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A gown of ivory, slinky and satin was hitched up to her thighs and a hand with long fingers and a prominent golden ring held her by the waist, drawing her further into the backseat. Closer to him. Those fingers deftly plucked through the pins and braids of her elaborate updo until finally her hair fell freely, cascading in a halo around them.
“Such a beautiful bride,” he groaned into her mouth, tongue stroking hers in a way that reminded her of all the times he had put it to such good use when they were young and foolish. Hell, they were still young and foolish.
His hand slipped beneath the raised hem of her wedding gown, sliding up her thigh. She could feel his smirk against her mouth when his fingers brushed the little slip of lace that sat high on her thigh. His middle finger slipped beneath the band, testing the scrap of lace and satin beneath the rough pads of his fingers. But he didn’t slide it carefully, sensually down her leg like she had expected her husband to do when she put it on this morning. No, he tore through it, ripping it easily and putting it in the pocket of his suit.
Galadriel pushed him back onto the seat, ducking her head beneath the car’s frame and laying her body more fully atop his. He groaned, hand grasping at her ass, firm and shapely from months of bridal bootcamp and really good genetics. He was very vocal about his appreciation of her dedication to fitness, grip tightening at the way her hips rolled over his. “Fuck, baby, at least close the door first.”
“Have you gotten shy in your old age?” She bit his lip, a challenge in her eyes. Though it had been years, her body remembered very well the bite of metal bookshelves in the dark corners of the library at Eregion State, remembered the feverish snap of his hips, the way his hand curled into a fist at the base of her skull, her hair threaded through his fingers as he bent her over a table covered with a mess of textbooks and notes and highlighted journal articles.
Hazel glinted gold, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he shoved the flowy satin over her hips, no regard for the wrinkles it might cause. And to be honest, wrinkles in her wedding gown were the least of her concerns. She reached for his belt, making quick work of the gold buckle that joined stretches of rich brown leather. He kissed her again, daring, possessive, filthy. His grunt rumbled through her when she reached into his carefully ironed trousers, stroking the length of him. “Fucking hell, Galadriel.”
She took that as the encouragement she knew it was, working his shaft slowly with her hand, enthralled with the sparkle of her ring in the car’s dim cab, with her hand on him. He was putty in her hands like this and it was thrilling to have some measure of control over him. To have power over the most powerful man she knew. Dipping her head down, she flicked her tongue over the head of him, empowered by his breathy, surprised moan. A teasing lick, slow circles, until she felt his hips rising eagerly from the leather of the seat toward her mouth. Red lipstick stained his cock, her lips wrapping around him, tongue sliding down his shaft until the hair at the apex of his thighs tickled her nose.
“Galadriel.” His moan was worshipful and appreciative, a more solemn vow than any written to be exchanged today. She slid her mouth back to the tip of him, cheeks hollowing as she sucked at him. “I see you haven’t—ah—” his words fell off when she took the full length of him into her mouth, tongue working the underside of his shaft— “lost your touch.”
Galadriel grinned around him, continuing to suck and lick and tease until he was wordless beneath her, hands tight in her hair, urging her mouth closer. She obliged him, taking every inch of him until he pushed down her throat. Her head twisted and bobbed, her mouth remembering all the things he liked best and learning new ways to make his fingers tighten in her hair, to make his hips lift in rabid desperation.
This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when Bronwyn and Disa had drunkenly joked about a wedding day quickie, but at least she was getting maximum use out of her kiss-resistant, photo-ready glam. Lips constricting, she planted her hand on the seat beside his hip, taking him eagerly, messily as he thrusted into her mouth. She could feel his muscles clenching beneath her, feel the tension building with pleasure, wanton grunts and groans echoing off the car’s curved roof. “Galadriel, fuck, I’m gonna—” His hips stuttered as release struck him like lightning, sudden and strong with fissures and fractals enduring in silent ecstasy. She milked him for every drop of his release, that taste of him so sharp and familiar on her tongue. When the arch in his spine fell back and his hands gentled in her hair, she could have mistaken the look in his eyes for something it wasn’t. Or perhaps worse—something it was.
***
Galadriel swallowed, chasing down a couple of pills with a few greedy gulps of a mimosa that was four parts champagne, one part juice. The pounding in her head had only gotten worse since she cracked her eyes open this morning, Disa’s snores rumbling against her shoulder from where they slept on the couch. It had been a late night, with more than a few drinks, but damn, she hadn’t had as much fun since her college days.
