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FOUR MONTHS LATER
Emily's colors were cream and gold much like the colors of her soon-to-be bedroom. The women wore coffee colored gowns that were fitted from the waist up with thin straps tied around the neck. From the waist down, the gown flowed loose.
Ajay's groomsmen were Peter, Brock, JT and Nate. He hated having Nate in his wedding party but he also knew how much it would mean to Emms.
He would admit that he was whipped but since he'd never had sex with the woman he was about to marry that would be incorrect. A word had yet to be invented for the web that Emms used to ensnare him; and he'd never been so happy to be caught in a woman's wicked twine.
Ajay's coworkers, twelve Cut and Shoot police officers, dressed in Class A uniforms stood at the back of the church.
Peter ushered Trisha, his longtime girlfriend, down the aisle, Brock ushered Holly, a coworker friend of Emms' and Nate ushered Tilly. When Star rolled Jags' wheelchair down the long aisle a morbid silence filled the room.
For the last few months, Nate had kept Jags on a steady run of Seroquel and Haloperidol. Tilly volunteered to be his home nurse. At least, he didn't have to be admitted to a crazy house.
For the first few months, it was . . . well . . . heartbreaking. Jags was borderline catatonic. Conscious but zombified.
Over the past few weeks, though, Nate had reduced Jags' medication, weaning him off, so-to-speak. And now Jags was slightly more animate.
But still a shell of the person he used to be.
Cam wouldn't talk about Jags' deterioration. Just acted like nothing was wrong. No discussion on how long Jags might be like this, no discussion on treatment alternatives. It's how he dealt with it, which was fine with Ajay.
Ignorance was bliss.
But still . . . this was a big day for Ajay . . . his wedding day and he wanted both his brothers to be present. Technically Jags was here, but was he really here? Was he aware of everything going on around him?
Emms was the only person that could get any kind of reaction from him. When she visited, he would smile and run the back of his hand down the side of her face. Then he'd look her up and down, always pausing on her left leg.
It was fucking weird.
But hey, it's Jags, so anything goes. Ajay learned long ago not to ask questions when it came to Jags and his weirdness.
Star reached the front of the sanctuary, parked him in the center of the aisle, in front of three red carpeted steps.
Gently, she situated herself sideways across his lap and leaned into him, tucking her head beside his.
A collective sigh whispered from the three hundred and fourteen guests. Noses were sniffling. Eyes were watering.
Ajay swallowed. Blinked. Fuck.
He forced himself to look up and smiled as Cam escorted Maggie down the aisle.
After Cam and Maggie took their positions on the platform as best man and maid of honor, the piano began playing, Canon in D.
And Emms appeared at the far end of the church, her father by her side.
He wanted this for Emms and for himself. No question.
But he fucking hated this shit!
Tuxedo was too tight in the shoulders, starched undershirt scratched irritably at his neck. And the shoes . . . ugh.
But today wasn't about him and his comfort. It was about Emms. He repeated this mantra silently in his head as Emms and her father began walking down the aisle.
And repeated it again, over and over, as the preacher did his spiel.
Read his bible passages.
Told a cute story about Emms growing up in the church and keeping everybody on their toes and smiling.
Finally . . . he asked the question.
And Ajay said . . . "I do."
Doug cried.
Gramps sighed.
And Cam cursed.
––––––––
THE RECEPTION WAS HELD at Smith Durham Hall, an elegant 20,000 square foot hall with mirrored ceilings and floor-to-ceiling picture windows throughout. The hardwood shellacked floor gave the hall a rustic but elegant atmosphere.
Ajay would've been fine with a cookout in the back yard. But today wasn't about him. It was about Emms.
Cam plunked down at the head table beside Ajay. He picked up a knife and fork and held them out.
"I already ate." Ajay gave the flatware a brief glance before returning his focus back on Emms and her father slow dancing.
"I beg to differ."
Ajay looked at his brother and scowled at the shit-eating grin on his face. "Five months," Ajay said, "I'm doing the best I can. Cut me some slack."
"The limousine is outside. How about grabbing a little snack. You might enjoy your own reception a little more."
"You think?"
"Uh huh."
"Tell the DJ that the happy couple needs twenty minutes."
Cam slapped Ajay on the back. "Hell, I'll give you thirty."
––––––––
AJAY GRABBED A CLOTH napkin. He jumped from the chair and met Emily half way. Taking her by the elbow, he led her from the elegant hall.
"Where are we going?" she asked, "More photographs?"
