His kisses are tepid at best. The patterns his slightly chapped lips trace up and down my bared neck cannot hold a candle to the pair of lips that marked the flesh before him. My mind burns with the memory of those kisses – smoldering, deliciously delicate, so unlike the rough man who peppered them all over me.
My body trembles, recalling the kisses we shared minutes before he walked out my life and I walked down the aisle to another's. My face flushes, remembering his lips pressed against mine, his mouth forcing mine open and his tongue darting out to caress mine. My thighs quiver at the memory of his fingers digging into my soft flesh, meandering higher, demanding one last time.
A moan escapes my lips. The arms around me tighten and it becomes difficult to breathe. My mind screams at me to push away the weight pressed against my bare chest, but my arms are frozen. My mind reminds me that this, that he, was the right choice.
He mistakes my moan for approval, permission to proceed, move lower and officially make me his. He spouts a litany of praises in my ear as his lips march down my sternum to my breasts. His love proclamations, admiration over my beauty and promises to protect me bounce off me. He cups my breasts with trembling hands, signifying that he's never done this before and that he's saved himself for me.
He squeezes too hard and elicits a sharp cry. He stops, tilts my chin and peers into my eyes. Like the polite gentleman he is, he asks what's wrong. As if he could handle the truth. Worried that he'll hurt me again, he barely touches them on his second attempt. Frustration fills me, yet the words to properly instruct him on how to pleasure me remain trapped on the tip on my tongue.
He stays there for a few moments, his soft fingertips rolling my nipples back and forth. They eventually harden to memories of another's calloused fingertips. My back arches and my hips thrust toward him, hoping he'll take the hint and move on with it. The sooner this is over, the better.
He kisses a line down my stomach, inching lower and lower. My body stiffens, realising that he desires to please me in that way. My mouth opens, kind words respectfully declining his offer. If he's offended, he doesn't show it.
Unfortunately, he insists upon providing me some pleasure before he takes his. He inserts a finger into me and I flinch at the intrusion. He pulls away, questioning my comfort level again. This time, he receives the guidance he sorely needs. Eager to please, he follows my instructions to a tee. When it's done, he smiles at me, love shining in his eyes. He has no idea that images of my ex-lover propelled me over the edge.
There's no turning back once he's entered me. He hardly notices my distress, grunting his pleasure into my shoulder. My mind tries to replace him with someone else, but it's difficult when each erratic thrust brings me back to reality. My legs wrap around his waist and false moans fall from my lips, urging him on.
When he's finished, he rolls me onto my side and settles in behind me. He wraps his left arm around my waist, kisses my temple and falls asleep. The sight of his unmarked forearm brings tears to my eyes. My heart yearns for the man that should be beside me. After all, Rabastan was right. Ted cannot love me like he can.
A/N: Written for Sophie's Crystals, Gemstones & Astrology Challenge/Competition on the HPFC. Prompt: write about a couple's wedding night (150-600 words). Word count: 600.