She groaned, rubbing at her temple. These days, it was all political events, dinner with donors, photo ops, the works. Celeborn was going to be a senator and she was part of his carefully curated image—Galadriel Noldor, daughter of renowned Supreme Court Justice Finarfin Noldor. She knew the part she was to play and she would play it to perfection. She had agreed to this with her eyes open. And she loved him, she did. But there was something wild in her, a fire that had been contained for too long, and last night had been just the burnoff she needed.
But she couldn’t let Celeborn see her like this. She didn’t want to think of the disappointment that would mar the stern set of his brow, the judgment she would be able to taste rolling off of him in waves. He wasn’t supposed to see her before the wedding, anyway. She breathed a sigh of relief, letting her shoulders fall back as the stylist twisted and braided and pinned her hair into the picture of elegance, a perfect compliment to the classic makeup which would come next.
In the mirror Galadriel stared at the dress hanging from the scrolling brass hook on the back of the closet door. It was simple, timeless. Classic, elegant, timeless. The words meant little to her anymore with the way the stylists and wedding planners had bandied them about. She knew she’d be hearing them for the rest of her life, or so long as Celeborn remained in politics.
The ache in her head had dulled by the time she was standing in front of the floor-length mirror and her veil was being tucked behind a crown of braids. Classic. Elegant. Timeless. She looked every inch the senator’s bride, down to the sweeping silk train which trailed behind her.
“That lip color is incredible,” Bronwyn said, handing her the garter of lace and silk she had picked out on a whim. Seating herself carefully, Galadriel reached beneath her skirt to place the frilly bit of elastic. Such a strange tradition. Still, she set it high on her thigh, on the off chance it would inspire a bit of fire from Celeborn. Maybe she’d go show it to him now. Bronwyn would definitely cover for her with her mom if she snuck out for a pre-ceremony quickie.
But Celeborn wouldn’t bite. She knew him well enough to know that. Prim, proper, traditional. He would balk at even a glimpse of her before the ceremony, and so she smothered the fire smoldering in her gut, slipping on a simple pair of white stilettos and fastening the slim strap around one ankle, then the next.
Everything was ready. Everything was perfectly in place for the perfect wedding. But it didn’t feel perfect.
This is what you wanted, she reminded herself, reaching for the protein bar Disa had left on the coffee table. Her stomach was empty, save for the alcohol; she wasn’t particularly hungry, but maybe chewing through a brick of oats and flax glued together by honey would keep the doubts from spilling forth from her anxious mouth.
She took a big bite, reaching for her phone to double-check the schedule. In an hour she would meet Celeborn at the altar. Photos right after. A few hours at the reception. A car would take them to the airport at eleven for a red-eye flight to Paris.
It was all going according to plan. All she had to do now was wait.
“The florist should be coming by any minute now with the bouquets,” Disa said, twirling in front of the mirror, admiring the spinning skirts of her onyx gown with flutter sleeves. Classic, elegant, timeless. Every detail planned to perfection, no room for chaos.
Like somebody else she knew. Gold-rimmed hazel eyes flashed in her mind, teasing her even now. Absolutely not. Maybe it was all the hairspray; she hadn’t thought about him, really thought about him in years. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe he had crossed her mind a time or two or twelve when Celeborn wasn’t feeling particularly amorous, but it hadn’t meant anything.
It hadn’t meant anything then, and it didn’t mean anything now.
“Disa, I think—”
The door opened before she could tell her friend what she thought, and what—who—she saw standing in the doorway sent that thought and every other one in her brain beyond the reaches of any awareness. The only thing she was aware of was him. Tall and handsome as ever, long limbs covered by a light tan and white plaid suit. So utterly ridiculous. No one could make such a thing look good and yet here he stood, sunglasses pushed back onto the crown of his hand, curls falling over his forehead in a way that might look haphazard but she was sure was intentional. Everything was intentional with him, which begged the question…
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He took a step into the room, pulling his sunglasses from his head and tucking them through the front of his crisp white button up. “Is this not the summit on artificial intelligence in nuclear weapons manufacture?”
For a moment she wondered if he didn’t recognize her, no hint of a joke in his tone, but then she saw that familiar twinkle in his eye and she knew.
“Do I look like I’m dressed for the occasion?”
He took his time looking her over, from the straight skirt of her gown and the places the bodice clung to her curves to the red pout of her mouth and the carefully coiffed curls crowning her head. “You look delicious, G,” he told her, that wicked gleam in his eyes.
The fire she had tried to smother in the pit of her stomach earlier came roaring back to life under the weight of his gaze and his honeyed words, meant to seduce. Always meant to seduce.
