A private ceremony. Almost a year to the day after they had first locked horns at the Silver Band. The honors were done by the captain of Gordon’s three-hundred-foot yacht, renamed the Sapphire Blue in honor of Chelsea’s eyes, the first feature that had attracted the elusive bachelor Gordon Dewitt.
Cindy was the maid of honor, Gordon’s brother Conrad was the best man. He was a younger version of Gordon, with wavy, dark hair and a patrician nose. He had a definite military bearing and broad shoulders. Cindy was clearly enamored. She nearly died when Conrad asked if she would allow him to take her to dinner after the newlyweds dropped anchor on the shore of St. Cristanthum in the Caribbean.
Chelsea, herself, was enamored—with her handsome new husband and soon-to-be Master of their marital bed. Tonight would be her first night of surrender as his wedded wife. He had dropped hints of what he might do and she had had difficulty focusing on anything else.
The ceremony couldn’t end quickly enough, or the champagne toast. She and Cindy hugged forever, each breaking their promise not to cry. Gordon had vowed there would always be the dearest place in their lives for Cindy and at the rate she and Conrad were going, she wondered if they might not end up sisters-in-law.
The boat dropped anchor just as the sun was setting. A large pink and yellow hemisphere melting into the placid, green-blue ocean. The sands were pristine white. A band was playing—steel drums and sharp island guitars.
Dinner was a blur. Chelsea barely remembered eating. She felt like a queen in her white off-the-shoulder dress of shimmering silk. And Gordon looked like royalty in his black tuxedo.
She got goose bumps, thinking about the club and how she had resisted him. Instinctively, from the beginning, she had known what the man was capable of and it had frightened and excited her terribly.
Some time later, they walked on the beach, under the moon. His hand felt so good in hers, she felt so safe and loved. She wondered about his smile. He had more tricks up his sleeve, she was sure of it.
“There.” He pointed to the small beach house, white with aquamarine shutters.
“It’s beautiful,” she said in awe of the quaint cottage with the little porch built on the sand.
“No, you’re beautiful.” He lifted her into his arms. “And you’re about to find out how true that is.”
Gordon carried his bride across the threshold. He set her down in the bedroom and began to undress her. He knelt to remove her stockings and panties. Delicately, he kissed her small bare feet. When she was completely naked, he laid her on the plush bed, which was covered in blushing pink rose petals.
She looked at him in sheer bliss, her palms facing up as she placed her hands overhead. He descended softly, having removed his own clothes. He took his time, kissing and caressing her breasts, delicately working her clitoris to fever pitch. At last they embraced and their bodies fell together, communicating, relaying the message of pent-up lust.
Chelsea moaned, encouraging him to roll over, all the way, until she was on top. He reached up to caress her breasts as she positioned herself. She rode him until they came together, a storm of an orgasm. No toys needed, no roles, just two lovers, bound for life.
The rest they had time for…an eternity, in fact.