Hidden Wedding Feast Tryst
The wedding feast roared around us in the great hall, torches flickering against stone walls as laughter and music swelled from the long tables. I stood pressed against Rylan in the narrow alcove behind a heavy tapestry, the silk of my gown still damp from dancing, my heart hammering from years of stolen glances and our childhood betrothal that had led to this stolen moment.
His broad frame blocked the gap in the fabric, one hand already tugging at my laces while distant footsteps echoed from passing guards. “Elowen,” he said, voice low and rough against my ear, “you look like you’re about to flee. Do you want this?”
I nodded, though my hands trembled as I reached for his breeches. “I do. I’ve wanted you since the first time you lifted me onto that horse when we were barely more than children. But I’m yours now, completely.”
He worked the laces free with impatient fingers, the gown parting just enough to bare my thighs as he lifted me against the cold stone. The shift rode up, exposing me to the chill air while the wet heat between my legs pressed against the hard length straining his clothes.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, pulling me tighter. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
His mouth claimed mine in a deep kiss, tongue stroking as his fingers slid between us to circle my clit in slow strokes. The tapestry rustled with every shift of our bodies, and I bit back a gasp at the distant burst of guest laughter that could turn our way any second.
Rylan freed his cock, the thick head nudging my entrance while one broad hand clamped over my mouth to muffle any sound. He pushed forward inch by inch, the blunt stretch burning through my virgin walls as his thumb kept working my clit until the pain eased into throbbing need.
“Look at me, Elowen,” he commanded, voice strained. “I want to see your eyes when I take what’s mine.”
I held his gaze as he sank deeper, hips meeting mine with a wet sound that made my face flame. He began to thrust, each deliberate grind hitting that hidden spot inside while the risk of discovery sharpened every sensation—the scrape of stone on my bare ass, fabric whispering with each movement.
“They’re right outside—quiet or they’ll know what a needy wife you are,” he growled against my ear, pace quickening as skin slapped softly. My nails dug into his shoulders, the filthy praise twisting with the fear of footsteps approaching the tapestry.
The command shattered me. Pleasure crashed through in waves, my inner muscles pulsing around him as I cried out into his palm. Rylan followed seconds later, burying deep with a guttural moan and flooding me with his release.
We stayed locked for a heartbeat, his weight anchoring me while soft kisses brushed my forehead and cheeks. He eased out gently, using the edge of his tunic to clean the evidence between my thighs with careful strokes and murmured praise about how beautiful I looked flushed and claimed.
Frantic hands adjusted fabric next—smoothing my gown, tucking his cock away, checking for damp spots that could betray us. Our eyes met in a shared glance heavy with the near-miss, then we slipped from behind the tapestry and back into the laughing crowd.