Love is the person you can’t get out of your head.
Love is the first thought when you wake and the last breath before you sleep.
Love is a craving so deep in your marrow that even your bones ache for it.
Love is an irresistible force pulling you toward someone,
a thorny rose stem curled round your heart, tugging tighter with every beat.
Love hurts. And that’s how you know it’s real.
Love is the reason I’m standing in a church, holding a knife, over the body of a bride.

It all started the day I found out the love of my life was getting married. He hadn’t told me. He likes me to think for myself. He likes independent women. But he did leave clues for me. He always does.

I saw it on Instagram first. Milly had posted a photo of her “dream venue”. Some church in the States, whitewashed and garlanded in fake roses. A storybook wedding for a basic bitch.

A Wedding to Tom. My Tom.

I stared at the screen for a full minute before my fingers moved. Scrolling, zooming, analysing every detail. The caption: “Can’t believe I get to marry my best friend. Counting down to forever.”

I knew immediately what had happened. Tom had made another mistake. He was always doing that. Missteps. Testing me. Seeing if I’d notice. He must have known I’d find this. That I’d understand.

He didn’t tell me he was getting married because he wanted me to come stop it.

I know Milly’s not his type. She’s far too meek. Too vanilla. Tom likes spice. He likes challenge. He likes me.

I found the hotel tagged in one of her bridesmaid's posts. Palm-covered poolside, group of girls drinking prosecco out. Poor Tom, what had he gotten himself into.

I booked a flight for that night. It was pricey, but what is price when love is on the line. 

I spent the flight planning. Thinking about what I’d do when I saw him. I imagined him at the bar, drink in hand, laughing. That moment he’d see me. That flicker in his eyes. Recognition. Hunger. Love.

The silly boy always did love to travel. It just made him harder to reach. Harder to save. Did he think I wouldn’t come for him just because he crossed an ocean? Was this a test of my love?

I found him, of course. I always do.

The hotel was grand but a bit soulless. When we got married, I always pictured myself and Tom in a little cosy venue, with character, small, intimate, we didn’t need others; they didn’t understand us. I got in without much effort; no one questions you if you walk in confidently. I knew Tom; I knew where he would be. I went straight to the bar.

He was there. My Tom. My darling. My poor, confused darling.

He was perched on a high stool, one foot hooked around the leg. Laughing with his friends. That would be an issue. They didn’t like me. I didn’t like them either. They didn’t understand us. They never did. Small minds always panic in the face of real love.

They get so judgemental over one little stay in an mental institution. It was all a misunderstanding. Tom knew that. That's what was important.

I tried to catch his eye from across the room. Tilted my chin. Smiled. Gave a little wave. Nothing. He didn’t look over. So I waited. Watching. 

Eventually, he stood. Slapped one of them on the back and walked toward the corridor to the toilet. 

I slipped out of my seat and followed, heels silent on the soft carpet.

I caught him just outside the door.

“Tom,” I said, soft as a sigh.

He stopped. Turned. Eyes wide. Surprise. He must have thought I’d abandoned him. That I wouldn’t come to America for him. He should have known our love was deeper than that.

“Jesus. What the fuck are you doing here?”

I tilted my head. “I came to help you stop the wedding. Obviously.”

His brows pulled tight. “No. No, you can’t. You’re not supposed to be here. The restraining order. You’re not allowed to be this close.”

I giggled. “That didn’t stop us last time, though, did it?”

He took a step back. I took two forward. “We both know you like it when I’m even closer.”

“You always pretend to be shocked,” I whispered, reaching out. My fingers trailed down the front of his trousers. I could feel him already, warm and twitching under the fabric. “But I know what you want. I always do.”

“Don’t,” he hissed, but his body betrayed him. He was hardening under my touch. He always did. It was our little game. Pretend resistance. Pent-up longing. Passion laced with danger.

“I know how you like it when I’m here. When I make you feel good.” I purred, pressing against him now, mouth close to his ear, lips grazing his cheek. My fingers squeezed gently. “You’ve missed me. Haven’t you?”

His hand shot out and roughly grabbed my wrist.

He didn’t speak. Just dragged me up the stairs, pace fast, footsteps clipped and full of urgency. I followed.

He pulled out his keycard, opened the door to Room 409, shoved me inside, and slammed the door shut behind us.

I smiled.

I knew exactly what he wanted. I always knew exactly what he wanted.

Tom dragged a hand through his hair. “Just, just be quick. No one can know you’re here.”

I smiled, my heart swelling at his cleverness. Of course. He was playing the long game. He had to keep me hidden, keep us secret, until he could unravel everything. Until he could stop the wedding. I had to help him, but first, I had to ease the strain he must have been under.

