37. Scarlet

THIRTY-SEVEN

SCARLET

Twirling me out and back in, my dad's hand rests high on my waist as he sweeps me across the floor to the song I choose for us. Humming along, we smile each time we exchange, "mama," for, "daddy," that single word our song's only flaw. Other than that swap of lyrics, we don't speak. We dance and twirl, both of us trying not to cry as we remember days long past of me in various Disney Princess ball gowns, standing on his feet as we danced to song after song. And as it was then, I'm not ready when the song closes. I want just one more dance with my daddy.

I don't have to say it though. I don't even have to look. The song begins again without any sign from me or my dad. That's how easily Remington can read me. How well he knows me and my dad. Roman too—he and I having danced just before and my husband having repeated the song for me then too.

My husband…

Like a plunge down a rollercoaster, my stomach goes into an exhilarating freefall each time I say or think those words. The drop as the syllables form rushing me with a bevy of sensation and emotion. A jittery giddiness that has me suppressing the urge to bounce on my toes. A summer-like haze softening my perception of everything as I fall drunk on love. Gentle purrs of satisfied possession. Electrifying tingles of anticipation buzzing beneath my skin as I long to wade further into my arousal. The call to submerge myself beneath its surface and let it drown me growing more difficult each time those words flutter through my mind.

My husband…

Suppressing a chuckle, though his dimples are deep as he smiles, my dad comments, "That boy is hopelessly in love with you," blowing away my suddenly consumed thoughts like a fan to smoke.

Briefly catching Remi's hazel eyes as my dad passes me under his arm, I smile, "I'm just as gone for him," the words somehow never more true than they are now that I'm his wife.

"Oh, I know. It's as indisputable as the sky being blue and the grass green." Bringing me back into frame, he says, "Seeing you two together, I couldn't be happier."

"You really mean that?"

"Absolutely, Princess. Remington knows you don't win a woman's heart; you earn it. And he knows how precious and fleeting life can be. Because of both of those, he will never take you for granted or leave you feeling undervalued. You'll never question how much he loves you because he will tell you and show you every minute of every day. And knowing you have that makes me happy and softens the dull ache inside over having given you away."

Stumbling over my feet, I stop dancing entirely as I exhale, "Daddy," tears already falling down my face.

"Hey now, come here," he urges, wrapping me up in a hug, rocking me from side to side. "Shh… only happy tears are allowed here tonight, Princess."

Sniffling into his shirt, I nod my head, holding on just a little bit tighter.

My dad's dull ache now reflects inside my own heart. Though I'm not going anywhere, not really, our story in a sense has still ended. Its pages bright and vibrant, full of love and happiness, but still stained with watermarks from my tears. I may always be my daddy's girl, but I'm also Remington's wife. My dad's place in my life and heart will always be unique and prominent, but his role has changed. He'll no longer be the one I want to share my day with first, the man I run to, the person who dries my tears.

No one prepared me for this. The joy, the elation, the warm mist of the night feeling like a dream. All that I was prepared for. Had been eager for. But the bittersweet moment of realizing just how much my life has changed, how much all our lives are changing now that I'm married, I wasn't ready for it.

Kissing my head, my dad hums another whooshing hush into my hair before releasing me. With calloused hands, he cups my face and scrubs my tears away. Then squishing my cheeks together, he very seriously says, "I guess this is why weddings have cake. So much better for eating your feelings than catered steak and fish," making me bust out in a belly aching guffaw, the end of our second dance lost to our mutual wheezing breaths and unintelligible words as we hold each other up through our laughter.

"Oh my God," I moan, my drawn out words muffled as my lips close around Remi's fingers.

Though we had cut the cake with Marcia expertly freezing the moment in time, I hadn't gotten a true taste of the beautiful rose gold decadence wrapped in pure white buttercream. Remington had sweetly fed me a single bite, my tongue licking over the tips of his fingers to savor the frosting. It wasn't meant to be as igniting as it was. But as his pupils dilated and the amber flecks of his irises glowed, it felt as if I'd been set ablaze, an unspoken understanding passing between us that any more would have to wait. Now though, with our home empty, we're free to indulge and glut ourselves on every bit of spiked desire we've been repressing all evening.

The flavors of the cake are an explosion on my tongue as I let my first true bite linger on my taste buds before swallowing. I'm immediately rushed with the undeniable vibrancy of champagne. But floating to the surface and peeking through is the sweetness of strawberries and pomegranates. A kiss of tartness from the raspberry filling follows on its heels. And just beneath the spice of the vanilla buttercream is a faint trace of fresh mint.

Following his fingers when he pulls them free, I hum, "Mmm… this might just be the best thing you've ever made me."

