Um... the wedding, and what everyone's been waiting for since Day One...

Enjoy!

Oh, and on totally unrelated news, in... two hours and fifty-five minutes, it'll only be a week until my birthday!

Music: when I see your face, my eyes just dilate

The morning goes by in a blur of people, dresses, make-up, and hairspray. I'm only dimly aware of people trying to talk to me – Summer, Kirsten, Julie, Kaitlin, Seth at one point, Summer again, Kaitlin again, the priest, the caterers, my mother, Dawn, Kirsten once more, Summer again.

I actually don't remember what any of them said.

I don't remember Summer giving me the somethings old, new, borrowed, and blue, even though I can feel them in the little velvet purse. I don't remember getting dressed. I don't remember getting my hair and make-up done. I don't remember anything. I barely remember Summer telling me it's time before leaving the room herself, followed by Kaitlin, and it's not until Sandy takes my arm that I hear the music.

It's time.

Oh God. I can't do this.

I can't do this.

I can't get married again. I love Ryan, but is love enough? We're so different and marriage makes it really hard to break up. We should've waited longer. Three years wasn't enough time. Oh God, I can't do this. But everyone's looking at me and I'm a complete sucker for peer pressure and Sandy still has a firm grip on me, so I step out into the aisle as everyone rises.

How many people did we invite to this thing? I swear we didn't invite this many. Are there wedding crashers? How am I supposed to get married in front of people I don't even know? And they're all staring at me. What if I look horrible? I can't do this.

Sandy tugs on my arm and I realize I've frozen to the spot. So I move forward, because I don't want to look like an idiot, but I don't really want to move forward, because oh my God, I can't do this. I can't-

My eyes find him, standing at the end of the aisle, the priest on one side, Seth and Trey on the other and suddenly everyone else disappears. I mean, sure, I can feel Sandy's grip on my arm and I can vaguely hear the excited whispers, but really all I can see is blue, shining intently at me, watching me walk toward him. He doesn't smile, he doesn't move at all in the time it takes me to move down the aisle, and then Sandy's kissing my cheek and moving off to the side, and Ryan's holding out his hand, and my own goes out to find his.

And it's in the pressure of his hand that I find the ability to hear – to see – again, so I can focus on the priest as he goes through the motions, and I repeat after him, but I don't really know what I'm saying, but I'm assuming since no one started laughing that I did it right, and I hear his rumbling voice repeat those same words, and even though my eyes are locked on the priest, his are locked on me, and I wonder how he's coping because if I look at him, I don't think I'd be able to speak.

As it is, I'm surprised I can speak at all with the way he's staring at me.

Is there something on my face? Is there something wrong with my dress? Why won't he stop staring at me? I want to tell him to stop, but that's not part of the vows and I can't start spit-balling here, cause that never ends well.

"Taylor," he murmurs, snapping me out of my haze, tugging on my hand to make me face him, and what's going on? It's only then that I realize there's a ring on my finger and he's licking his lips nervously, and is it time to kiss? I don't remember saying I do. But I must have, because everyone's waiting. He leans forward and presses his lips to mine.

Holy crap. I'm married.

Again.

At least this time I'm in love with the guy.

My feet are killing me.

I feel like I've been standing for years – has it really only been a couple hours?

It doesn't matter, though. The pain that these shoes – and really, what idiot decided I should have new shoes for my wedding, anyway? – are causing in no way compares to the ache in my jaw. I think I've been clenching my teeth ever since we got to the reception hall.

"…was so beautiful," the woman talking to Taylor is saying when I make myself snap back into reality. I have no idea who she is, but the way she's gripping Taylor's hand, I'm assuming she's a relative. Grandmother, maybe? I've lost track in the crowds. Hell, I barely remember who half the people I invited were. She pats Taylor's hand one last time before moving off to mingle.