“Quick,” I whispered, fingers sliding the straps of my dress off my shoulders. “I can be quick for you, darling. Anything for you.”

The dress fell away from me. My bra unhooked with a flick. My knickers slid down my thighs as I stepped free, baring myself completely. I wanted him to see how ready I was. How much I loved him.

He stripped too, with less ceremony. His shirt landed in a crumpled heap. Trousers tugged down with a muttered curse. My poor darling must have been under so much stress. His cock sprang free. The sight of it made me shiver with joy. He was ready for me. He’d been waiting for me. He wanted me.

I dropped to my knees before him, my hair falling forward, eyes locked on his as I spoke softly, reverently. “Let me, Tom. You must have been so tense without me. I’ll make it better.”

I wrapped my hand around the base of him. My lips brushed the swollen head. I moaned, low, needy, grateful. I slid my lips down over him, slow, taking him deeper with each bob of my head. My throat opened for him like it always did. Practice makes perfect, after all. I practised a lot with a dildo to make sure I was perfect. I wanted to be perfect for him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and strained.

I thrilled at the sound. He was relaxing now, finally letting go. I knew exactly how he liked it. I knew how it likes it when my free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently. He groaned again, hips twitching forward.

That was the sound I lived for. His groans. Proof of his need. Proof of his love.

My saliva coated him, dripping down my chin, but I didn’t care. I’d have let myself choke on him if he wanted. Anything to please him. Anything to make him remember why he could never let me go.

I pulled back just enough to swirl my tongue around the head, tasting his pre-cum, savouring it like nectar. My eyes shining as I looked up at him. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

His jaw clenched. His hips thrust forward, pushing himself deeper into my throat. I gagged, then moaned around him, the vibration making him shudder. His fingers dug into my scalp.

Yes. This was love. This was proof.

Every groan, every twitch of his cock, every thrust into my eager mouth was him telling me without words, I want you, I need you, I love you.

His groans turned rough, ragged. His grip tightened in my hair, and with one fierce yank, he pulled me off his cock, saliva trailing from my lips as I gasped for breath. His eyes were wild, dark with urgency.

Before I could even lick him clean, he dragged me up, spun me, and threw me onto the bed. I landed chest-down on the sheets, bouncing once, breath catching in delight.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, Tom. I knew you wanted me.” It normally took him some time to warm up before he really got into it, but when he did, he really went for it.

I scrambled up, arching my back, shoving my arse up high, presenting myself the way I knew he loved. My cunt was already dripping, aching, fluttering with need. I spread my thighs wider, giving him the perfect view of how ready I was, how desperate.

His cock plunged inside me in one brutal thrust that knocked a cry out of me. “Oh, God, yes!”

The force of him shoved me forward, my cheek pressing into the sheets, my breasts bouncing against the mattress. He pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, harder. Over and over, each thrust was a punishing rhythm, ramming me down into the bed.

I moaned, loud and unrestrained, because how could I not? “Shut up,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his grip bruising on my hips. “Keep quiet.”

Of course. Of course. He wanted me hidden. Safe. Our secret. I bit down on the covers, muffling the sounds, though my body still shook with the force of him, my cunt spasming around his cock.

“Yes, Tom,” I thought. “I’ll be quiet for you. I’ll do anything for you.”

His cock dragged against every slick fold inside me, hitting deep, hitting perfect. My arse smacked against his stomach with every thrust. My nails clawed at the sheets. Tears pricked my eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

And through it all, I could feel his love. He didn’t need to say it. It was in the way he fucked me, hard and relentless, driving into me like I was the only woman who had ever mattered. 

“Mine,” I whispered into the sheets, tasting cotton, tasting sweat. “I’m yours. Always.”

His breath grew harsher, grunts tearing from him, his pace frenzied now. He slammed in deep, hips jerking as his cock throbbed and spilled inside me flooding me with his cum. My whole body quivered at the sensation, shuddering in bliss.

And as the thick warmth of him leaked out of me, seeping down my thighs, I smiled against the sheets, quivering with joy.

Because this was proof.

This was love. I know it now more than ever.

You only make love with someone you love.
You only cum inside the woman you truly belong to, into the woman you want a baby with.

And God, I hope I have his baby. I pray for it. My body aches for it. Every pulse inside me feels like it’s clinging, clutching, keeping him with me.

I shouldn’t mind that he didn’t make me cum. That wasn’t the point. Tonight was about him, easing his tension, letting him know it was all going to be OK. I love to please him. I live to please him.