Running my finger up the side of the cake, I gather a large dollop of frosting. Licking just the tip of it, Remi's eyes tracking the slow curl of my tongue, I confirm, "Definitely the best," bringing it to his neck and painting it down his throat and into the open V of his shirt created by the undone buttons from where he removed his tie.

Pulling the high slit of my dress open, I rise up on my knees and bring myself to straddle his lap. With my hands gliding up his chest, I softly ponder, "I think it's having your taste mixed in."

"Is that so," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around my hips, the corded muscles and thick veins of his forearms exposed by his rolled up shirt sleeves.

Biting my lip, I nod, "Have to be sure though." I kiss the hollow of his throat before flattening my tongue and languidly licking the buttercream up his pulse.

His fingers dig into my ass, the material of my dress bunched and fisted in his hands, as I seal my lips at the top and suck on him, his rough swallow pushing against my mouth.

"Yep," I breathe, kissing the blooming red spot, "It's you."

Scooping up his own massive helping, Remi shakes his head, "I'm not convinced." His fingers disappear up my dress where he starts to transfer it down my inner thigh, as he reclines back on the carpet. "Come sit on my face so I can see for myself."

Reaching for the hidden zipper on the side of my dress, he snatches my wrist and pulls it away. "Leave the dress on."

I drop my zipper and instead grasp either side of my dress's slit and further spread it open to reveal my only undergarment being the pale blue lace garter adorning my left thigh.

"I wanted to go with green, but something blue is the superstition and?—"

"And we don't mess with superstitions," he finishes with quiet awe, his large palms caressing up my thighs to my bare butt where his fingers sink into the muscles, pulling me down to his mouth as he growls, "Fuck, my wife's pussy is so wet and pretty." With his tongue licking up my thigh, he asks, "Who's all this for, baby girl?"

"You," I whimper, knees wanting to close and trap him under me when he doesn't go further.

Making direct eye contact with me, Remi asks, "And who am I?"

"Daddy."

Nipping at the crevice of my thigh, he admonishes, "Try again, wife."

Whimpering as his breath grazes my flesh, I murmur, "My husband," crying out when my answer rewards me with the instant satisfaction of feeling his tongue plunge into my pussy.

Hiking up the material of my dress, its layers overflowing in my arms, I sit down further on his mouth, bouncing and rocking with each of his shallow, curled thrusts. An entire day of delayed gratification, of not having my husband's hands and lips on me, his fingers or cock inside me, sprints forth and turns my breath short and my pulse thunderous within seconds.

When he spanks me and roughly grips my hips to force me down until I'm truly sitting on him, a desperate, keening mewl escapes me as I answer his demand and begin to rub myself on his tongue, lips, and trimmed scruff, the dueling sensations overtaking me as they become all I can feel.

It's fast and hard, a true burst of tension inside me when my orgasm hits. No build up. No hanging in the balance. No split second of time freezing as I fall. Just sharp, blinding, fumbling release that has me crumpling over Remington as my eyes screw up tight against the stars and my hips writhe and chase every pulsing contraction of my cunt until I'm panting and twitching.

But instead of taking the edge off, my orgasm has only made it worse. The lazy strokes of my husband's tongue as he laps at my cum doing little to help. Clenching my thighs around him, I bear down on the sensation, trying to urge him along, seeking more pressure, more friction, more anything.

My voice is a broken whimper as I implore him for more, my hips rhythmless and frustrating as I hump, grind, and writhe to no avail. Without even trying, Remington has edged me and broken me down to little more than a sobbing, needy mess. An entire day without his cum, without him inside me, hardly feeling his touch has me going through withdrawal. The fast, too quick release is not nearly enough. I need more, am desperate for it, and still he restrains my hips and maintains his maddeningly slow pace.

"Daddy, please," I cry, actual tears starting to well up in my eyes as the pressure low in my belly expands. "Give me your cock."

"I love when you beg for my cock," he chuckles darkly, knowing full well what he's done to me before grazing his teeth over my clit, a stuttered grunt leaving me as my cunt contracts but not enough to fall over into euphoria. "Ask me nicely."

Being at my husband's mercy has my pussy so wet, I can feel the heat of my arousal at the tops of my thighs. Feel the slick he was unable to capture on his tongue slip free of me. I'm wound so tight, I don't hesitate. I beg and plead for his dick, his fingers, something to fill the void between my legs. I'll give him anything, say whatever he needs and wants to hear so long as he takes care of me and the raging inferno he's caused in my blood.

I'm so far gone I don't even realize he's no longer under me until I feel his hand around my throat, his grip just enough to direct my head up to where he wants. In the glowing warmth of our living room windows, I see the small smile that graces his lips, the dancing flames of the candles and fireplace providing just enough light that the windows have become semi-distorted mirrors.

