Storm in Stilettos

The wedding tent shook with thunderclaps, and Alice gripped her champagne flute so hard her knuckles went white. She felt his stare across the whole room—heavy, hungry, like a shot of whiskey after a month of prohibition. Denis stood at the bar, squeezing his glass, and under that white shirt, every muscle moved when he turned toward her. The air between them felt like it crackled harder than the lightning outside. She tugged at the hem of her black dress, feeling the thin fabric cling to her thighs in the humidity.

"Alice..." His voice came from behind her as she stepped onto the terrace to get some air. "The downpour starts in an hour. Let's go."

She didn't turn around. She just felt his palm on her bare back—hot, insistent. A shiver ran down her spine at the touch. A month without him. A month of an empty bed and angry words. And now her body treacherously remembered exactly how he made up.

"Let's go," he repeated, and his fingers slid lower, to her ass, squeezing through the thin silk. "I missed you. Fuck, Alice, I missed you so much I'd fuck you right here under this awning."

She spun around. His eyes burned in the half-dark, and she saw the bulge straining against his dress pants. The sight hit her low in the belly like a warm wave.

"Then prove it," she whispered, grabbing his tie and pulling him close. "Prove you haven't forgotten how it's done."

He shoved her into a dark guest room. It smelled of wet earth and gardenias. Denis pressed her against the wall, his mouth finding her neck, his hands already hiking up her dress. Alice gasped when his fingers slid over the lace of her panties—she was already soaked.

"You bastard," she breathed, ripping at the buttons of his shirt. "Do you have any idea how angry I've been?"

"I do." He pulled her panties down, and she heard him unbuckling his belt. "But right now, you're gonna scream from something other than anger."

He turned her to face the wall, and she felt his cock pressing between her ass cheeks. Alice arched her back, offering herself, and bit her lip as he pushed in—slow, all the way, to the hilt. She cried out, scratching at the wallpaper with her nails. His palm clamped over her mouth.

"Quiet," he whispered right in her ear, moving inside her. "Or do you want everyone to know how my wife comes?"

He started fucking her faster, harder, and she felt every inch of his cock. Her stilettos slipped on the parquet as he lifted her hip, changing the angle. Alice moaned into his hand, feeling the tension in her cunt building to unbearable.

"Denis..." she rasped when he pulled his hand away and turned her to face him. "I want to see you."

He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him, feeling him sink into her again. Her stilettos dug into his lower back, and he growled, driving into her deep and hard. Alice clung to his shoulders, feeling herself clench inside, feeling the wave approaching.

"Come on," he breathed, looking into her eyes. "Come for me. You know I love it when you scream my name."

She cried out as the orgasm hit her—hot and bright, like the lightning outside. Her body shuddered, gripping his cock, and she felt him thrust one last time and freeze, spilling deep inside her.

They stood there, breathing hard, tangled together in the dark. Thunder rumbled outside, but all Alice could hear was his heartbeat.

"I'm still angry," she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheek.

"I know." He grinned, kissing the corner of her mouth. "We've still got an hour before the wedding ends. And I know where the coat closet is."