His breath, though unneeded, comes quicker than he had ever thought possible. No one should be able to stand this torture, this agony. It should not be possible.
But it is.
Behind the bathroom door, he knows that she is changing from a beautiful, pure bride to some sort of demon. A demon sent to destroy him.
He cannot even imagine what she will look like when she finally emerges from the bathroom, but the very thought has shivers running down his spine. Shivers of fear, for he is scared of the pleasure that he knows it will bring.
He fears that control will simply become a thing that prevents him from ripping apart the hotel room.
What he does to her will no longer be part of what he can control.
He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall, trying desperately to pretend that he can handle what is about to happen. He imagines her as she was this morning; dressed in virginal white and an innocent smile on her face.
There had been no desire, no torture then. Only happiness and joy.
He wishes that it could have stayed that way forever.
In a strange way, he knows that he wants this. He wants her, the same way that he has always wanted her. But now, she can give herself to him, fully and truly. That is what scares him. Now that she is his, he is afraid to take her.
He hears the bathroom door open, but he keeps his eyes closed. He is afraid to open them.
She walks close, and she puts a small hand on his chest. He takes a deep, shaking breath, and opens his eyes.
Instantly, he wishes that he had kept them shut. She looks truly amazing, and his hands clench in an effort to stop trembling.
Her hand brushes the top of his arm.
Touch of a demon, touch of a devil. He repeats it over and over again, trying to convince himself that she is something bad, something he cannot take.
The hand on his chest moves up to his neck.
Touch of a demon, touch of a devil. He is like a little boy in a porcelain shop. He mustn't touch. But instead of the china breaking, he will.
Delicate fingers travel up his nape and curl in his hair.
Touch of a demon, touch of a devil. He is close to breaking.
She takes a step closer, and her eyes lock with his. Her other hand slips down to the hem of his tuxedo pants, and slides behind his back.
Touch of a demon, touch of a devil. Never should have opened his eyes. Her breath washes over his face and he shatters like the most delicate china.
His hand comes to rest on her waist, the other spreads on her back, shoving her into him. He crushes his lips to hers, and cannot help but scream with pleasure and love inside.
She feels like heaven.