WEDLOCKED

The man in the corner-the guard assigned by our families to ensure the union is 'properly consummated' watches us with dispassionate eyes. It makes my skin crawl, but then Tim shifts his hips, and a sharp gasp tears from my throat, drowning out everything else.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck to hide from the guard, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and expensive whiskey. My fingers dig into his shoulders as the rhythm builds.
"Tell me something about you," he murmurs against my hair, his voice ragged but clear despite the exertion.
"What?" I moan, confused and dizzy, pressing my lips to the damp skin of his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor myself.
He slows his pace just enough to force me to focus, pulling back slightly so he can look me in the eye, even as his body remains connected to mine.
"I want to get to know my wife."