As they approached the white stretch limousine, the driver leapt from the vehicle and opened the door. Ajay waited for Emily to climb in before whispering to the driver, "Disappear for thirty minutes." Ajay handed him three hundred-dollar bills. When the driver began walking toward a nearby golf course, Ajay opened the door and climbed inside.
His little angel sat patiently waiting. He locked the doors then pulled her to him, situating her to face him, her thighs straddled over his lap.
"People will be wondering where we are?"
He tucked the cloth napkin into the crease of the bench seat. Over her many layers of fabric, he slid his hands under her ass. "I need you."
She wiggled, grinding her sex against his erection. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."
He laughed and hung his head. "If that's true than I'm not sure why you married me."
Her amusement turned to curiosity. She trapped his head between her hands. "Because of the way you're looking at me right now."
He kissed her, keeping his touch light, resisting the urge to eat her alive. "Let me touch you until you come." When she blushed, he said, "That way, losing your virginity won't be as painful."
"Don't you think our first time should be somewhere a little more romantic?"
"As long as you're with me, everywhere is romantic." He tapped his forehead against hers. The swell of her breasts peeking from the low cut gown drew his focus. "Please. God. Please."
"Okay."
Growling, he dug through the layers, swatting at the evil fabric that kept her hidden from his touch. "How many friggin' layers are there?"
She laughed.
Glancing at her over the bunched material, he asked, "You think this is funny?"
"Uh huh."
He smashed the bunched dress down, so he could see her face. His fingers finally felt the soft skin of her abdomen. Gliding his hand down, he grazed the lips of her pussy. "You're not wearing any panties?"
"Surprise."
He slid a finger inside her tight, so fucking small, bald pussy. "You shave?"
"It makes me feel cleaner."
"Holy shit, I love you!" He stretched her across the bench seat and ducked his head under the layers.
"What are you doing?" she asked, stifling a laugh.
He slid a finger inside her and swirled his tongue and suckled her clit. Her taste was so sweet and so fucking hot.
She gasped and reached for his head. "Whoa—."
"Just relax." Again, he plunged his tongue inside her sex and flicked.
"Stop."
"No freakin' way. Just relax."
Pulling on his hair, she yanked hard enough to prompt a loud grunt. He peeked from beneath her dress and rubbed his head. "What was that for?"
"I can't relax in the back of a limo, dressed . . ." She ran her hands down her elegant gown, "dressed like this. It's not going to happen. Just do it. Rip the bandage off."
"But that will hurt you."
"There's no way around that. You could give me a hundred . . . well . . . you know."
He pulled her gown down, covering her. "Say it." When she turned that lovely shade of tomato that he'd grown to adore, he couldn't help but laugh. "Say it."
"You have thirty seconds to rip the bandage off before I go back to my wedding reception."
"You mean our wedding reception."
"A wedding reception you're intent on leaving after only twenty minutes."
Sighed. Frowned. "We don't have to do this now." He helped her to a sitting position and began straightening her gown. "I can wait."
She sat across his hips. "The hell you can." Unzipping his slacks, she freed his erection.
He grabbed her wrist. "Are you sure?"
C-3PO's robotic voice resounded from the front seat of the limo.
I thought that hairy beast would be the end of me.
Emily gave him a questioning look.
Ajay shrugged. "Jake rescued it from the trash. I bought it off him. Surprise wedding gift."
C-3PO's voice resounded again. I don't know what all this trouble is about, but I'm sure it must be your fault.
Emily leaned down and kissed him. Small tugs of his bottom lip. Gentle darts of her tongue inside his open and eager mouth. Smiling against his lips, she whispered, "Bandage. Off. Now."
Grinning, he fluffed her dress out of the way and worked his cock until he finally had it positioned at her sex. "Ready?"
"Just rip the damn—ooooowwwww."
"Bandage off, darling." Emms' tight pussy gripped him like a vice. "Now I need you to move."
"Are you insane? You just split me in half and now you want me to move."
Gripping her by the hips, he held her panicked gaze as he glided himself from her insanely tight canal and jerked her down, impaling her once again.
Trying not to hurt her any more than he already had, he gripped her hips and ground against her. She moaned or grunted, he wasn't sure which and just like that . . . he exploded.
It was over.
Ajay tugged the napkin from the crease, ducked under her dress and wiped at her sex, drying her from any cum or blood. Lots of cum. Not much blood.
He pulled her dress down, covering her up and sat her across his lap. "Check mate."
She smiled. "Back at ya."