His hand drifts lower. One finger pushes through the mess of us—my arousal and his c*m blended together—and he lifts it to my mouth.
I hold his gaze. Those gray eyes, storm-dark and burning, the eyes that saw me before I ever saw myself.
Without blinking or looking away, I open my mouth and take his finger in. My tongue curls around the knuckle as I suck him clean. I smile at the exact moment his hungry pupils swallow up the last ring of silver iris.
When I’m done, I let his finger slip from my lips.
Together with those they carry in their hearts,
request the pleasure of your company
at the celebration of their marriage.
Friday, the thirty-first of July
at half past four in the afternoon
The woman in the mirror is someone I’m still getting used to.
Not because she’s wearing a whi
