Extra 2 Wedding(2)

Extra 2 Wedding(2)
Cecilia

The dress pooled at my feet, and Arthur's hands were already moving to my bra, unhooking it with the kind of efficient expertise that came from months of practice, letting it fall away before his palms came up to cup my breasts with reverent gentleness.

"So beautiful," he breathed, and then his mouth was on me—lips and tongue and the gentle scrape of teeth that made me gasp and arch into his touch.

My hands found his shirt again, tugging it up and over his head with his cooperation this time, and then we were skin to skin, the heat of him against me making my breath catch.

He walked me backward toward the bed, his movements unhurried despite the obvious arousal I could feel pressed against my hip. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, he lowered me down carefully, following me onto the bed with his body covering mine in a way that felt protective and possessive in equal measure.

"Ceci," he murmured against my neck, his hands sliding down to hook into my underwear and pull it off with gentle efficiency. "Baby, I need—"

"I know," I interrupted, my own hands already working at the drawstring of his pajama pants. "I need you too. So much."

He helped me push the fabric down, kicking it off completely, and then there was nothing between us except air and anticipation and three months of pent-up longing.

When he finally pushed inside me, we both let out sounds that were somewhere between moans and sighs of relief—the sensation of being filled, of being connected again after so long apart, overwhelming in its intensity.

"Missed this," Arthur groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against mine as he held himself still, letting my body adjust to the intrusion. "Missed you. Missed being inside you, feeling you around me—"

"Move," I gasped, my legs coming up to wrap around his waist, trying to pull him deeper. "Arthur, please, I need—"

He did, establishing a rhythm that was slow and deep and achingly tender—nothing like the desperate, frantic pace I'd half-expected after three months apart.

This was deliberate, controlled, each thrust calculated to hit exactly the right spot, to build pleasure gradually rather than racing toward release.

His hands were everywhere—sliding up my sides to cup my breasts, threading through my hair, gripping my hips to angle them just right. His mouth found mine again and again, kisses that were soft and sweet and completely at odds with the way he was moving inside me.

"I love you," he breathed against my lips, his rhythm never faltering. "God, Ceci, I love you so much. Don't ever leave me for that long again."

"Never," I promised, my own hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I could reach.

The orgasm built slowly, a gradual crescendo rather than a sudden spike, my body tightening around him in waves that made him groan and adjust his angle slightly, hitting deeper.

"That's it," he encouraged, one hand sliding between us to find my clit and circle with devastating precision. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."

I did, the pleasure cresting and breaking over me in gentle waves that made my toes curl and my breath catch, my inner walls clenching around him rhythmically.

Arthur followed me over that edge moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself as deep as he could go and let go, filling me with warmth that made me shiver with satisfaction and contentment.

We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, his weight pressing me into the mattress in a way that should have been uncomfortable but instead felt perfect, right, like coming home.

"Welcome back," he finally murmured against my neck, and I felt him smile. "I love you."

"I love you too," I whispered, my hands stroking through his hair with gentle affection. "So much."

He rolled us carefully so I was sprawled across his chest, his arms coming around me to hold me close, and I felt exhaustion finally catching up with me—the kind of bone-deep tiredness that came from three months of constant work and stress finally giving way to safety and comfort.

"Sleep," Arthur murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I've got you."

And surrounded by his warmth, his scent, the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, I finally let myself drift off.



I woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and the distinct feeling of being alone in bed.

My hand reached out automatically, finding only cool sheets where Arthur should have been.

He probably has meetings, I thought, pushing myself up with a groan as every muscle in my body protested the movement. Important CEO things that can't wait just because his fiancée finally came home.

I showered quickly, letting the hot water ease some of the lingering soreness, before pulling on one of my favorite dresses—a strapless pale yellow sundress that fell to mid-calf, casual but pretty in a way that made me feel put-together.

Mrs. Chen had breakfast waiting when I made it downstairs—fresh fruit, perfectly cooked eggs, toast with the kind of homemade jam I'd been dreaming about for months. I ate slowly, savoring every bite while she bustled around the kitchen with obvious pleasure at having me back.

"It's wonderful to have you home, Miss Locke," she said, refilling my coffee cup with practiced efficiency. "The house has been too quiet without you."

"It's good to be home," I said honestly, feeling the truth of it settle into my chest.

She smiled with obvious warmth, then seemed to remember something. "Oh! Mr. Winston left a message for you. He asked that you meet him at the beach when you finished breakfast."

Curiosity sparked immediately, cutting through the lingering exhaustion. "The beach? Did he say why?"

"No, miss. Just that you should come find him there when you were ready."

I finished my coffee quickly, my mind already spinning with possibilities. What is he planning? Another surprise? Some kind of romantic gesture to make up for being at work instead of here with me?

The walk from the house to the beach took maybe five minutes, following the stone path that wound through the gardens Arthur's landscaping team maintained with obsessive precision.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder as I approached, mixing with the cry of seagulls and the rustle of sea grass in the morning breeze.

And then I saw him.

Arthur stood at the edge of the water.

He was staring out at the horizon, his posture somehow both relaxed and tense, like he was waiting for something.

"Arthur?" I called out, picking up my pace as I crossed the sand toward him. "What are you doing out here? Don't you have work?"

He turned at the sound of my voice, and the expression on his face made my breath catch—nervous and excited and determined in a way I'd never quite seen before.

"I took the day off," he said, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. "Cleared my entire schedule. Because today—" He stopped, seeming to struggle with the words.

"Today what?" I asked, my heart starting to hammer with a mixture of anticipation and confusion.

"You once said marrying you would require traveling between heaven and earth, and being all-powerful. Now I’m making my move."