"You doing any better?" I ask lowly, so no one around us can hear. She blushes faintly – embarrassed that she lost her cool during the wedding. Who would've guessed it'd be me not freaking out? I kept expecting to. Seriously, standing there as Summer and Kaitlin came down the aisle with Seth and Trey, I kept expecting to freak out. I didn't, though. She did. She came out – God, she's so beautiful – and her eyes had caught mine and she just looked… terrified.

Luckily, I don't think anyone else but me – and maybe Summer – saw it.

"I'm fine now," she grumbles, trying to glare at me, but it doesn't really work. Somehow, I think I could get away with murder today, the way she's looking at me.

"Good," I nod with a smile that melts the almost-glare right off her face. I'm about to say something about slipping out the back door so we can go up to our honeymoon suite, when her eyes focus on something off to the side.

"Incoming," she breathes, standing straighter, hand tightening on mine.

Fantastic.

"Veronica," I greet for the both of us. Despite her outburst the other day, Taylor's still afraid of her mother, so I decide to take the lead. Because she's my wife, damnit.

"Taylor," she ignores me completely, pursing her lips together and running her eyes over her daughter. "I'm surprised you had the… bravado to wear white today…"

She can't seriously be calling her daughter a whore on her wedding day…

Out of the corner of my eye I see Taylor look down at her dress with watery eyes, taking her hand away from me and smoothing it over the fabric.

Oh, fuck no.

I feel every muscle in my body go rigid, blood pressure rising, and I can't feel the pain in my feet or my jaw anymore. I can't hear the sounds of the party, all I can focus on is the woman in front of me and the joyful glint in her eyes as her daughter starts to stammer about how Summer said the dress looked good on her. I clench my hands into fists and open my mouth…

"Veronica Townsend," a cold voice says from the left and we all turn.

"Ms. Casetti?"

What the fuck?

She smiles at me, throwing me a look that explains everything. She fucking crashed my wedding. How the fuck did she find out about it anyway?

"Taylor," she continues, coming up next to Veronica to stand in front of us. "You look lovely." Then she turns to Veronica and smiles – that cold, Newport smile. "You must be so proud."

"Of course," Veronica returns, just as politely. "What mother wouldn't be proud the day her daughter marries a felon?"

"Mom…" Taylor's voice wavers a bit, hands still on her stomach, almost protectively.

"A felon?" Ms. Casetti laughs evilly, turning to me. "You never told me that, Atwood."

"Because it's none of your business," I shoot back at her, resisting the urge to grin in the sudden rush of affection for the woman. Because Veronica looks stunned – she probably thought Casetti was here on Taylor's list, from Newport. Not that she was on my list, but still.

"Well, I think it is," she sniffs, but I catch the slight smirk. "I mean, I should know if my architect's unethical and all…"

"I was sixteen," I protest with a mock glare. "And I'm not your architect anymore. You signed the papers. We're done. Thank God."

"Yes, yes," she waves her hands at me with a roll of her eyes. "Have you properly thanked your wife yet for that?"

What?

A look at Taylor shows her blushing, not meeting my eyes. Fuck.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, what with her habit of going to visit people behind my back. Dad, Trey, now Ms. Casetti.

"I guess I will later," I murmur and Taylor flushes darker. Casetti snorts.

"On that note, I'll leave you two to be happy." She waves her hands at us, walking toward the buffet table.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask after my mom leaves us – with a few parting, venomous words.

"That you went and talked sense into the woman so I could go on our honeymoon?" he asks, raising an incredulous eyebrow at me. I smile a little as he turns to face me, sliding his arms around my waist and we start to sway to the music. "Have I mentioned," he monotones, "how much I'm looking forward to our honeymoon?"

"Once or twice," I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" his voice gets lower and he breathes it in my ear.

I just shake my head and bury my face into his neck. I don't answer, because I'd rather not get into this right now. I want to tell him that he already has me – he doesn't need to do that. I know I'm not beautiful. I may be pretty, I may be 'hot' – his word – but I'm not beautiful. Summer's beautiful. Kaitlin's beautiful.

