Carrying Bridal Style Novels & Stories

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers as Fabi didn't just lead her—he swept her off her feet, lifting her into a bridal carry. Selin let out a tiny gasp of surprise, her hands reflexively clutching his shoulders as she buried her face deeper into his chest. He didn't walk faster he walked with a slow, deliberate arrogance, daring anyone to say a word to his face. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and cold rain—enveloped her, acting as a barrier against the world. "Oh my god, he's carrying her!" a girl shrieked from the sidewalk. "Who is she?"

/Brian's pov/ I hold her hand as I lead her towards the stairs on the high table but I notice that she was walking really slowly like she was going to trip and fall "This is not going to work" I mumble as I lift her off the ground carrying in a bridal styled way because that is exactly what she is to me, she is my bride. "What are you doing?" I she inquires in an alarmed voice "Don't open your eyes" I quickly instruct her so that she doesn't ruin my Suprise.

His eyes, reflecting a mixture of nerves and joy, remained fixed on the journey ahead. Beside him, the bride floated in a gown of pristine white, the embodiment of grace and timeless beauty. The off-shoulder design showcased the delicate curve of her collarbones, and intricate embroidery told a story of commitment and love. A veil, like a whispering cascade of dreams, trailed behind her, framing a face adorned with a radiant smile.

Abigail, veiled in a bridal veil, embodies the epitome of grace and elegance. Her white gown drapes softly around her, flowing like a river of silk, whispering secrets of timeless beauty. It hugs her figure in all the right places, accentuating her curves with delicate precision. The intricate lacework adorning the bodice tells a story of intricate craftsmanship and devotion, much like the love that binds us together.

Even the ugliest girl in the village wouldn't consider marrying Tom Quinn. My parents used the bride price from Mark to prepare a decent dowry for my sister. Tom couldn't provide anything, so naturally, I had nothing. My sister sat on the bed, humming a tune and admiring her new clothes and hair ribbons. I tried to warn her: "That Mark Johnson isn't a good man."

The bridal suite was quiet, save for the faint rustle of lace and satin as Carmilla stood before the mirror. Her wedding gown clung to her like a porcelain shell, delicate, elegant, and yet, suffocating. The room, adorned with soft white florals and flickering candles, felt more like a stage than a sanctuary. Mrs. Hunt stood behind her daughter, her fingers meticulously adjusting the lace sleeves of the gown. Her touch was precise, but cold void of the affection one might expect from a mother preparing her daughter for her wedding day.

She wanted him inside her so badly that it almost hurt. “Just a little more… I was so close,“ she thought, biting her lip. Kingsley straightened up slowly. With gentle strength, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, then lifted her effortlessly into a bridal carry. Sara gasped in surprise, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck. He smiled down at her, his eyes warm with affection despite the obvious desire still burning in them. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you properly tonight.”

The gown fit her like a dream, hugging her curves before cascading into a graceful train that trailed behind her. Carmen's earrings dangled elegantly, each delicate piece catching the light as she turned her head. They were a family heirloom, passed down through generations, lending a touch of sentimentality to her ensemble. Her shoes, adorned with tiny crystals, sparkled as she slipped them on, adding a touch of glamour to her bridal look.

Wearing a white dress which was adorned with pearls in it, long enough for the bridesmaids to carry and expensive enough to not touch the ground. Shaping her figure perfectly as its silk hugged all of her curves and kissed every inch of her body like no one could. A net veil hanging above her face as a diamond head piece on her head as if she was a queen walking towards her throne.

She was having a fever, making Damien eyebrow tugged together. In a blink of an eye, he swiftly shifted their position and lifted her up in his arms, carrying her in a bridal style. He held her a little bit high, so her hot cheeks were resting on his shoulder, securely tucked underneath his neck. But he didn't bother about it, he was more focused on the way her breathing was getting weaker and slower.