I smiled at him, blissful, dreamy, certain. But his brow was furrowed, his face tight with worry. Poor boy. He must be so stressed, carrying the burden of ending the wedding, trying to plan everything on his own. 

That’s why he needs me.

I rolled onto my back, his seed trickling warmly out of me, down my thigh and into the sheets. I smiled up at him with a lover’s serenity. “So what’s the plan, Tom?”

He blinked. “The plan?”

“Yes, silly.” I giggled, brushing hair out of my face. “The plan to stop the wedding.”

“Oh.” He looked away for a moment, then scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Right. That.”

He was stammering, awkward. He does that when he’s nervous, when he doesn’t want to show his hand too soon. “I didn’t actually need you. I’ve err, already got a plan. Just, go find a place to stay. Keep hidden. And, erm, I’ll… call you if I need help.”

So smart. Always thinking ahead. He had to keep me safe, had to keep me out of sight. Keeping me close in case things went wrong. He couldn’t risk me being caught, being seen. He was protecting me.

Leaning up, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll wait for you,” I whispered. Then I slipped into my dress, smoothed down my hair, and left his room quietly, smiling to myself.

I could wait. One day soon he would be mine completely. We’d take our time then. We’d make love slowly, tenderly, every night.

And by then, maybe I’d already be carrying his child.

The next morning I tried to wait; I really did. I lingered in the cheap café across the street, sipping coffee, staring at the clock, telling myself Tom would call when he needed me. But I know him better than anyone. What if something went wrong? What if he needed me close and I wasn’t there?

So I went to the church.

It was beautiful. Whitewashed wood. Stained glass glowing like sugar. Rose petals scattered on the steps. I stood outside for a while, straining to hear the ceremony. Laughter, organ music, the hum of voices. It didn’t sound cancelled. My heart thudded, panic rising in my throat.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

I slipped round the back, through a side door. My heels barely whispered on the stone floor as I crept down a narrow corridor. And he was.

Tom stood over Milly.

Her face was as pale as her dress should have been. Her veil askew, hair tangled. Her dress was a deep crimson spreading which spread like spilt wine across the bodice.

She was lying on the floor motionless. 

The knife was on the floor, gleaming dully, half-hidden by the folds of her skirt.

Tom’s face was ashen. His eyes hollow. His lips trembled as he turned and saw me.

“I didn’t mean…” he stammered, voice cracking. “It was an accident. She, she just…”

I shushed him gently, stepping closer. I could see what must have happened. “I know, darling. I know. She must have attacked you when you told her it was over. You defended yourself. Of course you did. You didn’t mean for this to happen.”

I laid my hands on his chest, soothing, steadying. His heartbeat thundered under my palm. Slowly, his eyes lit, the panic easing, replaced by something else. Relief. 

He knew I was here for him. He knew everything would be fine now.

“Take the knife,” he whispered urgently, pressing it into my hand. “If they find it on you, they can’t prove anything. You didn’t kill her, so there’s no proof; you’ll be fine; it will all just muddy the water. I’ll sneak back into the wedding. No one will know I was here.”

I nodded, obedient, devoted. My fingers closed tight around the hilt, warm and slick. 

He looked like he was about to leave, then stopped himself. He leaned in. His lips brushed mine, hurried and desperate, but still a kiss.

“I, er, I love you,” he said.

My whole world lit up. The words I’d been waiting for, the ones I knew were true from the moment we first met. My heart swelled; tears pricked my eyes.

“I love you too,” I whispered back, trembling with joy.

At last. At last he’d said it.

And that made everything worth it.

I kissed him back, soft and trembling, clutching that moment like it was sacred. His lips on mine, his words echoing still. 

I love you. Said with such conviction.

Then I watched him slip away, vanishing through the door and back toward the ceremony. My clever boy. My darling. My love.

But I knew he was wrong. If they couldn’t blame me for it, if they looked too hard, they’d look at him. They’d suspect him. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not to my Tom. My love.

He had to be protected. He had to be saved.

Because he loved me. And I loved him.

When the police came rushing in, their eyes wide with horror, I didn’t hesitate. I told them I had done it.

I had killed Milly.

The words slid from my mouth with ease, as if I’d rehearsed them all my life. My voice is calm. My eyes steady. My fingers were tight around the knife hilt, presenting it to them like an offering.

I had to protect him.

He said he loved me.

We’d made love just last night. His seed was still inside me, his groans still echoing in my ears. I was sure I’d have his baby. Our baby. Proof of our bond.

So yes, I’d go to prison for him. I’d take the blame. I’d shoulder it all.

He would visit me. He would. He must. Because he loved me.

He will visit. He will. He must.

Because he loves me.

He loves me.

He said he loved me.