Alpha Dom and His Human Surrogate

Cora

After I dress, I surprise myself by feeling a little shy as I reach for the door to the bathroom to go back to the tiny bedroom where Roger’s waiting or me.

Because, I mean, it’s no secret why we’re here. And Roger’s not stupid – he probably figured out what I was doing when I went into the bathroom with a big white box.

But still – it’s always something, isn’t it? Anticipating what it might be like when the man you love sees you in your wedding dress for the first time. And as I think it, quite suddenly, I can’t wait.

I pull the bathroom door open and step back into the bedroom, my eyes instantly going to Roger, standing by the open doors to the beach, the ocean air lifting his hair lightly in the breeze.

And, as I knew they would be, his eyes are already on me. Because he was waiting. And my face bursts into a grin as his expression goes slack.

I feel it all down the bond, which is open to me right now. His awe, and his pride – his love, his desire, the overwhelming swell of pleasure that comes from seeing how beautiful he thinks I look right now on this night – in this dress

“Cora,” he says, the sound of my name rough as it works its way from his tight throat. But it’s the only word he can manage, lifting a hand to cover his mouth and shaking his head at me, just staring.

I turn a little so that I’m facing him completely, still smiling so hard my face might start aching if I keep this up for much longer.

“So, you like it?” I ask, twisting a little so that he can see more of the dress, see how the beadwork catches the light of the fire and makes the dress look incandescent in the glowing dark of this little bedroom.

He just stares at me for a moment before a little growl rumbles in his chest, his only answer. And I burst out laughing and cross the room to him, holding my hands out.

Roger takes my hands as I come around the bed, using them to pull me closer so that he can slide his hands over my body, feeling the intricacies of the dress for himself, as well as the contrast it presents to the bare skin of my back, my arms. He lowers his face to mine, kissing me softly as he traces his fingertips down the length of my spine, sending shivers all through me.

close, so I can keep my hands on you? Or far away, so I can see again

my nose and smile up at him, terribly pleased. “I’m glad you like it,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I liked it too. Ella made me try on

a shame that I’m going to have to rip it to shreds

away, my hands defensively clutching the dress at

know, Cora,” he murmurs, shaking his head at me and closing the distance between us again, hungry. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to help it. How did you even get this thing

you will

hesitate, blushing, because I myself now am on

Roger says, his mouth quirking up as

I say, laughing and looking down,

warning and a command in his voice. And, while those don’t usually do anything for me I have no real intention of letting Roger be the boss of our lives, like Ella and Sinclair – his gentle fingers under

“I never had a mom with a wedding

throat then – not of frustration, or of annoyance, or anything like that. But simply because he can’t help it, because he, too,

a dress like this. And suddenly, as I look up at him, I know that we’re both thinking the same thought: that we have so

face in his hands and he kisses me, slowly, sweetly, but with the full force of his commitment to me, to us, and

move backwards then, slowly guiding me to the bed, but as I realize the direction of his intentions I pull away, glancing towards

asks, a

didn’t know I had within me until this very moment. And then I look back up into his eyes. “I

confused. “Cora, there’s nothing that

shaking my head, utterly convinced. “Please – I…I’m sure

ball. Then, he passes it to me. Confused, I take it, but as soon as I do Roger dips down, wrapping one arm around my back and using the other to scoop me

the beach, and the sea, and the sky – knowing, for some reason,