Chapter Twenty Six ❤

Chapter Twenty Six ❤
Bexley

“Thank God you’re okay,” I exclaimed, kissing each one of my men. “I never want to be apart from you ever again.”

They held me for what felt like an eternity, enjoying the moment as if they were branding a memory.

“Why don’t I show Bexley to her room, so she can freshen up?” Braxton offered.

“Good idea,” Asher replied. “I’ll take a shower and change into some fresh clothes. I trust everything is in order?”

Dominic scoffed. “Oh please, you’re looking at an event planning guru. It took me no time at all to achieve.”

Cruz shot him a pointed look. “Excuse me, we all chipped in. Don’t steal all the credit.”

I chuckled. “I’m confident, whatever it is, will be perfect. I’ll see you all shortly.”

Asher and Braxton dragged our luggage back to the Château. The cream clad walls were half-hidden with climbing ivy, the gardens astir with colourful flowers and terracotta pots. Paint peeled from the weathered window shutters, adding to its true rustic beauty.

“Is Father Fournier around?” I asked as Braxton ushered me inside.

Braxton and Asher shared a subtle exchange before he answered with, “He’s busy at the moment. He wanted you to make yourself at home. We’re staying here until after the Masquerade Ball.”

The uneven walls remind me of warm porridge. A coat stand peeked out from behind the front door, laden with all-weather jackets. The boot rack overflowed with assorted footwear, and a tall pot had been crammed with umbrellas. It was homely. I assumed many people passed through here whenever they needed a quiet getaway. Cinnamon wafted from the kitchen to tantalize my taste buds, sending my neurons into a feeding frenzy. As we ascend the stairs, each footfall emitted a creaky groan from the pitted steps. Braxton directed Asher to the master bathroom and steered me to an en-suite shower cubicle in a large bedroom suite. I peeled away my clothing and let it slip to the floor. No sooner had I worked out how to operate the shower taps, finding a pleasant temperature, a naked Braxton muscled in to envelop me in a kiss.

“Scoot up, I’m coming in,” he murmured against my lips.

“There’s barely any room,” I pointed out, bracing myself against the chilly tiles.

The intense look in his eyes told me we would improvise. His shoulders practically touched the sides of the cubicle, the flimsy curtain clinging to his colossal body like it wanted to cop a feel of that arse. Braxton voiced his discomfort, yelping that it was too cold. We laughed, coiled in each other’s arms. I missed him so much.

“How’s your wound?” I asked, running my fingertips around the gnarled flesh.

“Much better,” he replied, kissing the side of my neck and letting his hands wander around the meaty globes of my arse.

“Braxton, I’m filthy. Let me wash,” I chortled.

There was only one thing on his mind, and that required us getting down and dirty in the shower.

“Yes, you are, such a filthy girl,” he rasped, taking my hand to rub it against his engorged appendage. “Look at what you do to me. You've given me a raging hard-on.”

The steam from the water filled the air, warming my blood. The sight of his body sent all that molten heat rushing to my core in a swell of liquid desire. Braxton grabbed the soap, slathering it between his hands, then caressed my skin with attentive strokes. After the day I had, his calloused fingers felt heavenly. This wasn’t all about sex, it was about taking care of me. I just stood there under the spray of water as Braxton cleaned me, scrubbing my body from head to toe. He handed me the soap, so I could return the favour. My explorative touch tracing the contours of his muscles, leaving nothing out. The intense look of want and need on his face made it hard for me to concentrate. It stole my breath away. My breasts were heavy, my nipples tightening with arousal. As the spray sluiced over us, it did nothing to quell the ache inside. I wanted to feel every inch of him. So, instead of letting him direct the sex, I took charge, lifting my leg to rock my pussy against his cock. He was rearing to go, his swollen crown pulsing with pressure. Braxton held me steady, dipping his knees, so he could nudge his way to victory.

“Brax,” I moaned. My legs shook, my core pulsating.

His thick fingers squeezed my hips, the soapy residue causing them to glide against my skin. The anticipation was killing me. A moment passed, and then he was there, spearing through my folds, driving his mighty meat inside me.

“You feel so good, babe,” he murmured, kissing me. He pushed forward, squashing me against the wall.

I couldn’t answer, too busy feeling the full extent of Braxton’s cock as he thrust like an animal. He was a beast of need, possessively claiming me, the pressure building in my stomach like a coiled spring.

“Come for me,” he rasped, finding that punishing momentum to tip me over the edge.

Waves of blissful pleasure rocked through my body, drowning me in ecstasy. Braxton roared a fearsome sound, lifting me off my toes as he pumped his seed inside me. Stars burst in my vision, then I was floating, panting, sagging against him as I rode out my climax.

"I love you," he told me, stroking my hair back, his eyes bearing into mine as if he was searching my soul. "Marry us, Bexley."

"I said I would," I answered, pulling him down for another kiss. "I love you all too. There's no way I could live without you all now."

His smile reached his eyes and glimmered with joy. "You're going to love your surprise then."

Braxton and I rinsed off for a second time then I turned off the taps. The cool air soothed my skin as I towel dried. Braxton secured his towel around his waist and I wrapped mine around my body, leaving my hair damp.

