Love, the Second Time Around Ch. 02

All I could do was roll my eyes. I had intentionally not had a lot to drink on my (second) wedding day. I plopped down on one of plush couches in the church parlour. Well, as much as anyone can "plop down" while wearing a poufy wedding dress.

"They should be ready for us any minute now," Don checked his watch for the millionth time before shooting me a wink. "I'm just happy I could get a full night's sleep this time."

As my surrogate father, I asked him to give me away to Nichole. When I told McKayla's mom and stepdad that I was getting married again, I was nervous, even though I knew I didn't have any reason to be. Suzie and Don were happy I had met someone and even happier that I had fallen in love again.

My own parents passed before I graduated from high school, and over the years, I came to think of McKayla's parents as my own. They took me into their family and treated me as their second daughter.

After my (first) wife died, they tried to set me up with women (and a couple of men) they I thought I might like, but none of them stirred my interest, so when Nichole was introduced to them, they actively encouraged me to follow my heart. For her part, Nichole adores them as kind in-laws who dote on her son just as Don and Suzie had spoiled Maureen rotten.

"Ain't that the truth!" my good friend Kevin Westcott chimed in from his spot next to me on the couch. He was in my wedding entourage while his wife Melanie was in Nichole's. Melanie had introduced me to Nichole, so there was no way we were letting them get out of being in our wedding. Kevin was also in my first wedding, as part of McKayla's wedding party. "It's a good thing we were still young and could pull an all-nighter before a sunrise wedding."

Brin gave me a sisterly snort-laugh from across the room. She had too much to drink at the night-before party and had to be wakened in the hour before dawn to make it down to the beach for the ceremony. It's a good thing the wedding itself was pretty short or she may have passed out in the middle.

Most our wedding party took a mid-afternoon nap the day before and then stayed up all night laughing and celebrating.

I smiled at the memory. My phone buzzed with a text message.

why didn't we elope?

I giggled and tapped out a reply. Because you promised me the moon

I will give you a hundred moons, My Love My heart skipped a beat at her reply. But next time we're running away

I sent her the heart emoji. Then I gave her a good long buzz through the Bluetooth vibrator app.

bitch

I snorted and zapped her a couple more times just for good measure. *your* bitch

A moment later, there was a knock at the door.

"It's showtime, Amberle." Our wedding coordinator poked her head into the parlour. Maureen helped me to my feet. I slipped my phone into one of the pockets(!) of my dress, then gathered its folds around me and headed for the door, falling in line behind the rest of my bridal party.

Our wedding came together rather quickly after her Valentine's Day proposal. We found a nice Episcopal Church in Westchester County that was free on a beautiful Sunday in June. Stephen's school had just gotten out and Maureen made arrangements with her boss at her internship, and was taking her summer classes online.

The weather was surprisingly pleasant. It was easily accessible for our friends and family from New York and a fair number of people from the beach made the trek, too.

We went outside and filed one by one through the main doors to the sanctuary.

Nichole won the coin toss and elected to enter the church first, so she awaited me by the altar.

She was so beautiful in her simple, but elegant, dress. Flowers were woven into her hair that framed her perfect face. Her single-tier veil was her mother's, which she had also worn in her wedding to Michael.

Her smile was radiant. I held on to Don's arm to keep from shaking.

When we got to the front of the church, Nichole reached out and took my hands.

My heart raced. I smiled sheepishly, keenly aware that I was marrying the second most beautiful woman in the world that day.

I don't remember much about the ceremony itself, but there is video proof of me saying my vows. I was focused on Nichole's crooked smile and calming touch.

The tears flowed freely as we were announced as wife and wife. For the thirteen years McKayla and I were together, we were never legally married. We had the ceremony. We went out of our way to contractually and financially entangle ourselves as a couple. But she was never legally my wife.

Oh, how times have changed!

Nichole and I had gone down to the City Clerk, proudly paid the thirty-five dollar fee and gotten our marriage license. It was fast and (mostly) painless. They even gave us a small gift packet of coupons and little things for newlyweds.

In front of our family and three hundred or so of our closest friends, I tilted my head back as my bride framed my face with her gentle hands and kissed me.

The loudest cheer was from my daughter, who had given up trying not to cry.

