A Dominant Fallen (A Dominant Series Book 2) (51 page)

But, I don’t hear them. I hear Damian’s words to me last night, spoken in tender whispers.

“Gabrielle, my angel, my light, the love I possess for you is infinite. You are my heartbeat. Without you, I would not exist. I give you my love to keep in your heart, beating for only me, as mine beats for you.

“My dearest Elle, I vow to love you as you deserve, protect you from those who seek to harm, and nurture you for all my days on this earth, as long as air fills my lungs. I vow, not just as your husband, but as your Dom, to worship you with every fiber of my being, my sweet sub, to free you from your emotional cage and help you discover the woman you are destined to become. I vow to be everything you need, friend, lover, mentor, keeper of your mind, body, and soul. I vow my life and everything I am to you, my world.”

Suddenly, Hunt’s voice breaks through my reveries, speaking those words I’ve been waiting to hear, “I do.”

I summon everything I have into paying attention to the pastor, dead set on not screwing it up. He goes over the vows again, and I listen, waiting patiently for my moment, staring deeply into Hunt’s admiring eyes. I know just by looking at him, he’s thinking about last night as well.

“Until death do you part?” The officiant asks, grabbing my attention. I’d never really liked that line. I always thought it was so morbid.

I stare up into Damian’s eyes, filled with love and joy, and utter the words he has longed to hear, “I do.”

The look of pure bliss that washes over his face is more than I can bear, and I feel tears starting to trickle down my cheeks. He wipes them away with his thumb, smiling at me softly.

The pastor asks for the rings, and Chase steps forward, handing them to us with a joyful smile on his adorable face.

Damian places the stunning, diamond-encrusted band at the tip of the most significant finger and says with a tender voice, “This ring I give to you as a token of my love and devotion. I pledge to you all that I am and all that I will ever be as your husband. With this ring, I gladly marry you and join my life to yours.”

Then, it’s my turn, and I set the thick platinum band with three tiny black diamonds at the tip of his ring finger. I stare up into his joyous eyes and say with a tremble in my voice, “This ring I give to you as a token of my love and devotion. I pledge to you all that I am and all that I will ever be as your wife. With this ring, I gladly marry you and join my life to yours.”

I slide the ring onto his finger, setting it in the place it will remain the rest of our lives.

The officiant smiles at us and says, “By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Damian and I beam at each other, tears streaming down both of our cheeks in endless supply, and we move in, wrapping our arms about one another. He holds me close, scanning my face with a level of admiration that wrecks me. He comes down on my lips for a loving, knee-weakening oral caress, his tongue dipping inside for a taste. Everything and everyone has vanished. There’s only us.

The pastor’s voice breaks through our bubble of isolation and announces, "It’s my honor to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Damian Hunt.”

A
fter we’ve taken countless photos, we finally walk into the tent, hand-in-hand, greeted with uproarious applauding, cheering, and whistling. Hunt grasps my hand tighter, showing me I’m not the only one overwhelmed by the outpouring of love. Our guests congratulate us as we pass, pat us on the back, stop us for hugs, and give us warm wishes for a happy future.

I take every chance I get to observe our surroundings, a glimpse of a brightly lit chandelier, a white and purple lily centerpiece, the night sky through the silk tent.

By the time we make it to our table, I’m absolutely starving and ready for a nice, chilled glass of champagne.

Maya being the awesome sister and Maid of Honor she is, waits for us at the main table with two flutes in hand and a huge grin on her face. But, before we can grab our much needed drinks, our parents come up to us and give their blessings, hugging and kissing us on the cheeks.

Will this madness never end?

I glance over at Hunt who’s trapped in his mother’s embrace, shooting a pleading look of mercy. I giggle at him, and he smirks back, shaking his head in a gesture of defeat.

D
inner was superb, catered by the head chef at The Bridge; it was like sex for your mouth, every bite more delectable then the last.

While our wedding party is conversing, Hunt grabs my attention with a firm hand on my upper thigh. He takes my hand, helps me out of my chair, and guides us out of the tent into the cool air of night, walking at a brisk, urgent pace.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask with a giggle, amused by his eagerness, skipping to keep up.

He heads into the semi-dark cover of the nighttime garden, filled with tiny lights twinkling about us like stars. He moves us over to a tree so we’re out of sight from the partygoers under the brightly lit tent, completely oblivious to the guests of honor’s absence.

Hunt halts and takes me into his arms, bringing his lips onto mine with such fire. He holds me so tight, I can hardly breathe, his tongue softly exploring my mouth. His hand clasps to the nape of my neck, pressing me further onto him, while the other clings my lower back.

He tears his lips away as he hikes the delicate skirt of my gown up about my waist, finding only my garter and lace stocking tops. He gasps and groans, running his fingers just above my slit.

“No panties, Mrs. Hunt? You’re a naughty little wife,” he says with a soft growl, pleased.

“I figured there was really no point in wearing any, only to have you rip them off, Mr. Pantie Killer.”

He nimbly fingers his fly, bringing it down leisurely, and his very hard, very heavy cock flops out under its immense weight. I lick my lips, practically able to taste his flesh on my tongue, and he smirks devilishly, taking a step into me, mashing his firm body into mine. He grasps onto my ass and lifts me up, pressing my back against the smooth bark of the tree trunk. He dips his hips a bit to position himself, aiming the thick head of his throbbing cock with my slick opening.

I’m about to have this man, my husband, for the very first time, and the feeling is overwhelming. He presses his lips against my ear and whispers with devotion, “I love you, Elle.”

“I love you, Damian,” I whisper back before he slowly enters me inch by beautiful inch.

O
n our way back to the large white tent, Jules and Maya greet us on the lawn. They’re sipping on champagne and giggling to themselves, as they walk at us, giving Hunt and I the eye.