I'm just Taylor Townsend.

I feel him tense up a bit and he draws back, eyes searching mine. Something flickers and he pulls away completely. "Let's get out of here," he grips my wrist and pulls me over to where Sandy and Kirsten are standing with Seth. Summer's off to the side, sitting down to rest and talking to Kaitlin. "We're heading out," he tells his parents, the look in his eyes demanding no argument.

Sandy nods, throwing one arm around his son and clapping him on the back. Kirsten moves forward to hug me tightly, but somehow Ryan manages to not lose my hand in all of it. "I want to thank you," she whispers in my ear as she hugs me. "You make him so happy." She pulls back and smiles at me.

Ryan is – apparently – oblivious to the moment, because his tugs my arm and hauls me out of the room.

The ride up in the elevator is… well, it's like a fucking fantasy, and I can't help but have Aerosmith in my head as I press her up against the cold metal wall and her hand travels to the front of my pants. It's taking just about every ounce of willpower not to rip her dress off and fuck her here, in the elevator. Either that or come in my pants with the way her hand's working me, the way her tongue feels in my mouth.

I barely hear the ding as the elevator opens, and it closes before we realize we're stopped. So I hit the button and the doors slide open into our suite. I pull her through the little seating area, into the bedroom, swinging her toward the bed. She stops in the middle of the room and turns to face me and there's a breathless pause – like we're both savoring the anticipation.

Until I realize that anticipation is stupid and I want to fuck my wife.

I close the distance between us, crashing my mouth on hers, kissing her roughly, trying to find the goddamn zipper on this goddamn dress while her hands start shoving my clothes off. Except I can't find the fucking zipper, and if I don't get the dress off her soon, I may explode. I may actually explode. So I tear my mouth away from hers, pushing her away. "Zipper," I growl and she nods at me, hands reaching behind her and I hear the satisfying sound of metal grating. My own hands go to my pants, undoing the button and zipper with harsh, precise movements.

Her dress drops to the floor, a pile of white around her while she stands there in this lacy thing, and fuck, I feel that Chino part of me take over.

"Fuck," I growl at her, letting my pants and boxers drop, lifting the wife beater over my head and throwing it to the floor as I step toward her, rational thought leaving my head. "Fuck, baby," I hear myself say, but I can't really control my mouth anymore and my hands go to her waist, pushing her backwards until her knees hit the bed and she goes down. "Fuck. I had all these plans…" I mumble, following her down, tugging the straps of her lingerie off her shoulders far enough to expose her breasts, "was gonna fuck you slowly, all nice and romantic…" and she moans in counterpoint as I pull at the lace covering her.

"Ryan," she groans, sliding her hands down to join mine and leading my fingers to the ties at the side, which I pull at until I get that damn white lace off and expose her and fuck I haven't had her in two months, and she's not quite naked yet, but I don't care, I just want to be inside her, feeling her around me, feeling her writhe below me, making her scream my name.

I lean back and run my hand up her thigh, spreading her legs apart. She moans and tilts her hips to me as I slide a finger into her, to see if she's ready for me. She's wet – fuck, she's so wet, I haven't been in there in twofuckingmonths – and I add another finger, stretching her wide, preparing her. She's panting heavily and I'm tempted to make her come – right now, just for the satisfaction of making her scream – but I can't wait. She's ready for me now and I've been ready for her forever, so I pull my fingers out, shifting forward, grabbing her hips and lining up…

It feels like an eternity while I wait, paused at her entrance, staring at her with her head thrown back, eyes closed, just waiting for it, and I wonder why I don't move. It's not like I haven't been waiting for two months for this or anything. But something doesn't feel right, and…

"Look at me."

Her eyes fly open and the second her gaze meets mine I thrust in, hard enough to make us both moan, hard enough to make her throw her head back again, eyes closing as she clenches uncontrollably around me, and it feels amazing – I can't believe I almost forgot how it feels to make her come.

