Chapter 19 Tying the Knot: Veils, Vows, and Velvet Touches
As January's chill deepened in Evergreen Hollow, the wedding plans accelerated like a puck sliding across fresh ice. Holly and Rowan found themselves in a delightful chaos of decisions, deadlines, and stolen moments that turned every planning session into a prelude for passion. The tree farm venue was locked in, with the owners promising to transform the space into a winter wonderland—rows of evergreens draped in fairy lights, a heated barn for the reception with rustic beams and hay bales softened by white linens. Holly's spreadsheet had grown into a living document, tabs for everything from guest RSVPs to contingency plans for snowstorms.
One crisp afternoon, they tackled the ceremony details at the local church, meeting with Pastor Ellis to customize their vows. The small chapel smelled of polished wood and faint incense, its stained-glass windows casting colorful patterns on the floor. Lily sat quietly in a pew, playing with a doll dressed as a bride.
"Traditional or personal?" Pastor Ellis asked, his kind eyes crinkling behind glasses.
"A mix," Holly said, her hand intertwined with Rowan's. "We want to honor the classics but add our story—the fake dating bet that turned real."
Rowan chuckled, his thumb stroking her palm in a way that sent subtle heat up her arm. "Yeah, something about surviving grumpiness and holiday miracles."
The pastor nodded, suggesting phrases like "In sickness and in health, through wins and losses on the ice." They practiced readings, Holly's voice steady as she recited a poem about enduring love, Rowan's deeper tone following with a hockey metaphor about teamwork.
After the session, as Lily skipped ahead to the car, Rowan backed Holly against the church door, his body shielding her from the wind. "Hearing you say those words... it does something to me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. His hand slipped under her coat, fingers tracing the seam of her jeans, pressing firmly against her core.
Holly gasped, glancing around the empty parking lot. "Here? Now?"
"Why not?" He unzipped her just enough, sliding his hand inside to rub her through her panties. The friction was immediate, her body responding with a rush of wetness. "Think of it as a preview of our vows—forsaking all others."
She bit her lip to stifle a moan as he circled her clit, slow and teasing. "Rowan... someone could see..."
"Let them." He kissed her deeply, tongue mimicking the rhythm of his fingers. Holly clung to him, hips grinding against his hand, the risk heightening the thrill. When she came, it was quick and shuddering, her cry muffled against his shoulder. He withdrew his hand, licking his fingers with a satisfied smirk. "That's my girl."
Back home, they dove into attire for the wedding party. Jack, as best man, needed a suit, and Lily's flower girl dress was next on the list. They visited the boutique again, where Lily twirled in a fluffy white gown with red ribbons. "I look like a princess!" she exclaimed.
"You do, sweetie," Holly said, kneeling to adjust the hem. Rowan watched from a chair, his gaze hot on Holly's bent form.
While Lily changed, Rowan pulled Holly into a private fitting room. "Your turn to model," he said, handing her a veil from the rack. But instead of trying it on, he used it to blindfold her loosely, backing her against the wall. "Trust me?"
"Always," she whispered, heart racing.
He dropped to his knees, lifting her skirt and pulling her panties aside. His mouth descended on her, tongue delving deep, sucking her clit with expert precision. Holly's hands fisted in his hair, the veil adding a layer of sensory deprivation that amplified every lick and nibble. She came hard, thighs clamping around his head, barely containing her moans.
Rowan stood, wiping his mouth with a grin. "Veil approved."
They bought Lily's dress and ordered suits for the groomsmen—simple black with red ties to match the theme. Budget-wise, they were on track, splurging a bit on custom boutonnieres with hockey stick charms for the team members.
Midweek brought floral arrangements. At the local florist, surrounded by blooms, they selected centerpieces: white roses mixed with crimson holly berries and pine sprigs. "These for the tables," Holly said, sketching layouts. "And my bouquet—cascading with some greenery."