“I—”
“I better get going. Those weapons aren’t going to manufacture themselves.” He laughed. “Well, not if I miss this lecture.” He turned back toward the door, away from her. “Sorry for the intrusion. Congratulations, Galadriel. You really do look beautiful.”
Before she could open her mouth to say another word, to say anything, he was gone, the door closed behind him.
Galadriel turned to find Disa and Bronwyn staring at her, eyes wide. Her friends knew all about him, about whatever it had been between them in college, before they had gone their separate ways, Galadriel determined never to speak of or to him again, even if she sometimes thought of him when she needed a bit of carnal inspiration.
She might have called it fate. She might have called it a lot of things if she took the time to think. But she didn’t. She didn’t even swipe her phone from the table before she ran out of the room, chasing after a cloud of spice and smoke that took her back to simpler days, when there was nothing elegant about what they did on his dorm room sheets.
When she found him, he was in the parking garage, just about to get into the back seat of a very expensive looking armored car.
“Halbrand.” His name echoed between them and he stopped, a hand on the car’s roof, his back to her.
“Why don’t you go get a drink at the hotel bar,” he told his driver. “You know what, make it two.” He handed the man a card in exchange for his keys, and the man scurried away toward the hotel lobby. The hotel in which she was to be getting married in less than an hour.
“Why are you here?” She asked him, closing the distance between them, her heels clacking on the pavement.
He turned then, when she was only a few steps away. This close she was forced to look up at him. She’d almost forgotten how tall he was. And handsome as hell, chest hair peeking out from his loosened collar, honey golden. Surely this was the type of man that lived in Taylor Swift’s wildest dreams. He was certainly in hers.
“Why are you here?” she asked again, mostly in a lame attempt to distract herself from her quickly derailing thoughts. “And don’t tell me it’s for that summit, because I know you implemented AI in your processes ages ago.”
Head cocked to the side, he looked down at her. “You’ve been keeping up with me.” It’s not a question and he seems entirely too satisfied for her liking.
She didn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes. “You lobby for policies my fiancé is staunchly against. Your name isn’t exactly spoken with reverence at my dining room table.”
“But it is in your bedroom, right?” He was close enough now that she could reach out her arm and touch him, and from the look in his eyes, he knew that she wanted to. “I bet it falls prettily from your lips on those long nights when Dr. Doriath is combing through endless pages of policy at the office.” He leaned down, his breath hot on her ear. “I bet you even think of me when he’s inside you.”
She wondered if the flames which licked her spine sang of desire or the prescience of hellfire, damning her guilty soul. “Is that what you want me to say, Halbrand, that he doesn’t fuck me like you did?” He looked cool and collected, but the flare of his nostrils gave him away. She felt a certain pride to know she still had that effect on him.
When he smiled, it was positively sinful. “Oh darling, I know he doesn’t. You wouldn’t be so tightly wound if he did.” He brushed a hand against the edge of her veil, come over her shoulder in her pursuit of him. “Though I did always love to watch you come unwound.”
She poked a finger to his chest, refusing to think about how solid it was beneath her touch. “You are exactly as smug as I remember.”
“Well, I know what works for me.”
Her gaze moved unwittingly to the strong, lean shape of him through the slim fit of his suit, to the slight stubble that covered his jaw in a rich bronzed amber. He certainly did.
“So, what,” she said, desperately trying to pull her focus away from how damn good he looked, from the way his words stirred that wildfire to life in her which had gone dormant these last years. “You came here to remind me of the things that I missed out on?”
She did her best not to shiver when his fingers trailed the short length of her sleeves, thumbs brushing against her bare skin. Only he could set her on fire with a single touch, and when she had been with him, it had never been enough. “Is it working?”
No. No it most definitely was not working.
Had she always been such a fucking liar, or had politics done this to her?
“I miss you,” he said after a moment, quiet, without an ounce of bravado. “There hasn’t been a day since graduation that I didn’t wish that you were beside me, that you were the one I woke up next to and fell asleep curled against. I just—I fucking miss you, G, and—”
Before she could think better of it—before she could think at all, she was kissing him. The first touch of his lips after all this time and she nearly came undone. She moaned into his mouth when his tongue struck out to reclaim lost territory, his hands swooping to her waist to draw her closer. To claim her. To possess her.
God, he felt so good. This felt so good. He was right; she had missed this. Missed the way electricity sparked between them with every touch. Missed the way he made her come alive. Stubble pricked beneath her palms as she got swept up in a symphony of biting and bruising kisses, the kind that she felt in her whole body, in her very soul. Celeborn had never kissed her like this.
Celeborn. She pushed away from him, chest heaving.