"Ryan!" she cries out, but I don't give her time to recover as I drive into her relentlessly, because I can't help it. I can't help detaching one hand from her hips and falling forward, changing the angle, hitting a new spot inside her that makes her scream brokenly. Distantly I can hear her chanting my name like a prayer, over and over, punctuated by little gasping moans and sharp cries, but it doesn't matter anymore, because she's coming again and she feels unbelievable. I follow her over the edge, heart freezing in my chest as I lose myself in the feel of her, the smell of her, the sound of her, the sight of her.

Of my fucking wife.

I am never – never – waiting two months for this again. For the feeling of him inside me, the heavy weight pressing me down into the mattress, the comfort of him all around me.

I run my hands soothingly over his back, feeling the muscles there shake as he comes down, and I love knowing that I can make him like this. That I can… undo him.

He makes a muffled sound and rolls off to the side, eyes fixing on the ceiling as he tries to regulate his breathing.

"Jesus," he breathes, still staring up at the ceiling. "We're good at that." I look over at him and start to giggle – I think the orgasm's made me a little lightheaded – and he turns his head, looking a little guilty. "Or something a little more romantic?" I don't answer, I just keep giggling as I roll into him, wrapping one arm around his torso and laying my head on his chest.

I can hear him breathing; his heart beating.

He kisses the top of my head, curling his right arm around me, the other lying dormant on the bed next to him.

"I love you," I sigh out, turning my head slightly to press my lips to his chest.

"I love you, too," he whispers back, the words low and shaky. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," I turn further, laying my hand flat on his chest and propping my chin on it. "You married me, didn't you?"

It was supposed to be a joke, but he doesn't smile. Instead, he gets that little furrow between his brows, like when he's really thinking about something.

"No," he says slowly. "I mean it." Ok, confusion much? "I… I can't really explain it," he seems frustrated with himself, eyes going to the ceiling, mouth a tight line.

"I know," I reassure him, moving up to kiss his jaw and sliding my leg over his hips.

"I feel like… I'm such an idiot," he continues, still staring up at the ceiling. "I can never say it."

"You don't have to," I remind him. I know I made a big fuss over his inability to express his feelings, but… well, I just don't care anymore. We aren't teenagers, going our separate ways in six months. We don't have French ex-husbands hovering around and making me question why Ryan can't say those three stupid words. I was an idiot back then. I was an idiot a couple days ago when I freaked.

But none of it matters anymore. We're married.

"I wish I was better at talking," he goes on, finally looking at me. His hands slide down to my waist as I shift on top of him. "Like, I wanna tell you stuff. I wish I could be that guy who can tell you every day how beautiful you are…"

"Ryan," I shake my head at him. I don't want to get into this now. I just want to have sex. I don't want to feel guilty because he has to lie to me. He frowns.

"I hate your mom," he announces suddenly, eyes narrowing. "We shouldn't've invited her to the wedding."

"She was just trying to cause trouble," I mumble, placing my hands on his chest and sitting up. The hands on my hips help me shift back a little, until I feel him, hardening again. "I barely listen to her anymore."

We both know that's a lie. I listen to every little thing she says. I know I should but… it's just, she's my mom, you know?

"Then why do you get all tense every time I call you beautiful?"

"Ryan, don't," I warn, grinding my hips against him and feeling him harden more under me. "Let's just fuck, ok?"

He nods, licking his lips, his eyes darkening a bit. "Fine, but we're talking about this eventually," he mutters darkly.

"Sex first," I tell him, leaning forward a bit, "talk later." He nods, eyes glazing over as I reach between us to grip him and he groans once before I sink down on him. I sigh happily and close my eyes. Not only did I avoid that little discussion, but I get to have him, too.

The hands on my hips tighten and he pulls me down on top of him. One of his hands slide up to cup the back of my head and the other wraps tightly around my waist. He proceeds to roll us over, so he's on top again. Oh well, it's not like I mind.

