart around him while he
kissed me through it.
Even when I collapsed against him, shaking, he didn’t stop.
He held me close and kept moving, slower now, but just as intense—his lips
never far from mine, murmuring how beautiful I was, how good I felt, how he
never wanted to leave my body.
And when he came, it was with a broken gasp into my mouth,
his hands gripping my waist like he couldn’t get deep enough. We stayed locked
together, trembling, breathing each other in.
Afterwards, tangled in the cum soaked sheets and slick with sweat, I
lay against him—my head on his chest, his heart thudding steadily beneath my
ear. I didn’t even realize I’d drifted to sleep until I felt him kiss the top
of my head and gently slide out of bed.
I reached out, groggy. “Where are you going?”
He smiled, brushing hair from my face. “Nowhere far, love.
Just planning a little something for us. Go back to sleep.”
And I did—with a smile on my lips and the ring still on my
finger, and the sweet soreness between my legs a reminder of how deeply, how
thoroughly, and how hard he loved me.
—
Later that afternoon, after a long, indulgent shower
together—where he pressed me against the tile wall and made me whimper as he
took me again, slower this time but just as deep—Matthew took my hand and led
me into a cozy, upscale restaurant tucked away on a quiet side street. It
wasn’t flashy—no paparazzi, no crowds—just warm lighting, soft music, and a
circle of people who mattered most.
Our closest friends and family were already there, seated
around a large table, smiling, clapping, laughing as we stepped inside. Someone
had decorated with delicate strings of lights and white flowers in glass jars.
A banner hung above the table—“She Said Yes.”
I laughed through happy tears, burying my face into
Matthew’s shoulder as everyone applauded. Champagne glasses clinked.
Congratulations echoed. Hugs came in waves. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and
yet every time I looked at Matthew, I fell in love all over again.
He kept his arm around my waist the entire evening, stealing
kisses whenever he thought no one was looking—and sometimes when they were.
Slow, lingering kisses. The kind that made me want to drag him into a back room
and climb into his lap. The kind that said I’m yours now. Completely.
We toasted to love, to second chances, to fate bringing two
hearts together. Matthew’s toast made everyone cry, even the men pretending not
to wipe their eyes.
“She didn’t just say yes to me,” he said. “She said yes to
the life I’ve waited for. The kind of love I didn’t think I’d find again. She
makes every day lighter, better, worth more. And I can’t wait to call her my
wife.”
He looked at me like I was the only one in the room, then
kissed me again—deeper this time, full of everything he couldn’t say out loud
in front of everyone.
—
As the night deepened, we invited everyone back to his
place. The celebration continued with wine, music, and the beginning stages of
wedding talk. Dates were tossed around. Color schemes. Small or large? Summer
or fall? Beach or garden?
But Matthew barely got through five minutes of planning
without touching me—his hand resting on my thigh, his lips brushing my temple,
his arm around my shoulders. Every few minutes, he’d kiss me like he couldn’t
help it, like he needed the taste of me on his tongue just to function.
“I still can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured when we
slipped into the kitchen alone for a moment. “Every time I look at you, I fall
harder.”
I reached up and touched his face, my thumb brushing the
faint stubble at his jaw. “I’ve never been anyone’s the way I’m yours.”
He backed me against the counter, his mouth finding mine
again—hot, slow, possessive. His hands slid down my waist, over my hips. I felt
the heat build again instantly, my knees weakening under the weight of that
kiss alone.
Later, when the guests had all gone, I knew he’d take me
again—slow and thorough—until my body trembled under his, and I said his name
like it was the only word I knew.
This wasn’t just a new chapter. It was the beginning of
forever.
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