Wedding night

Neither knew how they managed to get to the hotel but they ended up at Elena's hotel.

Alexander closed the door after entering her suite behind her, but didn't let go of her hand. he swirled her around his hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, and he kissed her again—slower this time, softer, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth.

Then he paused. Pulled back kissing the back of her hand.

"Dance with me." he whispered

Elena blinked. "What?"

"Every bride deserves to dance on her wedding night." He pulled her close, one hand settling at her waist, the other cradling her fingers. "Humor me."

She laughed, soft and bewildered, but she let him sway her. The room was silent except for their breathing, the distant hum of the Strip beyond the window.

Then his leg slid between hers.

Not accidental. She felt the pressure of his thigh against the heat of her core and gasped, her fingers tightening on his shoulder. The friction, even through layers of silk and fabric, sent a bolt of sensation straight through her. She was already aching for him, already wet from his mouth and his hands and the impossible weight of the night.

He felt it. Felt the damp heat of her against his thigh, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. When her stomach brushed against the rigid line of his cock through his pants, he shuddered.

"Fuck, Elena." His voice was strained, barely a whisper. "I'm trying to be romantic, but God—you're making it hard."

She pulled him closer, her mouth against his ear. "Stop trying."

He didn't need to be told twice.

He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her dress riding up as he carried her to the bedroom. He set her on the edge of the mattress, shrugged off his jacket, then pulled his shirt over his head in one motion.

Her breath caught.

He was beautiful. Lean and powerful, silver tracing his temples, shoulders broad.

He came back to her, lowering her onto the mattress, kissing her until her thoughts dissolved.

But then—realization.

She shoved his chest. Not hard, but enough to make him pause.

"I—" Her cheeks burned. "Alexander. It's my first time." She looked away, suddenly shy. "I don't... I don't know... I have never..."

He cupped her face, tilting her gaze back to his.

"Then let me show you." His voice was soft, reverent. "I'll be gentle. I promise."

His hands were in her hair, tilting her head back. His fingers unzipped her gown she raised her arms and he pulled it above her head tossing it on the floor leaving her in nothing but her panties.

"Slow," he murmured against her throat. "We should go slow."

"hmm." she moaned as his lips found her breast. some how in a moments notice The rest of their clothes had followed. she was bare beneath him and him bare above her.

His mouth mapped her collarbone, the curve of her breast, the soft skin below her navel. She arched into him, her hands fisting in the sheets, sounds escaping her that she'd never made before.

"Look at me," he said.

She did.

His blue eyes held hers as his fingers found her, stroked her, learned the rhythm that made her gasp. "I want to watch you come apart."

"Alexander"

"Say my name again." he leaned down his tongue finding her clit making her body jerk.

"Alexander" She moaned.

"again" He whispered his lips and tongue dancing on her clit. His blue eyes locked on her face.

She did. Once. Twice. A third time fractured into a cry as the pressure coiled and released, her body bowing off the mattress.

He kissed her through it. Praised her in whispers—"Beautiful, my God, you're beautiful"—against her skin.

Then he was above her, braced on his forearms, his hard cock resting on her inner thigh his lips finding hers he reached between them to guide himself to her entrance. "Tell me if any of this hurts and I will stop" He whispered against her lips. she nodded.

The first press made her gasp.

"Okay?"

"Don't stop..Please..don't..stop."

He moved slow, so slow his body shook with restraint but he was determined to give her body time to adjust, his jaw tightened. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Soon she was lifting her hips meeting his. Her hips lifted in brave thrusts, her breath hitching as he deepened every slow, claiming thrust. The rhythm shifted—less tentative, more desperate. Each downward stroke of her body pulled a groan from deep in his chest, and she rode the sound like a wave, chasing the peak he kept just out of reach.

"Alexander—" His name broke from her lips, raw and pleading.

He answered by driving deeper, one hand balanced him the other pressing flat against her lower stomach where he could feel himself moving inside her. The pressure of his palm made her eyes roll back.

"I've got you," he growled, voice wrecked. "Let go. I'll catch you."

She did.

The orgasm tore through her like lightning, her body clenching around him in pulsing waves. He followed a heartbeat later, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to hers as he spilled into her with a shuddering groan.

They stayed like that—entangled, panting, slick with sweat. His thumb traced lazy circles on her thigh. Her fingers combed through the silver at his temples.

"I think," she whispered, voice hoarse, "that was worth the wait."

He laughed, soft and broken. "I think I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you feel that way."

He turned her onto her stomach, pressing her into the mattress as he entered her from behind—slow, deliberate, his chest against her spine. "I'll never forget this," he whispered against her shoulder blade. "Never forget our wedding night"

She cried out, as he drove deeper. She lift her hips pushing back on him. His hands pulled her hips back in a rhythm.

Later, he sat against the headboard, pulling her into his lap. She rode him facing away, his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth at the curve of her neck. "You're mine," he breathed, and she nodded, lost, slick, his.

On the floor, tangled in the sheet she'd dragged with her, he laid her on her back and hooked her knees over his forearms. The angle was devastating—he struck something deep and perfect, and her vision whited out.

"Always," he promised, pouring himself into her. "Always and forever."

The night was a blur of sensation. His mouth between her thighs, her name on his tongue. Her lips tracing the scar along his ribs, the one he'd explain later, the one with a story she'd learn. Positions shifted—her above him, the headboard against the wall, on her back with her legs over his shoulders as he drove into her and told her she was his, his, his.

She said it back.

"Mine," she breathed, pulling his mouth to hers. "Mine."

"Mine," he agreed, and shattered.