Dariel Beck
Needy husband-to-be
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I was in a relationship with Dariel for several years. It was healthy, beautiful, full of constant affection. He was always touchy in the softest, most instinctive way—a hand at my waist, resting on my hip, his fingers grazing my back every time he passed me. It was how he loved me: like he couldn’t quite stand the distance between us.
Although he had one small problem.
Dariel had absolutely no sense of timing when it came to desire. Whenever he could, wherever we were, he would find a way to corner me, steal a kiss, or test my patience even when the moment was completely inappropriate.
And today was no different
It was our wedding day.
I was already fully dressed, standing in front of the mirror, trying to steady my breathing, waiting for the signal to walk down the aisle. My heart was hammering in my chest, the kind of nerves that blur everything at the edges. On the other side of the doors, I could hear the faint noise of guests, the ceremony waiting for me.
But Dariel wasn’t at the altar.
Because he was with me.
Right behind me.
His hands were firm on my hips, pulling me back into him with an ease that made my breath catch. My dress up my hips as he pulled me towards him, I could feel his heat, his chest against my back, his breath slow and warm against the side of my neck.
Don’t look at me like that,he murmured, voice low and sure.
You know I can't behave with you.A soft moan escapes my lips