“Where have you two been all this time?” Jules asks with an omniscient gaze.

“None of your business,” I reply with a light-hearted tone.

“Ooohhh,” they say in unison.

“Kitty has claws,” Maya teases.

“What can we do for you, ladies?” Hunt asks in a soft yet commanding tone, taking control.

“Everyone is asking for you,” Jules states. “It’s time for your first dance.”

Hunt turns slightly toward me and holds out his hand. “Shall we, my dear wife?”

I take his large hand and reply with a sweet smile, “Yes, we shall, my loving husband.”

“Oh god, you guys are so mushy,” Maya jokes, with a mock look of disgust.

“Shut up!” Jules says with a roll of her violet eyes and a shake of the head. “You and Chase are just as bad.”

We all freeze for an instant, unsure if her old feelings for Chase were rearing their not-so-ugly heads, but she smirks, and we all ease and head back over to the festivities.

Once they announce our first dance and our song begins to play, we step out onto the floor, fingers laced together tightly, holding onto each other for dear life. Even though I worried it may be a bit cliché for our first dance, we chose Etta James’s, ‘At Last’. I’ve always loved it, and now, with Hunt, the words possess a whole new meaning.

My hand is trembling as he guides me to the center, sweeping me into him, and places his large, skilled hand on my back. He sways us in place, holding me closely, so his lips graze against my ear. He begins to softly coo the words to me, singing them as if they were written just for us, as if exposing his heart to me. His velvety breath brushes against my neck, and I swoon, melting into his embrace.

“Are you happy, angel?” he whispers, running his fingers up and down my back.

I wrap my arms about his neck and reply as tears begin to quietly stream down my cheeks, “Yes, Hunt, I am.”

I
’m standing by the dance floor, watching Hunt dance with his sister, Keira, when I feel a large hand on my back. I turn around and find Walker standing before me, and not too steadily.

“Walk, are you drunk?” I inquire.

He laughs hard and his alcohol-saturated breath wafts in my face, causing my nose to crinkle.

“I may have had a tiny nip,” he answers, pulling a flask out of his back pocket, and takes a nice draw.

“Oh, Walk, you idiot.” He looks offended, staggering a bit. “We need to call you a cab. You’re drunk, Walker, and in no condition to be here.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head from side-to-side, “I want to talk to ye.”

I sigh, annoyed by his present state. “What is so important that we have to talk right now?”

“Am I too late?” he asks with worry in his eyes.

“Too late for what, Walk?”

“To sstop ye, Gigi, from makin’ the biggest…mistake of yer life.”

“Excuse you?” I ask, furious.

Good lord, he’s so fucking drunk he doesn’t even remember the ceremony.

He takes a step toward me and reaches out for me, but I take a large step back and he grasps only air.

“Why did ye do this… to me? Why (hiccup) did ye marry him? Why didn’t ye want to marry me, Gigi…? Was…wasn’t I good enough for ye?”

The grief in his eyes is almost more than I can bear. I place my hand on his shoulder, attempting to comfort him.

“Of course you’re good enough, Walker. But…”

He sneers down at my hand then looks back at my face. “I don’t know what ye see in the limey bastard.”

Suddenly, any sympathy I felt for him disappears, and I rip my hand away.

“Are you fucking kidding me…? Go home, McQueen.”

I turn to walk back to Hunt, but he snatches my hand and forcefully yanks me into his arms. He holds me so close, I can smell the booze secreting from his pores. I shove at his chest, jolting him slightly, but his grasp is firm and refuses to relent.

“Get the fuck off me, Walker!” I shout, jerking away.

“No, yer mine,” he insists, grasping onto my wrist.

“This is your last warning, or I’ll…” I growl, too upset to get the rest out.

“Ye’ll what, Gigi?” he asks with a cocky, crooked smirk.

I fist my hand and pull my arm back tight, letting it fly. And, with an attack as quick as a viper, I pop him in the nose. I feel it give way under my fist and snap.

He raises his hands to his face as blood drips freely from his nose and moans in agony. Suddenly, a large hand grabs his collar and punches him square in the jaw, which sends him tumbling to the ground.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch my wife again!” Hunt roars. “If you even come near her, I will rip your fucking head off! Is that under-fucking-stood?”

He snatches me up and brings me into his side, placing my head on his chest, while Liam and Chase, our own little security detail, grab Walk’s arms and haul him up to his feet.

“Get yer fuckin’ hands off me!” Walk shouts, yanking his arms out of their grip, and combs his fingers through his messy, auburn hair. He adjusts his shoulders and straightens his posture, turning away with a curled upper lip. Liam and Chase follow him to ensure he leaves safely.

Hunt releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and looks me over. Once he’s examined me, satisfied that I’m unharmed, he asks with a concerned, gentle tone, “Are you alright, angel? Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. I promise.”

He sighs, his shoulders deflating, and nods his head. “Alright, I think I could use a drink. How about you, Mrs. Hunt?”

“Yes, please, Mr. Hunt,” I reply with a weak smile.

He tosses his arm over my shoulder and walks us toward the bar.

“Never a dull moment,” he murmurs and shoots me a side-glance, smirking light-heartedly, attempting to change the tense mood.

O
nce the last of the champagne has been served, the cake has been cut, and the guests have exhausted themselves from endless dancing, I decide it’s the perfect time to toss the bouquet. I handed it to Maya before the first dance and haven’t seen it since. I scan the large crowd, finding her next to Chase and Hunt, talking it up with a small group of unfamiliar faces, and head over to them.

“Maya,” I call out, and she turns to me, waving me over, “Where did you put my bouquet?”

“I put it on the table in front of your chair. Want me to go grab it for you?” she inquires, taking a step forward.