The Lover's Children

Chapter 27 - Winter Wedding #26

KIRSTIE

“You can let go now if you like,” comes a voice from somewhere below me, “before I suffocate.” The

words are muffled for some reason.

Peeling my eyelids apart, I look down, I‘ve been supporting myself by gripping Ryan’s head. His face is

pressed into my belly. I release him. “Um, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

He sits upright, laughing quietly and rubbing at his nose. “No, but I’m not sure my nose will ever be the

same shape again.”

“This isn't how I imagined us consummating our marriage.”

“No? What did you imagine then?”

“I thought you would bend me over the bed and fuck me in my wedding dress.” © 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“Believe me, I’d planned on that.” His gaze grows intense once more. “My turn now. You can do the

work this time.” He leans back, lounging against the bath. Lips curving, he eye-points down. “Onto my

cock with you, M’Girl.”

Easing myself over him, for the second time, I straddle his lovely shaft, invisible under the foam, but

hardly difficult to find. “The hot water’s not giving you any problems then?”

“Proof of the pudding… Come on, climb aboard.”

Pussy’s still twitchy, jumping as I anchor his cockhead to my entrance. Kneeling upright, I pause, taking

a breath.

Ryan frowns. “You okay?”

“Just a bit of afterburn.”

“That’s fine then,” he smiles, sliding hands, wet and slippery, over my body, resting over my thighs.

“Better than fine. Feels great.” Another breath and I slip down, taking my husband inside myself.

Ryan blows air. His eyes close and his head falls back. Bubbly water laps over him, a red tide-line over

his chest where it warms his skin.

“Good?”

His eyes stay closed. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I might.”

Close-eyed, he smiles. And I move.

Slowly at first, taking it easy, I move. Up and down. In and out. His hard flesh glides inside mine,

stretching me deliciously. Ryans sighs. His throat ripples and his lips press tight.

A little faster, I rise and fall over him. His eyes open, first meeting mine, then dropping to my breasts.

He reaches, thumbing at a nipple still hard and taut.

Making my movements larger, with each stroke, I lift clear, then slide down. His eyes follow, watching

where his flesh enters mine.

A change of pace: settling over him, I twist, revolving my hips, winding my hips in circles above him,

taking him with me.

Ryan groans. “Christ Jesus…” His eyes squeeze, lips peeling back…

Inside me, his cock spirals, once more rubbing at my g-spot. The heat pulses through me again and I

groan too.

Ryan’s eyes snap open. His smile is wide and bright. “Like that is it? Keep going.”

His colour is rising. The red tide-line on his chest flushes upward, partly concealed by the foam. Sweat

beads his forehead. His eyes are dark enough to conceal his pupils, but his gaze is fixed, intense.

Pitching forward, supporting myself over him with my hands on the back of the bath, I meet his mouth

with mine. He wraps one arm over my shoulders, the other hand behind my head. Our kiss is deep and

drawn out and all the while I move over him. But now, he’s moving with me, thrusting deep, plunging

into me.

His grip on me grows tighter. His breathing rasps. Rock-hard and huge, faster he spears up into me.

Harder he drives.

I’m yelling out. With every stroke, his swollen shaft fills me, stretches me and rips a scream from my

throat which fights its way through our locked mouths.

It’s coming…

Once more… The shuddering… The throbbing… The rising ecstasy…

And I pulse into orgasm once more, this time with Ryan’s arms around me…

He breaks off the kiss. A single gasped word… “Kirstie…” … And with a growl, he freezes under me,

his body rigid. He’s hard enough that I feel the pulsing of his cock as he comes. Grinding against me,

his fingers digging into my back, he jerks and shivers his way through climax…

… and with a shudder and a gasp, breaks away, withdrawing. He swipes a palm over his face. “Fuck,

but that was good.”

He blinks once, twice, then lifts his gaze, dark and intense, to mine. “Thank you… Wife.”

“Thank you, Husband.” I press my lips to his. “Feeling more relaxed?”

“Most of me is relaxing.” I laugh. Indeed, his shaft still presses against my stomach. His face softens.

He takes my hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my fingers. “I love you, Kirstie.”

“I love you too, Ryan.”