"You look beautiful, Scar," he hums, kissing my temple. "Your tight little cunt weeping for my cock. So desperate to come you have tears rolling down your cheeks as you beg for it. And your pretty dress all rumpled and gaping open.

"I wanted to be gentle with you. Make love to you sweet and slow. Take my time and worship every inch of your body before finally sliding home. But that's not what my wife needs right now is it? You need to have your Daddy fuck you and fill you with his cum, don't you?"

"Yes!"

Removing the hand around my throat and bringing it to grip and dimple my hips, he pushes me away from him to better look at my puffy pussy, tongue wetting his lips as he growls, "Say, ‘Please,' baby girl."

It's debauched. Filthy and shameless. We aren't even undressed, his suit pants opened and pulled down just enough to free his rigid, veiny cock and my gown rucked up around my hips. And yet it's perfect. I wouldn't have tonight any other way. Not with this burning need to have my husband take me for the first time as his wife. The excitement for it built up so high, I can't imagine any other kind of love shared between us tonight to be nearly as satisfying.

He's gliding through my wetness, coating himself with me, moving at a speed that would suggest he isn't as desperate to come in me as I am to have him. It's a lie though. His reflection shows the truth, revealing how firm he's gripping the base of his shaft. How hard he's working to control himself. The harsh pinch of his brow and tight set of his jaw. Still, I play along, meeting his eyes in the window and pouting, "Please, Daddy. Please may I have your cock and your cum?"

"So fuckin' beautiful," he muses before notching his head at my entrance and slamming home with a brutal thrust that has me screaming as I bow down against the intrusion, offering even more of myself up to him.

"Fuck, baby," Remington hisses, already retreating before pounding back into me. "So perfect."

What little faculty I was in possession of escapes me as I feel him stretch and fill me. Each thrust drawing out guttural moans and keening, pitchy whines.

It's not long before my walls are contracting around him, strangling him and trying to prevent his retreat. Yet it's not enough. I can see him in the window's reflection as he claims me, our eyes locked on each other as we surrender to our own definition of making love. I can feel him from the inside out, his cock stroking and stimulating every sensitive, responsive spot inside me. His thighs against mine, the wool of his slacks soft and rough all at once. His fingers threatening little bruises around my hips as if he's afraid releasing me for even a second will have me vanish. It's beautiful, raw, and delicious with sweat misting our bodies and still, it's not enough. I still balance on the insanity-inducing edge of release.

Frustrated, I start to rise up on my arms, only for Remington's hand to strike out and push between my shoulders.

"Stay."

"But—"

"Play with your clit."

His short tone leaves no room for arguing or negotiation, my fingers already shoving the slit of my dress aside as they dive between my thighs and begin to circle and vibrate my clit.

It's not enough, not nearly enough but he knows that, his fingers quickly replacing his cock. I'm momentarily bereft by the sensation of only being partially filled until his head is back at my opening.

Pushing back to try and force him inside of me, he admonishes, "Stay still and wait for Daddy."

Then, those fingers coated in my excitement find their way further back from my pussy and up between the cleft of my ass. It's a thrill feeling him there, fingers circling and pressing, threatening to enter but not. One that has me trying to slow my erratic breathing down even before his rough voice softens to a gentle coo, coaxing me to relax for him.

Stretching over me, Remi kisses my shoulder blade as he murmurs, "Can I?" breaching my entrance with a single finger. "We haven't?—"

"Oh God, yes."

"Are you sure? You're only on the?—"

"Please do it. I want to feel you stretch me. I can take it."

Shallowly fucking my ass with that single finger a moment longer, he kisses me again before retreating and saying, "Stay just like this. I'll be right back."

True to his word, he's gone and back before I even have time to lament the absence of his heated touch. I'm so hyper focused on having his cock inside the only hole he hasn't yet used, that I'm startled when something pushes into my pussy.

"What," I start only to drift off into a moan as a gentle vibration starts pulsing.

Thrusting the bullet in and out of me several times, Remington removes it and brings it up to my clit, the pace of the lowest setting more of a tease than actual stimulation.

"Keep this here for me, baby." Then returning to the puckered opening, the cool feeling of the thick lube for my plugs dripping down on me, he starts massaging me and pressing in and out as he says, "We haven't gotten you worked up enough to take more than just a little of me tonight. So I need you to be my good wife and only bear down when I tell you to, okay?"

The first finger is good. The second, devine. The third, tight and only about a third of the way in as he truly begins to stretch me past the toys we've been using to train my muscles. The mingling of forbidden and exciting is so intense, I'm quickly turning up the speed on the bullet as I finally feel myself begin to teeter along the edge I've been stuck on.

