The Wedding Album

The marquee tent smelled of champagne and wilting peonies, and I was already bored out of my skull. Then I saw her across the dance floor, laughing at something the best man said, and my camera hung heavy around my neck like a promise I hadn't made yet.

Her name was Lena. The bride's cousin. She caught me staring and raised an eyebrow, a glass of white wine dangling from her fingers.

"Planning to document my bad decisions all night, Marcus?"

"Only the interesting ones."

She laughed, and it was the kind of sound that made you want to hear it again. We talked through the toasts, through the cake cutting, through the moment her hand found my thigh under the table and squeezed, just once, like a question.

"I dare you," she whispered, her lips close enough to my ear that I felt the heat of her breath. "Meet me by the supply tent in five minutes."

The tent was dark, full of stacked chairs and a trestle table covered in spare linens. She was already there, leaning against the support pole, and the moonlight cut through the canvas like a blade.

"You know why I brought you here?" she asked, and her voice had gone low, almost dangerous.

"To give me a better angle?"

"No." She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume and the faint salt of her skin. "Because I saw the way you looked at my ass when I walked past the bar. And I saw the way you looked at me when I didn't tell you to stop."

I swallowed. "Lena—"

"Shut up and turn me over that table."

The words hit me like a shot. My cock was already straining against my zipper, and she saw it, because she grinned and reached down, cupping me through the fabric.

"That's what I thought. Come on, photographer. Earn your fee."

I didn't need to be asked twice. I spun her around, one hand flat on her lower back, pressing her down until her palms hit the linen-covered wood. Her dress rode up, exposing the backs of her thighs, and I could see she wasn't wearing panties.

"Look at you," I breathed, running a finger along the edge of her ass cheek. "No underwear at a wedding. You planned this."

"Maybe." She looked over her shoulder at me, eyes bright. "Are you going to punish me for it?"

The first slap echoed through the tent, sharp and clean. She gasped, and her hips pushed back against my hand.

"Harder," she said.

I obliged. Three more, each one landing with a crack that made her moan, the skin flushing pink under my palm. She was wet; I could see it glistening between her thighs when she shifted.

"Please," she whispered. "Marcus, please just fuck me."

I unzipped my pants, kicked them down just enough, and pressed the head of my cock against her slick entrance. She was so hot, so ready, and when I pushed in, she let out a sound that was half scream, half sob, swallowed by the canvas walls.

"Quiet," I said, pulling out almost all the way and slamming back in. "People are thirty feet away."

"I don't care," she gasped. "Oh god, don't you dare stop."

I didn't. I fucked her over that table like I meant it, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises. The sounds were obscene—wet and rhythmic, the slap of my skin against her reddened ass, her breathless little cries that she tried to muffle with her fist.

"Look at me," I ordered, and she twisted her neck, her eyes glassy, her lips parted. "You're so fucking beautiful like this."

"Faster," she begged. "Please, I'm so close—"

I gave her everything, pounding into her until the table shook and the linens bunched under her hands. She came with a violent shudder, her inner walls clenching around me, and that pushed me over the edge. I buried myself deep and came inside her, my forehead pressed to her back, both of us trembling.

For a long moment, there was only breathing.

Then Lena laughed, soft and breathless. "I think you got sweat on your camera."

I pulled out, and she turned around, her face flushed, her smile wicked. She reached out and grabbed my chin, pulling me into a slow, deep kiss.

"Promise me you'll do that again at the reception," she murmured against my lips.

I grinned. "I'll do it in the parking lot if you behave."

She slapped my chest, laughing, and I pulled her into my arms, feeling her heartbeat against mine, the warmth of her body, the echo of her moans still ringing in my ears. Outside, the band started playing something slow, and she leaned into me, her head against my shoulder.

"Best wedding I've ever been to," she said.

"Best photos I've ever taken."

She laughed again, and I held her tighter, the taste of her still on my tongue, the night stretching out ahead of us like a promise.