Rowan fingered a rose petal, his eyes on her. "Red like your hair. Sexy." As the florist stepped out to grab samples, he lifted Holly onto the counter, spreading her legs. "Quick taste," he whispered, diving under her skirt again. His tongue worked fast, lapping at her folds, fingers joining to thrust inside. Holly gripped the edge, biting her arm to stay quiet as another orgasm ripped through her.
"You're going to get us banned from every shop in town," she panted after, straightening her clothes.
"Worth it," he replied, sealing the deal with a kiss that tasted of her.
Invitations arrived in the mail—elegant cards with embossed evergreens and their names in gold script. They spent an evening addressing envelopes, Lily stamping them with snowflake seals. RSVPs started trickling in via the wedding website Holly had set up, complete with a photo gallery from their engagement shoot and a registry link for practical gifts like kitchenware and a honeymoon fund.
For the cake, they scheduled a tasting at the bakery. Flavors danced on their tongues—vanilla, chocolate, lemon—but the raspberry-filled white cake won out, topped with buttercream and edible holly leaves. In the back room, while the baker prepared samples, Rowan's hand wandered up Holly's thigh under the table. "Sweet as you," he murmured, fingers slipping into her panties, stroking her to the brink. She climaxed just as the baker returned, her flush blamed on the "delicious samples."
Music planning followed: A string quartet for the ceremony, playing soft holiday tunes and their song—"All I Want for Christmas Is You," a nod to their beginnings. For the reception, the local band agreed to a mix of classics and dance hits, with a first dance to something slow and romantic.
They blocked hotel rooms at the inn for out-of-town guests, negotiating a group rate, and arranged transportation—shuttles from the inn to the tree farm to handle snowy roads.
Honeymoon details solidified: A secluded cabin in the nearby mountains, equipped with a king bed, fireplace, and outdoor hot tub. "No phones, no distractions," Rowan said, booking flights and rentals. "Just us, naked most of the time."
Holly shivered in anticipation. "Promise lots of tub time."
"Oh, I promise." That night, they role-played it in the bath—Holly straddling him in the water, riding slow as waves lapped around them. His hands on her hips guided her, water splashing with each thrust. "Like this?" he asked, sucking a nipple.
"Faster," she begged, and he obliged, pounding up into her until they both came, water sloshing over the edge.
Rehearsal dinner plans came together at Jack's: Grilled meats, salads, and beer under heated tents in his backyard. "Keep it casual," Jack insisted during a planning call. "No speeches that embarrass me."
The bachelor and bachelorette parties were low-key—guys' night at the rink for Rowan with beer and pickup hockey, girls' spa day for Holly with wine and gossip.
Legal loose ends: They signed the marriage license, fingers brushing as they wrote their names, a simple act that felt profoundly intimate.
Premarital counseling wrapped up, with Pastor Ellis praising their communication. "You've got a strong foundation. Just keep talking—and listening."
As the date approached, minor hiccups arose: A snow forecast threatened the outdoor ceremony, so they rented extra heaters and a backup tent. One groomsman twisted an ankle, but promised to hobble down the aisle.
Through it all, their physical connection intensified. One evening, amid décor shopping for lanterns and candles, Rowan fucked her in the store's storage room—bent over boxes, his hand over her mouth, thrusting deep and hard. "Quiet, or they'll hear," he warned, but her muffled moans only spurred him on.
Another time, during a cake topper fitting at home, Holly ended up on the kitchen table, legs spread as Rowan ate her out like dessert, then flipped her for doggy style, spanking her ass lightly. "Mine forever," he growled, coming inside her with a roar.
The night before the rehearsal, they lay in bed, bodies slick from yet another round—missionary with her nails raking his back, ending in mutual bliss. "Nervous?" Holly asked, tracing his jaw.
"Only about not ravishing you at the altar," he teased, but his eyes were serious. "I love you, Holly. This is our happily ever after."
She kissed him softly. "I love you too. Can't wait to say 'I do.'"
As sleep claimed them, the town outside prepared for their big day, whispers of romance filling the air. The mistletoe bet had led to this—a wedding born of fake dates, real love, and endless desire.