This, this is what I need. For my husband to claim this final part of me. Own every inch of my body and mold it to his shape and touch, so everything will pale in comparison to him and the way he commands my body.

"Good girl," he further praises as I slump and melt for the pleasure the bullet is bringing me. "Just like that." His movements are achingly slow as he pulls out of me, the tight ring of muscle first not wanting to allow him entry, now not wanting to allow his escape.

Applying more lube, he squeezes my hip and says, "I'm only goin' to do a little bit but if it's still too much, let me know."

"I can do it. I promise."

"I'm serious, Scarlet. The moment you feel even a pinch of discomfort, you tell me. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Reaching over me so his body is covering mine, he kisses my shoulder, my neck, and my cheek, murmuring, "I love you, my wife."

"I love you too, husband."

Retracing the path of his lips, he returns to kneeling behind me, his hand stroking his dick, coating it with lube until he glistens, as he watches me in the glass. Then, notching himself at my opening, he says, "Turn it up. I'm not gonna last long, and I want to feel your ass wring my cock as I come."

Doing as he says, I tap the speed up and up again until I'm crying out from the relentless vibration on my clit, my voice rising in volume as he begins to push inside of me. It's natural to tighten the moment something begins to breach. It happens even when I bear down on my plugs, but the instinct is tenfold as his head starts to enter me.

"Fuck, Scar," he groans. "I need you to relax. Can you do that? Let Daddy in, baby."

Nodding my head, I breathe deep and as I begin to release the breath, I bear down on him allowing him to sink an inch into me. One, then two, then three before he's panting as heavily as I am, muttered swears falling from his lips as he calls a quits to any more.

I've had the plugs in me numerous times, both for play and to train and stretch so we could one day do exactly this. I've had them in while I use dildos on my pussy. Even had them in while Remington fucks my pussy and uses the plug to fuck my ass, bringing to life scenes from my Why Choose novels. So I'm not a stranger to the illicit pleasure that comes from anal or the exceptionally full feeling of being stretched beyond capacity. Still, I'm not prepared for just how intense having his cock in me is.

Each small, gentle thrust has me wild for more, my hand getting soaked as my cunt leaks, turning the bullet slippery. I don't even think Remington has managed a handful of thrusts before I'm slapping a hand down on the hardwood, my nails clawing at the grain for purchase as the need to come expands to its breaking point.

"Are you—FUUUUCK!" I yell, shattering before I can ask if he's close enough for me to be allowed to come.

Shoving the bullet into my pussy as I ride out the most intense orgasm of my life, shockwaves of pleasure sparking and igniting throughout every nerve in my body. Pressing it into my front wall, I crank it up until I'm squirting through the end of my release or possibly triggering another, my mind too blissed out to care for the answer.

Remington's own roar is deafening as he pulls out and paints me with his cum. The hand not fisting his cock as he wrings out every single drop pulls the vibrator from me with a slick squelch, replacing it with his cum coated fingers, rubbing his seed along my walls and sparking off tiny, electric aftershocks.

As soon as he's done, the last of my strength evaporates as I collapse on the floor, the skirt of my dress rumpled and bunched up around my waist to protect it from the mess we've made. Beside me, Remington flops on his back, one arm stretched out as the other snakes under me and pulls me to him as he starts peppering light kisses along my sweaty hairline, murmuring sweet words and praise as he massages my arms as best he can with one hand.

He catches his breath long before I do, leaving me with a quick kiss and a promise to hurry before he heads upstairs. Once he's back though, hair and body wet from the shower, a towel knotted low on his hips, he's pulling me up to my feet and feeling along my sides for the hidden zipper.

With the tug in hand, he gently releases the teeth, letting the dress fall from my body before kneeling to slip the garter from my thigh as well. Then standing back up, he scoops his hands under my butt and lifts me so my legs wrap around his tapered waist, carrying my limp body upstairs to our bathroom where the massive tub is filling up.

Holding his hand as I step in, I scoot to the front, needlessly making room for him. Then once he's in, I turn around and straddle his lap, cuddling into him as he washes me, massages me, and cares for me through my come down, listening to every murmured word and devotion, each of them punctuated with "my wife" until I'm squirming for more, my tease shattering his gentleness when he hauls me out of the tub.

Setting me on the vanity's counter, he fucks me fast and hard, the makeup I left out from this afternoon scattering to the floor under the force of his punishing thrusts before picking me up, his cock and cum trapped inside me, and taking me to bed where we finally give into the slower, more tender side of indulgence long past the small hours of the night.