Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 29

Twenty-Nine

Dare

T he justice of the peace is a dark-skinned young man in a black shirt, black pants, and the little white collar that indicates he’s a priest. He looks no older than Talia, but I honestly wouldn’t care if he was the man in the fucking moon. He’s just here to perform the mumbo-jumbo ritual aspect and marry us in the most official sense. He introduces himself as Reverend Terry and doesn’t seem put off by my hurried attitude.

"Before I begin, I typically like to ask the two people that I am marrying a question. Is there anything that you want to say to the other person? Is there anything that the other person should know? This is the last chance for you to tell each other anything before I make you man and wife. So…" He waves a hand at me and Talia. I take Talia’s arm, my lips thinning.

Talia looks up at me, her eyes curious. "Is there anything that you want to tell me before we tie the knot?"

I chuckle at that. "I think you know pretty much everything there is to know about me, Talia. I’m not a good man. But you already know that. Isn’t that right?"

She flushes and looks away. "Let’s not get into all of that right now."

"No, let’s not. Is there anything that you need to tell me?"

Her gaze drops, and she hesitates for a moment then shakes her head. "I can’t think of anything. Like you said, you already know what there is to know about me. At least, all the things I have tried to hide."

I give her a tight-lipped smile. “Let’s get this show on the road then. The sooner we start, the sooner this all ends.”

Reverend Terry looks at us, an expression of concern on his face. But I grip Talia’s arm and smile at him, waiting him to proceed.

"All right." He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it. "Do you, Talia Chance take Dare Morgan to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Talia swallows and nods, managing a small yes. She doesn’t look at me; her eyes are fixed on some point in the distance. But I am not asking her to act right now. As long as I get her consent, I’m perfectly happy with it.

The Reverend clears his throat. "Okay. And do you…"

I cut him off. "Yes, I do."

As he looks between us, his brow furrows and descends. But like everybody else in my life, he has been paid for his discretion and willingness to perform the ceremony.

He sucks in a breath, looking at both of us. "By the power granted to me by the Lord above and the state of Vermont, I hereby marry you. You may kiss the bride."

I lean in close to Talia, briefly pressing my lips against hers. When I pull back, she grabs at my lapel and tries to prolong the kiss. But I pull back giving her a sharp look.

"Can we sign the marriage certificate now?" I direct my attention to the Reverend.

Talia flushes. The Reverend looks at both of us, gives his head the tiniest shake, and then produces a copy. Then he hands me the original and bows his head. "There you go. Congratulations on your nuptials."

I arch a brow. "Thank you. Now if you don’t mind, you can see yourself out."

His cheeks puff out and he gives me an annoyed look, flapping both sides of his blazer as he buttons them. Soon enough though, he goes down the stairs, the door swinging closed with a slam.

I turn to Talia, a smile playing on my lips. "Well? How does it feel to be Mrs. Morgan?"

Her cheeks flush and her eyes glitter a vibrant blue. She tosses her long red hair and gives me an impatient look as she crosses her arms.

"It feels exactly like it did three hours ago. You couldn’t have rushed Reverend Terry anymore if you had tried."

"What, like our fake marriage is suddenly so important to you?" I make a dismissive sound and fan my fingers. "Don’t pretend that it is more than it is."

Her tongue darts out to lick her canine tooth. "You are really something. Is there nothing that is sacred to you? Do you not think that you ought to take anything seriously?"

I snort. "Not really. I take my business seriously. There are times when I am sailing on my yacht and I lose my sense of humor because the stakes are life or death if you don’t pay attention on the sea. But other than that, no. This wedding stuff is faker than a two-dollar bill, and I know that better than anyone. You should too."

She cocks her hip and shakes her head at me. "There is no winning with you. I should just get used to that."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," I say with a sly grin.

Her lips thin and she tosses her hair, turning toward the back of the loft and starting off in that direction.

"Where are you going?" I ask. But she doesn’t answer. She just flounces off, disappearing from my sight.

Pushing my cheek out with my tongue, I follow her. I am dissatisfied that she decided not to keep arguing with me. For some reason, I’ve begun to enjoy our verbal sparring matches.

I catch up with her as she is entering our bedroom. As soon as she walks through the door, she pauses and takes off her high heels. There’s something very intimate about the way that she picks up her heels and pads over to the closet with them. I stand in the doorway, crossing my arms as I watch her for a moment. She reaches back to her neck and unzips her dress, peeling back the fabric to expose her bare upper back. She wriggles halfway out of the dress, pulling the front of the dress down so that she is bare from the waist up except for a tiny black push-up bra.

My cock stirs to life. I must have made a sound because she whips her head around, her arms coming up to her chest. She glares at me, seeming violated by my intrusion.

"Do you mind? I’m trying to change."

"No, I don’t mind." I step into the room, closing the door behind me.

She flushes and scowls as she pulls her dress back up to cover her front. "Dare, get out. I mean it.”

I shake my head slowly, walking towards her with slow steps. I give her a rueful smile, drinking in the sight of her.

God, she is beautiful. I didn’t think that she was anything to look at when I first laid eyes on her. But I can admit when I am wrong.

And damn, I was so wrong. She is gorgeous.

From where I stand, I can only see the miles of exposed skin on her toned legs, her creamy thighs, and her lovely arms. I can’t see her cleavage right now because she clutches her dress against it, but I know that her breasts are perfect and small, each one a mere handful for me. I know that her waist is impossibly small, flaring out to her hips, and that the crown jewel that is between her thighs is her glorious pink pussy.

“Get on the bed,” I order her. “Now, before I decide not to ask nicely.”

She gulps and looks like she has just swallowed a live frog. I start toward her and she scurries toward the bed, climbing on top of it and turning to look at me with wide, frightened eyes.

I smirk as I walk toward her.