"Now," he breathes, pulling out slowly and pushing back in, "let's have that talk."

What?

Wait, no fair.

"Ryan," I protest, wrapping my legs high up on his back. "Don't ruin it."

"Too bad. You wanted sex, you're getting sex. And I wanna talk." He pulls out and thrusts back in, keeping his pace torturously slow. "Now," he murmurs, dropping his lips to my neck and kissing the spot below my ear he knows I love, "why do you get all tense every time I call you beautiful?"

He sucks sharply on the spot, which tears the answer from me. "Cause I'm not," I moan, then I cry out as he growls and thrusts in hard. "Ryan." I'm not quite sure whether that's a protest or something, but his hands tighten on my waist.

"You're fucking insane," he whispers, shaking his head slightly. "I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response."

"You asked," I remind him, arching up a little as he starts moving faster. "You know I'm crazy. You shouldn't ever ask what's going on in my head."

"I like your crazy," he tells me, lips dropping to my neck and his hand sliding from my waist to catch under my knee and draw it up.

"You like that I'm a freak," I mutter back, closing my eyes and tilting my head back. He lets out a low, grunting laugh that ends in him taking a deep breath. Apparently he's decided to drop my insecurities for now, because he hooks my leg over his shoulder and plants his forearms on the bed and thrusts hard, tearing a moan from my throat. He bites the junction of my neck and shoulder and does it again. "God, Ryan!"

One of his hands lifts off the bed and moves between our bodies and he rests it on my stomach as his thumb finds my clit. He presses against it in counterpoint with his thrusts, which sends shockwaves through my body. I vaguely feel my fingers dig into his back as he fucks me and I swear he's trying to kill me or something. His mouth on my neck, thumb on my clit, the way he's pounding into me... God, it's too much.

"Oh God! Ryan!" My orgasm rips through me almost painfully - I can barely breathe.

When I come to - did I pass out? - he's still going, but he's slowed down considerably, obviously waiting for me to come back.

"You ready, baby?" he pants. I let out a pathetic whimper as I nod and I feel him grin against my jaw. "Good." He pulls out suddenly, leaving me cold and empty - but it's not for long. "Roll over, baby."

"Ryan..." I sound so pathetic, and I'm actually shaking as I do what he wants. He doesn't let me get up on my hands and knees - which may actually be a good thing, because I don't know if I could hold myself up. Instead, he loops his arm around my waist and lifts me up slightly - I arch my back to help him - and slides in again.

"Fuck," he grunts, dropping his head forward to rest on the back of my neck as he starts to fuck me again.

I grab a pillow and bury my face into it to muffle the noises I'm making. It's too much, I don't think I can handle it - he's hitting a spot inside me that's making me dizzy, making my vision blur. He's pressing kisses to the back of my neck and I can tell he's close from the way he starts pounding into me erratically, the heavy, rasping quality to his breathing.

He thrusts particularly hard and I orgasm again, praying that this time, I don't pass out.

Finally – after an eternity – I come down off my high, just as he's groaning and releasing into me. He doesn't pull out right away, he just rests his weight on his forearms and kisses my neck – the same spot, at the top of my spine. "You know," he mumbles finally. "You still owe me for putting Trey in the wedding."

I giggle breathlessly as he rolls off of me, onto his back. "I don't have the outfit here," I remind him, turning onto my back. "But it's all packed for the honeymoon."

"Good," he nods. I stare up with him and we lapse into silence.

I'm still smiling up at the ceiling when his hand makes its way between my legs again.

"Ryan…" I moan, almost in protest, because come on. We just had sex – twice – and I know he's not that hard up to have recovered so quickly.

"You," he whispers, trailing his fingers over my thigh, "have kept this from me for two months." He moves to hover over me, licking his lips and giving me a cocky grin before moving down, placing little kisses as he goes until he reaches his destination. "I'm far from done with you."

Oh.

Oh.

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