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Being the best man’s wedding date sounds like it would be glamorous, but it’s not. Not that you aren’t having a good time: the venue is lovely, the food is delicious, and the bar is free. It’s just that it doesn’t feel like much of a date yet.
Again, you’re not complaining. You wouldn’t begrudge Erwin for standing up with Miche on his big day—of course not. But you haven’t spoken to him since he left early this morning, garment bag folded over his arm. You got ready alone, sat down at the ceremony alone, and even at your chatty reception table, you still feel kind of alone. So as dinner comes to an end, you poke idly at the condensation on the side of your cocktail glass, gazing up toward the head table where your date is sitting.
You’ve been dating Erwin for a few months, and it’s going great. You get along well with his friends, most of which are seated up front with him. They like you, you just haven’t known them long enough to make it into the wedding party. All of them look happy and gorgeous, especially Miche and Nana, but you can’t take your eyes off Erwin; after all, you have a great vantage point to admire him in that black suit.
Erwin knows he commands the attention of every room he walks into; it’s one of the qualities that drew you to him when you first met. He’s not meant to be the star of the day, but his charm is dialed up to 100% today. He looked immaculate up by the altar, handing over the rings to the officiant. His best man speech was funny and also brought tears to a few eyes by the end. The photographer can’t stop snapping candids of him. You don’t blame her. He looks fucking gorgeous.
Sometime after the servers have cleared the dinner plates from the table, you end up absorbed in your phone, texting a few of your own friends and checking your social media pages just to pass the time. The DJ is about three songs in when you feel a weight against the back of your chair.
“Can I have this dance?” Erwin’s deep voice is a welcome surprise that has you clutching your chest before spinning around in your chair. He’s smiling, all debonair and suave, hand extended for you to take.
You set your phone down on top of your clutch bag on the table. “Yes, please.” A perfect gentleman, he helps you out of your chair, careful not to step on your floor-length dress as he leads you to the dance floor. The song is a classic one that gets just about every couple out on the floor, but you’re just happy to have Erwin’s arms wrapped around your waist.
“Having a nice time?” He holds you close and begins to sway, pressing your stomach against his own. It’s no coincidence that you chose a pair of shoes that put you at the perfect height to rest your cheek carefully against his chest, wary of smearing makeup on his rental tux.
“Yeah, but it just got a lot better,” you sigh. Erwin chuckles, his chest rumbling under your ear. He takes an easy lead, turning counter-clockwise. It wouldn’t be surprising if everyone in the room was looking to see who Erwin is sharing his first dance of the night with, and it’s both a little embarrassing and gratifying. As if on cue, the photographer creeps into view. You nestle yourself in his chest, hiding your face from her lens. Still, Erwin kisses the top of your head, and you hear her snap a picture.
You don’t know if she’s gone or not as his hands start drifting south. “What, feeling camera-shy all of a sudden?”
Hot in the face, you glance up at him, finding his crystal eyes looking down fondly at you. You decide to play it off. “Aren’t you tired of being in pictures yet? You all were outside for ages posing.”
Erwin smirks, one bushy eyebrow raised smugly. “I don’t mind it. I’ve been told the camera loves me.”
“Of course, you’d never let that go to your head.” You can smell dark liquor on his breath as you laugh together—they’ve probably been drinking whiskey all day, toasting to Miche just to have a good excuse. To the untrained eye, Erwin looks maybe one, two drinks in at most, but you know better. There’s a twinkle of mischief in his eye that isn’t always there, a slight glaze over his features, still devastatingly handsome, that betrays how buzzed he actually is.
When his strong hands drop to cup your ass, you jump and giggle, trying your best to push him away. “Erwin,” you scold, but he just squeezes a bit tighter and rests his forehead against yours. “People are watching.” You try to sound concerned, but it doesn’t work. Erwin knows you too well, cues into your energy too quickly.
He hums in his throat before dropping his mouth to yours. His lips part just before they meet yours, tongue poking out to slip in before he seals the kiss. Your stomach flips, all too eager to taste the dark honeyed liquor lingering on his lips, but people must be staring now. You’re on the edge of the dance floor, in view of all the tables, and Erwin has his tongue in your mouth and your ass in his hands.
If this doesn’t end up in the wedding album, you have no doubt it’s going to be a picture on someone’s phone.
You break the kiss and pull yourself up to Erwin’s ear. “Can we go somewhere else?”
Erwin glances around, smirking and obviously formulating a plan. You only asked because you know your options are limited: it’s a standalone venue, so no hotel rooms, and the bathrooms aren’t single occupancy. You suppose you could squeeze into a stall, which isn’t ideal…
But you should have known Erwin is craftier than that. His hand slides into yours, and he nods to a little alcove near the bar counter. “Hope you’re not still camera-shy.”
You scamper behind as he pulls you towards a vintage photo booth nestled there, rented for the day as entertainment for guests. Everyone pretty much got their fill of it during cocktail hour, while waiting for the wedding party to, well, join the party after dozens of posed photos. And if Erwin is thinking what you think he’s thinking, there’s only one issue.
“Are you going to fit in there?” Erwin is broad. And tall. The man takes up a lot of space.
He’s already pulling back the red velveteen curtain and climbing in. He holds the curtain open for you to follow. “We’re just gonna have to get a little creative.”
The thing about dating Erwin is that he makes it impossible to say no to him.
He’s seated as you climb in, standing between his legs, back to the camera, slightly hunched forward so you don’t hit your head on the top. He’s already giving you that hungry look, like he can’t wait to get his hands on you. You glance to either side and giggle. “Where am I supposed to go?”