Hand in hand, Nichole led me back down the aisle through flower petals, our gowns flowing behind us as the organ played over the joyous applause of our guests.

And then the fun part of our night started.

Nichole went all out. I had very little say in the wedding or the reception. I made a couple of requests: I asked my brother and his wife to sing, we did a sand ceremony with Stephen and Maureen, and I was not expected to say anything spontaneous.

The reception was at an old textile mill that had been converted into a wedding venue. It had lots of open space, hardwood floors and gave us lots of options if we needed them. There was a live band for the first part of the reception and a DJ for the party afterwards.

We had food coming out of our ears. There were two full bar stations, plus a slushie machine with four different flavors for the kids (and a good number of the adults) to mix and match. Food was spread out so there wasn't one single line. We had appetizers, sweets, a Mongolian barbeque, a limited sushi bar, a prime rib carving station, a salad bar and an ice cream sundae table.

I'm sure it cost a small fortune, but my bride refused to take any of my money or even let me peek at the ledger for the wedding.

Instead of a guest book, we asked everyone to sign one of several sheets of posterboard which we later had framed.

Next to the table reserved for the wedding party was a hand-carved wooden memory tree, which was lit with LED candles and hung with pictures of our loved ones who had passed on before us: Nichole's father, my parents, our grandparents, cousins, family friends, and of course Michael and McKayla.

There was a running wedding joke in Nichole's family, "Have you had your picture taken with Ernie?" Apparently it started when one of the cousins got married a year after Nichole's dad died. John had put the urn containing Ernie's ashes on the gift table, but only the family was in on the joke, and everyone else was left wondering who Ernie was and where to find him for a picture.

So at every wedding, it's someone's job to hide Ernie's ashes at the reception and everyone has to take their picture with "Ernie". The first person to find him gets to hide him at the next wedding and the last person to get the picture has to give a hundred dollars to the bride. Also, just FYI for those of you who want to try this for yourselves: the bride and groom are exempt from the hide-and-seek because apparently they have more important things to do at the reception.

My bride's extended family is full of that sort of silliness, and I was happy to marry into them.

Nichole and I mingled throughout the room arm in arm, greeting our guests, laughing with family, never wanting the night to end.

We did all of the usual wedding stuff: introductions, speeches/roasts by our maids of honour (Emily and Maureen), cake, the garter thing (twice) and the bouquet toss (also twice). We did a short set of formal pictures, but we had a photo booth in one corner and a couple of paid photographers taking lots of pictures of us and our guests.

Nichole danced with Don, taking the place of my father.

I danced with Carole in the place of hers. I promised to take care of her daughter and get her to slow down.

Both Nichole and I are in our forties now, so we didn't do as much drinking as we did at our first weddings. At one point, though, I found myself doing shots with my bride and four other ladies: Becky, Lara, Melanie and Melinda. The six of us were all sharing a beach house together when Nichole and I met. They were all good friends, I was tagging along with Melanie. Little did I know that weekend was going to change my life!

I don't know for sure who instigated the shots, but it was probably Melinda.

"To the two hottest bitches at the beach!" Melanie toasted and we all pounded back a shot of cheap tequila. Yes, I know we can afford good tequila (and they had some at the bar), but you sip the expensive añejo and do shots with the cheap stuff.

There was no way our wedding would have been complete without these four friends. We shared hugs and kisses and tears together. I think there were two more shots before my daughter dragged me back to our other wedding guests to keep me from ending the night hugging a toilet.

After all of the toasts and wedding traditions, but before the reception turned into a full-blown party, Nichole surprised me with a song. Along with Maureen and my sister Brin, they lip-synched the Glee version of "Come See About Me" which, when I watched the video later, turned out to be a spot-on dance cover of the choreography on the show. Nichole was Quinn, Maureen was Brittany S. Pierce and Brin was Santana, if you were wondering.

Once the bridal party changed into more comfortable clothes, the lightweights began clearing out and the hardcore partiers stepped it up.

I found Nichole and Carole speaking softly, both of their hands gently brushing the 8 x 10 picture of Ernie hanging from the memory tree, his eyes dancing with laughter and his infectious smile beaming at whomever gazed upon him.

