Torture to Her Soul
Page 118

 J.M. Darhower

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"Now," I whisper against his mouth, wrapping my arms around him. "I want to do it now."
"You want it?" he asks, lips leaving mine to trail my jawline, down to my neck. He kisses the center of my throat, where he left a bite mark earlier, as he presses himself against me. He's hard. "You want that, baby?"
I shiver, running my fingers through the hair at his nape. "Uh, yeah, but I meant I want to get married."
He pulls back, raising his eyebrows. "Get married? Now?"
"Yes," I whisper. "Tonight."
"But—"
"Be quiet," I say, cutting him off, covering his mouth with my hand as I laugh. "You want me to pick a date, right? Well I pick one. Today."
He looks stunned, but he doesn't argue, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips. He leans down toward me, leaving a light kiss against my lips. "Anything you want, Karissa. It's yours."
Hours later, after the sun has risen, Naz and I stand in the small chapel at the MGM Grand. There are no guests, no friends, no family, just strangers as witnesses and a man licensed to marry us. I don't wear a wedding dress. Naz doesn't even wear a suit. Just me, and him, and the simplest vow.
I promise to love you forever.
It's the only promise we've got.
After the man declares us husband and wife, Naz grabs a hold of me, yanking me toward him, and kisses me deeply, nipping at my bottom lip. I pull away, blushing, as Naz starts to tug me toward the exit of the chapel.
"Come on," he says. "We have a marriage to consummate."
"Is that right?"
"Absolutely," he says, his voice low, gritty. "I think I'm going to fuck you outside the Bellagio, in front of the fountain, somewhere where the whole world can see."