But then he stared back at her, that challenge in his eyes which she had never been able to resist. She launched herself at him, tackling him into the back seat of his car in a mess of skirts and limbs. Every ember of every flame left to burn out in solitude she poured into her kiss, and he ignited them all, until she was nothing but flame and fury for him, burning beneath his touch. And as he pulled her closer, as his hand slid up her thigh, dragging her skirt with it, she knew exactly how much he had missed her.
***
“Fucking hell, G.” He dragged her up to his mouth kissing her deeply and soundly, groaning at the taste of himself on her tongue.
Fucking hell was right. When was the last time she had given head so enthusiastically? In the library at Eregion State, rows and rows of dead poets staring down at her choking on Halbrand’s cock?
And God, what a magnificent cock. Had it gotten bigger? Her cunt ached in anticipation of having him inside her, so much better than all the times she had imagined it in recent years.
He sat up, pulling his legs all the way into the vehicle and her with him. He shut the door behind him, the click of a lock echoing between them. He wasn’t delicate when he practically threw her onto the seat beside him. “I don’t want anyone to see me on my knees, but you,” he said by way of explanation, dropping to the ground before her, hands hooked behind her knees, drawing her to the edge of the seat.
Parting her legs wider, a guttural sound of approval echoed in the now-closed car at what he found. She was bare of any undergarments and glistening with arousal, slick between her thighs. And he hadn’t even touched her. He traced a finger up her slit, collecting the wetness that had settled there and dragging it up to the place which ached for the rough pads of his fingers. He circled her clit, teasing, aware of her every intake of breath, the subconscious tilt of her hips toward him. He had always been so attentive, she remembered. It seemed time hadn’t changed that, even if his fingers felt rougher, more calloused than they had those long years ago. She didn’t let herself wonder exactly what he’d been up to, too distracted by his knuckle parting her folds, preparing a place for his tongue.
His head dipped down, and with one long, slow stroke she remembered it all. The long nights spent studying each other instead of the stacks of engineering textbooks sprawled on tables before them. It’s all thermodynamics, he’d said, a large hand gripping the back of her neck and bending her over the table before filling her in a way that had made her ache for days after. At its most fundamental, that’s what this energy between them was, heat. When his tongue flattened against her clit she remembered the amber fire that burned in his eyes to match every beer between them at the Gwaith. Every waffle at Brimby’s diner on those Saturday mornings after they’d stayed up into the twilight hours, bodies making promises they never intended to keep.
His every touch was familiar, but not in a way that spelled boring. No, it was exhilarating, thrilling and unexpected and she could burst from every stroke of his tongue, every flash of his teeth, every brush of his lips. God, how had she gone so long without this?
A finger slid easily into her cunt while he suckled at her clit, pleasure spreading through her limbs in slow waves, building. The grumble of his voice and the slight scratch of his stubble reverberated through her aching center. “God, you taste better than I remember.”
Her hands fell to his head, bowed in reverence at her altar, threading through the soft waves of his hair. He answered her unspoken plea with a chuckle that wracked her spine, letting his finger from its hallowed place so he could bury his tongue in her warmth. She let her head fall to the seat back, incapable of doing anything else but chasing after the impossible, imperishable fire he kindled with every wicked kiss. Every thrust of his tongue into her cunt sent his nose brushing her clit, his lips closing over her and sucking until her blood pounded in a percussive accelerando. “Please.” She hardly recognized the breathy, desperate plea from her own lips.
It was too much, it was all too much and yet her hips sought his face, desperate and aching for him to finish it, for the flashover to consume her in furious, glorious wrath. And when his tongue found a spot that had long eluded Celeborn, she was clenching around him, cunt spasming hard with her release. “Halbrand…holy fucking hell,” she whined, as he licked her through it, prolonging the pleasure of her orgasm until it turned into a second, a lesser wave cresting and flooding her veins, ensuring no nerve had been left untouched by the first.
Pride and desire flared in his eyes when at last she could open her own, still feeling the lingering sparks and flutters of his very attentive work between her thighs. It was a fair few minutes longer than she would have liked before her breathing slowed to a more normal rate, and she could just feel the wave of pure male satisfaction radiating from his general direction. She knew exactly what he was thinking—that Celeborn could never, would never make her feel like he just did. And if that wasn’t the death knell of wedding bells, she didn't know what was. And since she was in for a penny, she might as well collect the pound.