"He would have liked you," Carole said softly, taking my hand.

"Dad liked everyone," Nichole's bittersweet smile was part happy memory, part sadness at her loss. "And he would have loved you."

"You two should sneak out," my new mother-in-law gave each of us a kiss on the cheek. "Go back to your hotel and make love like rabbits."

"Mom!"

"You're newlyweds. Act like it," Carole chided her daughter and winked at me. "I got one grandchild out of this marriage, and I'm expecting more!"

She squeezed my hand and walked away, leaving me with my bride.

I took Nichole in my arms and the rest of the world faded away. She's a little bit taller than me, but she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

Her lips were soft and warm.

"What do you say, Mrs. Galloway?" I asked playfully. "Wanna go somewhere and get nekkid?"

"I don't know if I can do that; I'm a married woman now," she giggled. Nichole pulled back and looked into my eyes, suddenly very serious. "Amberle, I don't want to be 'Mrs. Galloway' anymore."

My jaw dropped in surprise.

"I was thinking I could be 'Mrs. Perry'."

It took me a second to form the words. "But that's not my name . . ."

"It is your name," she said gently. My knees got week. I probably would have fallen over if she hadn't been holding me. "It has been your name for the last twenty-three years. And as your wife, I would be honoured to take it."

"But do you . . . How . . . It's McKayla's . . ." I stammered.

"And 'Galloway' is Michael's," she said knowingly as she brushed the tears out of my eyes. "I just promised to love, honour and protect you for as long as we both shall live. This is how I want to honour you, Amberle. You're getting a lot of family from me. I married into yours . . . Stephen has his dad's name and . . . well, that and I'm not going back to being a 'Steigerwald'."

I tried to laugh, but it came out a snotty snort-sob. Nichole pressed her forehead against mine. "I love you, Amberle. I am yours: body, heart and soul."

"We need to go," I whispered desperately. "Or I'm going to strip you down right here. And we're not going to make love, sweetheart; I'm going to fuck your brains out tonight."

Nichole's lips brushed my earlobe. You know: in that spot.

"Take me." Her voice was hungry. "Claim me."

Trying not to be too obvious that we were sneaking off for some nuptial nookie, we said goodbyes to our children and to Emily, who was in charge of making sure everyone who was expecting to get paid actually got paid.

Then we found our way out to the waiting limousine which took us back to our hotel.

**************

"Get your ass up in the air!" I barked, pushing my weight down on Nichole's shoulders. Her face and chest were pressed into the covers on the bed.

So far, I had worked three fingers into my wife's soaked pussy from behind. She was a goddam slip-n-slide for me.

Our wedding gowns, shoes and undergarments littered the floor from the door to our suite all the way to the bedroom.

The plug in her butt was vibrating steadily.

On low.

Just enough to stimulate her. Not enough to actually get her off.

Tears streamed down her beautiful cheeks. Her teeth were clenched as I fucked her with my fingers.

"Right there!" she moaned. "Fuck me!"

Our bodies were covered with sweat.

"Don't you dare cum!" As I moved my hand faster, she became slicker. "I haven't given you permission to cum yet, slut!"

Her legs started to quiver. I smacked her on the backside. "Get that ass up!"

"Fuck!" Nichole spat.

Smack!

I pulled my hand out of her. She let out a disappointed sigh, which I cut off by pushing those three fingers into her mouth.

She suckled on me eagerly.

I pressed myself against her and bit her just behind the ear. "Do you like the taste of cunt?"

"I like the taste of your cunt," she whispered dreamily, somewhere between pleasure and pain. I had been edging her since we got back to the honeymoon suite at the hotel, probably an hour before.

Without much tenderness, I flipped Nichole over on her back. She lay in the middle of the big bed, splayed out in all of her naked glory.

She brushed her hair out of the way, as I straddled her, slowly lowering my dripping pussy on to her mouth.

Nichole eagerly lapped at my labia and clit. Her hands cupped my butt.

I leaned forward to brace myself against the headboard.

Our eyes met. She winked at me as I smothered her.

Soon enough, I was bucking my hips, grinding my pussy into her face. One of her hands snaked its way up my body to grab a tit.

She rolled my nipple between her fingers and thumb. An electric jolt shot through my body.