“We better get dressed before the others wonder where we are,” Braxton commented, dryly.

He led me back into the bedroom and I noticed the boy’s luggage had been stacked up in the corner.

“Are we all sleeping in here?” I asked, surprised by that.

Braxton glanced around the room with amusement. “Yeah, where else do you expect us to sleep?”

I was quick to add, “Nowhere, I just wondered . . . with this being a priest’s Château, and us not being married.”

He pulled away his towel, revealing his now flaccid cock. “We just fucked in the shower, and you’re worried about us all sharing the same bed?”

He had a point. “No, it's fine. If I’m going to Hell, I might as well enjoy life while it lasts,” I mumbled, sarcastically.

Braxton blew out a forced breath. “I'm so fucking nervous. I need to get ready.” He pulled on his underwear and dragged a suit bag and dress shoes from the bed.

“Hang on then, let me look for something nice to wear,” I replied, reaching for my suitcase. “I want to look my best if you’re all dressing up.”

Braxton grabbed my hand and took me to the rustic wardrobe. “Your dad thought ahead and shipped this over before he left for London. There is a note with it,” he uttered with reverence. “I'll give you some privacy. But if you need a hand to dress, Martha will help,” he mentioned, slipping out of the room.

He talked to someone in the hallway and then an elderly lady entered the suite wearing a pale blue smock, white canvass slacks, and a nun's headdress.

“Bonjour,” she cheerfully announced herself.

“Parlez-vous Anglais?” I inquired, asking if she spoke English.

“Oui, a little,” she answered, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

I admired the ornate grapevine pattern that had been etched into the oak wardrobe doors. The brass handles resembled bunches of grapes. All the furniture in the room matched, even the four-poster bed with a cream lace canopy. I opened the doors, only to find my mother’s wedding dress inside, and a small white envelope that had discoloured over time.

With tremulous fingers, I ripped the seal and pulled out the note, unable to breathe as my eyes scanned the familiar handwriting. The last wishes of the mother who loved me, immortalized in the blotted ink.

“Bexley, if you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer with you. Just know that I'll be smiling down on you today with a whole heart, a proud mother whose daughter is where she is destined to be. Give my love to the boys. Love them fiercely. You're exactly what's been missing in their lives. Live a long and happy life together, full of adventures, and most of all, no regrets. You are my greatest achievement. All my love, Mum.”

A tear slipped from my chin, landed onto the parchment, and distorted the ink.

“Mademoiselle?” Martha asked, her voice filled with concern.

I brushed the moisture from my cheeks, swiping my hands against the terry towelling. My mother's wise words reinforced what I was already feeling. The time had come for me to get out there and claim my men.

“Could you help me with the dress, please?” I requested, needing some assistance.

Martha was happy to oblige. She helped me to style my hair, and I applied tasteful makeup, feeling every inch a blushing bride. The gown clung to my body like a second skin, lace over silk, hugging my curves. The sweetheart neckline boosted my natural assets, and the crystals captured the light with a dazzling sparkle. I felt like a princess. The soft material gathered around my calves in a fishtail finish. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind as I stepped into the fading sunlight, following the trail of pink rose petals they scattered around the Château, leading me into the hazy garden. my mum was right, I was exactly where I needed to be. My men anxiously awaited beneath a delicate floral arch, dressed in identical black tuxedos. I breathed in the intoxicating scent that carried on the breeze, the mixture of flowers and their spicy cologne. A priest stood at the head of the altar, I’m assuming he was Dad’s friend, Father Fournier. Uncle Teddy and Emilio were standing across from the Wolfe brothers, grinning as they saw me approach. They had arranged a picnic party with finger foods, a three-tier white-frosted cake with pink roses between the layers, and Champagne bottles poked out from silver buckets filled with ice. Butterflies fluttered across the backdrop of the vineyard, and bees buzzed from flower to flower. The scene was magical. It was like something from out of a dream. Martha muttered words of reassurance as I gathered my nerves, handing me a bouquet of long-stemmed roses she had tied together with white lace. My pulse was pounding so fast, I swear they could hear it hammering like a drum. Asher, Braxton, Cruz, and Dominic turned to see me, their expressions melting with awe. Emilio loped over, carrying Braxton’s phone. My father’s tearful face was staring back at me from the screen; he couldn’t be here to walk me down the aisle, so he face-timed me instead. Martha handed Emilio an acoustic guitar, and he took a seat at the side of us, strumming a beautiful Spanish melody that struck a chord in my heart.

“Bexley,” my men breathed, sounding mesmerized. The look in their eyes needed no further words — I captivated them.

I took my place alongside them, pledging my heart and soul before God, my father, and my mother who was here with me in spirit. The blessing was beautiful. Fairy lights lit up the garden as the sky transitioned from peach to purple, with blue seeping in from the edge of the horizon. We each said, “I do,” exchanging platinum rings and kissing as we sealed our bond. It wasn’t like a conventional wedding. I couldn’t legally marry all four of them, but Farther Fournier blessed us just the same. It felt real to us, that’s all that mattered. The contract was our fathers' contingency plan, and we signed our names on the dotted line, making our relationship permanent. I was theirs and they were mine.

My hands were shaking as I signed my marital name for the first time.

Bexley Wolfe.