We stare at each other. Words are irrelevant.

Together…

Man and wife…

The seconds tick by…

A sound…

We both jolt, heads turning to follow the sound…

It repeats: a knock on a door, coming through from the lounge. And a voice: Michael. “Ryan? Kirstie?

We’re good to go.”

Ryan grins. “We’ll be with you shortly, Michael.”

“Fine. No hurry.” The voice echoes through. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I lift away, sitting back at my end of the bath. “Well, Mrs Dougherty…” says my new husband… “Shall

we go greet our guests?”

”What do you think we’ll find out there?”

“I don't care if we find peanut butter sandwiches and orange squash waiting for us. They've turned the

day around.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

*****

JAMES

Michael leans back against our makeshift bar, arms folded, wearing a warm puppy grin. “I’d say we did

it.”

“I’d say we did.”

A stream of aunts, sisters, cousins, grans, moms and daughters ferry dish after dish from the kitchens.

Each one sets down some platter or server then beelines for the bar.

Michael raises his voice. “It’s getting kinda noisy don’t you think?”

“The Irish and the Italians? Two of the most famously vocal races in the world. And they’re at a party.

Ah…” I point… “The Happy Couple have joined us at last.”

Ryan and Kirstie, hand-in-hand, pause in the doorway, gaping, then breaking into delighted grins. I

can’t hear a word they’re saying over the racket, but Kirstie claps her hands. Kyle comes up to his

brother and the two shake hands, clap shoulders. Kyle gives Kirstie a bearhug and a kiss on the cheek.

At the same moment, the band strikes up.

In my few distracted seconds, Michael has conjured up two beers. He hands me one, sucks at the

other, then swipes foam from his mouth. “Kirstie’s looking a bit mussed.”

“It’s her wedding day. She’s entitled to a bit of mussing.”

There must be some kind of announcement. I didn’t hear it, but there’s a general surge towards the

food tables.

A couple of minutes later, Klempner ambles across to us, a paper plate in one hand, a plastic fork in

the other. “Who do I have to assassinate to get a drink around here?”

“If it were anyone but you asking that, I’d think it was a joke…” His eyes crease… “As it is, let me get

you something. What’s it to be?”

He waves his fork at my beer. “I’ll have one of those for now.”

He downs his beer in three swallows. “I was ready for that.”

“I’ll get you another.”

A voice rises from somewhere around my knees. “Can I have one, too?”

Klempner doesn’t even look down. “No, you can’t. You can have an orange squash. Or a lemonade.”

He meets my eye and shrugs. “She seems to have adopted me.”

Without really looking, he forks up from his plate, chews for a moment then, brow furrowing, does look

down, this time at his food. “What am I eating exactly?”

I scan the contents of his plate. “You don’t like it?”

He chews and swallows. “I do like it. I just haven’t ID’d it.”

“You are eating what I think is best described as Irish-Italian fusion food. Gnocchi with bacon and

cabbage.”

He frowns. “That’s… not an obvious combination.”

“No, it isn’t. Ryan’s Italian chef uncle wanted to use Serrano ham. But his Irish housewife cousin

insisted on bacon. I think it works. . Besides…” I nod toward where Ryan is dancing with Kirstie… “…

it’s not the only Irish-Italian fusion that’s a success today.”

*****

MICHAEL

By any measure, the evening, after its unpromising start, has been a roaring success. The communal

spirit of All In It Together has certainly helped, but in fact, the sports hall has provided a perfect venue,

the drink has flowed freely and the band are unusually good, with a nice mix of original music along

with everyone-knows-the-words-to-this-one tracks. The food has been great, if unexpected. That is to

say, little remains on the serving tables except for stains and crumbs.

A good time has been had, so far as I can see, by all.

We’ve reached the point when everyone has eaten enough, drunk plenty and the dancing is shifting to

slow tracks. Children have settled in flocks to roost on the stacks of yoga mats. Groups and couples

are gathered at tables and some are yawning.

But there is one lone figure…

Klempner…

Propped on an elbow on the end of the bar, an empty tumbler in his hand, he is not exactly staring

across the room, but certainly keeping a close eye on something.

What’s he looking at?