My legs began to quiver.

This was my third orgasm of the night. We started in a sixty-nine, but I didn't let her finish. Then I made her get me off with her talented fingers. And now I was in her mouth again.

All the while, I had just teased her, bringing her to the brink, and then slowly backing off. Again and again. I knew it was killing her.

But that was the point.

We have both been exploring our dominant sides, and on our wedding night, it was my turn.

Most of the time, I like giving myself to my lover. But lately, I found myself liking to be in control.

Many months ago, we had a (non-sexual) conversation about consent and boundaries. We're not into hardcore bondage, but we talked long and thoroughly about when "no" means "yes", when "yes" means "harder", and when "pineapple" means "stop".

I shuddered as my girlfriend . . . er, wife . . . made love to me with her tongue.

Falling on to the bed, I pulled Nichole to me. Her face was a mess of my juices.

Her kisses tender. Her lips soft and warm.

She tasted of wine and me. And love.

Our bodies pressed together. The sharp points of her nipples matched mine.

We fell into an easy rhythm, our hips moving together.

Lost to her kiss, I almost didn't notice her body tensing up.

That sly bitch!

But she rubbed against me just a little too hard. I pushed her away.

Smack!

I struck her across the chest. She tried to trib me some more, but I wasn't having any of it.

Her eyes were hooded over with desire.

And frustration.

My hand slapped her other breast.

Grasping her by the wrists, I pushed her hands over her head and held them. She was stronger than me and could have broken loose if she wanted.

It seemed she was very close to taking control from me. But she didn't.

I rolled her on to her back again. "Spread your legs . . . spread your cunt for me . . . Now!"

She let out a cry when I slapped her pussy with my open palm.

"Please let me cum!" her plaintive wail was pitiful.

"What will you do if I let you cum?" I squeezed her pert breast. I bit her nipple.

"Anything!"

"Any thing?"

"Yes, Amberle," she whispered. "I'll do anything."

She stopped struggling against me. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Promise me the moon."

"I will give you the moon and all the stars in the sky!"

"Promise to love me forever."

"I will love you until the end of time."

As I cradled her to me, Nichole began to cry softly.

Brushing her hair from her face, I wiped her eyes. I kissed her gently, sensing that I may have pushed her to her limit. She choked back the tears, trying to cover her vulnerability.

"Spread your legs for me, Mrs. Perry," I breathed in her ear. "Don't move."

She sighed as I pulled away. Still part way in the submissive zone, she obeyed my last instruction and was as still as a statue.

Nichole lay on the bed, her only movement the soft rise of her chest as she steadied her breathing. Lit only by the soft light of battery-powered votives which lined the nightstand and dresser, she was so beautiful.

I took a few steps over to the closet, where I dug into one of our bags.

It only took a few moments to put the strap-on harness in place.

Sneaking a glance over at Nichole, I saw her lick her lips with anticipation. I swiped a bottle of lube from the closet and sauntered over to the bed, my cock swinging between my legs.

Taking my bride in my arms, I caressed her body, my fingertips running up and down her skin.

"Take me inside you," I nibbled on her earlobe.

Nichole's eyes rolled back into her head as the length of my cock penetrated her. This was something new for me, and it took some getting used to. Up until about a year ago, I had always been the receiver, not the giver, and it took some getting used to. But Nichole liked it, so I do whatever I can to make her happy.

This one was one of those "double delight" models, so there was a length of dildo inside me, too.

We resumed our slow rhythm. She gasped every time I bottomed out inside her.

Cupping her breasts, I felt the spots where I had struck her; they were red and warm. Not enough to leave a bruise or mark, but I could see the outline of my handprint on her soft skin.

We made love long and slow.

The raw hunger and feral desire was gone from her touch.

I kissed my way down her neck to the place on her collarbone that drives her crazy.

Her fingernails dug into my back.

Our lips brushed.

She cried out when I suckled on her breasts, paying careful attention to each; her left one is just a shade rounder and the nipple on the right bigger and more sensitive.

I lost myself to the closeness and intimacy I had denied myself for the years of my widowhood.

Nichole seemed to react naturally to my movements, and me to hers.

We built ourselves back slowly to that place where I had her before: just to the edge of orgasm.