“I would like it noted for the record that I don’t like this,” Cullen grumbles, pulling up the zipper on the side of your dress. You look up at him and find his brows furrowed. You reach up to slide your finger between his brows and down the bridge of his nose. Moving your hand, you cup his cheek gently.
“Noted. I’ll only force you to help me dress when I can’t reach the zipper. And I promise I’ll save the unzipping of said zipper to you. Fair enough?” you ask, trying not to let the teasing show in your voice too much.
“Fair enough,” he agrees with a smile and a warmth in his eyes that makes you want to jump his bones.
You turn and look at yourself in the mirror, Cullen standing behind you. You’ve chosen a delicate dress in a dark crimson. The layers of tulle give it an airy and elegant look. It wraps around one shoulder and down your back in a sweep that makes it look as if it’s defying the laws of physics to stay up. The waist is tight and cinched with a ruched sash. The skirt flares out at your hips, giving you a classic hourglass figure. It falls just past your knees and flows around them as you walk.
The classic black heels you’ve chosen lift your backside just so and make your legs look fabulous. The thin ribbon straps around the ankle give the entire look a bit of whimsy.
“You look exquisite,” Cullen whispers in your ear before kissing your bare shoulder. You almost raise your hand but remember at the last moment that you can’t mess up his hair. Pity, that. Raising your shoulder slightly, you turn your head to brush your cheek affectionately against his temple.
“You look like a dream,” you murmur in response, turning to face him. The traditional Free Marches wedding attire is a foreign look on him, but it works. The kilt particularly gives you wicked ideas for later in the evening. You understand now why he likes you in skirts and dresses. Easy access and ideal fuel for the imagination. The navy, evergreen and black pattern is oddly flattering on him when usually warmer tones suit him more.
The jacket and vest accent his narrow waist and broad shoulders. Praise the Maker that you don’t have to torture yourself for hours wondering what he’s hiding beneath them. You are intimately familiar with every part of him now. Yet, you still can’t wait to explore him all over again.
The chain of the sporran around his waist follows the v of his sex lines though you would be the only one to know that. The fly plaid pinned with a pewter brooch on his shoulder looks perfect, but his bow tie hasn’t been done up yet.
You reach up to do so with confidence you don’t actually feel. You had to look this up last night. Trying not to acknowledge his eyes on your face, you concentrate on the motions. You adjust it in place and look up at him with a smile. “Perfect.”
“Indeed,” he murmurs, capturing your chin between his bent finger and thumb. He tilts your face up and captures your lips in an achingly soft kiss. You feel his sigh when he pulls away and opens his eyes slowly.
You both open your mouth and ‘I love you’ comes tumbling out at the same time. The butterflies in your stomach are back at it again. He just looks so…