She patted the seat beside her, an invitation, and one he accepted gladly. She didn’t waste any time in swinging her leg over his lap, thoroughly wrinkled wedding gown like a shroud around their soon-to-be joined flesh. Stroking his shaft until it hardened for her, she guided him to where her fire burned hottest for him. Everything in her sang when she finally sank down on his cock, letting it fill her so achingly slowly until she thought she might burst from it. It wasn’t possible that he could feel this good, fill her so well, but he did. God, he did. His hand burned like a brand, slung along her back just above her hips, encouraging her to take more of him, to take everything. A low moan escaped her throat when finally he was seated fully inside her, the size of him threatening to split her in half in the best possible way.
His hand brushed a strand of hair from her face, thumb brushing against her flaming cheek. “Such a beautiful bride.” And then he kissed her, hips remaining frustratingly still as though he was waiting for her to make the first move. So she did, hips dragging slowly against his, reveling in the way his length stroked her walls at this angle, his kiss consuming her so much as this inferno they’d sparked together, nothing left but for it to burn everything down.
Her knee pressed in the seatbelt’s anchor beside his hips, her own rolling over his in a way that made his cock caress every inch of her, tight around him as she was. Sparks rose in her center once more, not having really gone anywhere in the wake of her two orgasms, and she chased after him with increasing abandon, using him for her pleasure, taking everything he offered.
Her tits bounced as she rode him, nipples straining against the cool fabric of her gown. His head dipped down, lips closing around her through her dress and tugging at the already stiff peak. If her dress wasn’t already ruined by the slick of her seeped into it from the ministrations of Halbrand’s mouth, it was now, stubble scraping and snagging the delicate fabric as he left behind a damp circle in search of her other breast.
“Look at you, writhing on my cock, so hot around me.” His hand dug into her hip, spurring her on with his bruising grip. “You’re stunning, G. So fucking stunning.”
His whispered praise turned her bones to ash, as did the way he held her tightly to him, fucking up into her with primal, possessive, passionate urgency. His breath was hot on her ear, teeth biting as he claimed her, punished her for all those years apart. “Fuck, I missed this tight little cunt.” Atoms sparked behind her eyes in a beauteous fission with every furious stroke of his cock, finding places inside her she had thought she’d only dreamt about.
Both hands gripped her hips now, moving her against him and she followed where he led. It was rough and wild, wet slapping sounds of flesh on flesh a filthy symphony which likely shook even this behemoth of a vehicle.
“Fuck me, Galadriel, you feel so good.” He licked a stripe up her neck, mouth hot over her ear as their hips met again and again in a lurid dance, as he fucked her like only he could. “Come on my cock, G,” he growled, grinding against her in a sensuous fury until the world stopped its spinning and there was nothing but the flames. “That’s it, baby.” A sea of stars exploded behind her eyes, her breathless body flooded with pure, molten starlight. Halbrand fucked her through it as pleasure struck in fractals through her blood, electrifying her very soul. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured hotly in her ear, “but I think there’s more you can give me.”
More? There wasn’t anything left. He’d hollowed her out, taken everything, and still he took, sliding her hips over him as he stroked and stroked and stroked. He took until she realized there was somehow still more to burn, and he took that, too, until nothing could possibly satisfy her, nothing could tame the flames but him, and he had no intention of doing that, adding fuel to the fire with every thrust of his hips, with every wicked and wild kiss.
Let go.
She wasn’t sure if he spoke the words into her mouth or if it was her heart that thrummed with them. But she obeyed, falling apart around him again as he found his own pleasure, painting her cunt with his spend.
She sank forward, resting on his shoulders until she could breathe again, her bones little more than ash and dust in the wake of an earth-shattering four orgasms. God, he was right, she had been tightly wound. And every moment of the unwinding had been more brutal and beautiful than the one before. She didn’t need to ask to know that he had felt it, too. His answer was there in the tender brush of his hands along her back, soothing the flames he had stoked and the sting in their extinguishment. In the gentle kisses peppered on her neck, in appreciation of what she had given, in wonder of what they had shared.
And when she looked at him, flecks of luminescent gold still sparking in the green of his eyes, softening slightly when they met hers, she saw every one of her wildest, most impossible dreams looking back at her.
For a moment she thought about the illicit affair they could have, him fucking her against the door of some unsuspecting aide’s office after he had once again shown her husband up in the chamber. But even Celeborn deserved better than that. And she deserved to be more than some trophy wife, a checked box on his fifteen year plan to the presidential bid, smiling and posing in pearls and Prada in perpetuity. And Halbrand knew that, reading the decision in her eyes as his cock twitched inside her. His hand moved to her face, a whisper of a caress against her still-flushed cheek.
“So, where are we going for the honeymoon?”