Erwin places his hands on his spread knees. Pointedly, he glances to the floor and then back up at you multiple times until you catch his drift.
“You’re dirty,” you tease as you reach for the hem of your long skirt and hike it up. Erwin just grins and holds onto your elbows to steady you as you crouch between his legs. Your bare knees rest on the metal floor, and you suppose there are much worse places to fuck—some of which you’ve already experienced. Erwin does this a lot. At least the curtain reaches almost to the floor. That alone makes it better than a bathroom stall.
With your skirt gathered in your lap, you reach for Erwin’s zipper. He watches you watch him while you work his pants and dark briefs down, finding him half hard already. You’ve learned that it’s about the thrill for him, about the calculated risk and finding out what he can get away with, given the opportunity. That glint in his eye is one you know well, and it sends heat swiftly between your legs.
You spit once in your palm before you take his cock in hand then again onto his tip to spread down his shaft as you start to pump. Erwin’s chest puffs up as you work him to hardness, heavy breaths in and out urging you on. His size still impresses you, though it doesn’t scare you any more, like it did the first few times you hooked up. You’ve learned since then—you can, in fact, take it, to an extent.
Veins stand out against the skin, too mouthwatering to resist, especially when he’s fully hard and twitching every time your thumb passes over his frenulum. You crouch forward, mouth falling open to suck his tip between your eager lips. You keep eye contact as well as you can, and Erwin looks positively blissful, smiling with heavy sighs. Your technique is practiced; because you can’t unhinge your jaw like a snake, you lap and suck at him like a popsicle while your hand does the hard work.
You hold him in your mouth until you start to taste salty precum leaking onto your tongue. Erwin huffs a little louder, a true master of control but still a glutton for the pleasure you give him. When he puts a hand to the side of your neck, you pull off his cock with a pop and a heavy exhale. Then he starts to pull you up by your shoulders.
“Where do you want—”
“Turn around, darling. And hold your skirt.”
You scoop up your hem again, trying not to wrinkle the fabric too badly. You’re spun around and then pulled down to sit on Erwin’s lap, the front his pants now pushed farther down his thighs. You see his face and yours, reflected in the dark mirrored glass over the camera. Your eyes widen when you feel his erection settle between your thighs.
Erwin nibbles at your ear, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning. “No panties? Now who’s dirty?” Taking you by the hips, Erwin rocks you over his cock, gathering a bit of your slick from your bare cunt.
“Didn’t want lines to show,” you murmur. “You know, all the pictures and stuff.”
“Not complaining,” Erwin grunts low against the shell of your ear, pushing you up and angling your hips just the right way. You ready yourself with your hand in your mouth, and it burns as he pushes slowly into you.
The position is awkward, to say the least, but there’s something incredibly hot about sitting in his lap, legs spread and toes barely touching the ground, while he holds you up and works himself inside. You bite into the fleshy heel of your hand, just under your thumb, every time you feel like you’re going to make a noise, a little trick Erwin taught you months ago that usually works like a charm. Noises squeak out here and there, but they’re nothing like the pornworthy moans he pulls from you when you’re home alone.
Erwin keeps his groans trapped in his chest, which is extremely fucking sexy, and blows hot air against the back of your neck. You’re tingling all over, body on fire as he bounces you on his cock. You’re getting so wet so fast, your pussy dribbling at the edges, and for a second, you start to panic. The wet noises are too loud. It’s never happened before, but this is finally it: someone’s going to catch you. They’re going to pull back the curtain and scream, and you’ll never be able to show your face around Erwin’s friends again.
But Erwin just keeps fucking into you, pushing up through his thighs and holding you in place like it’s nothing. And when you’re this close to climaxing, like hell you’re going to stop him.
“Tight,” Erwin mumbles. “So good and tight.” It sends a wave of chills down your spine, an electricity that has you clenching even harder, holding him inside you.
He can feel it; Erwin always knows when you’re close to finishing.
So he leans forward, reaching over your shoulder, and presses the button to turn on the camera.
You gasp far too loudly before biting down on your hand again. It’s an older style booth, no screens inside or out. Just a film camera that prints a strip of four photos and drops it into a slot on the outside of the machine for you. A timer starts to tick from somewhere, you’re not sure where. Your head is fuzzy, and it’s enough effort just to keep yourself quiet and upright.
With a snap and a flash, the camera goes off. You have no idea what you look like right now. You’ll find out later.
“So sexy,” Erwin growls in your ear. He reaches around to rub furiously at your clit. Your legs shoot apart, beyond your control. The toe of your heel grazes the red curtain. It sways for a moment before settling. You’re getting sloppy, the risk running higher.
Snap, flash. Photo two.
Your back is arched, head thrown back on Erwin’s shoulder. You can feel your peak rising inside you, every nerve in your clit screaming for release until finally, finally, you break. You clench down hard as you bite into your hand, desperate not to gush all over Erwin and the seat, but the pulsing heat is euphoric.
Snap. Flash. Only one photo left.
You need Erwin to finish. Now. You need to clean up quickly and then get to the bathroom. While you’re still panting from your own high, mouth open obscenely, Erwin grinds into you, pulling you down just a fraction of an inch farther around him. He bites your shoulder, then cums with a growl. He pushes down into his feet as his load fills you, rocking the entire booth just barely off balance, just enough to probably move it a centimeter across the wooden floor of the ballroom.
Snap. Flash. It’s done.
Erwin huffs against your skin until his teeth unlock from your shoulder. As soon as you can, you stand on wobbly doe legs and drop your skirt. You’re still clenching; you have to hold it all inside until you can get to the bathroom to clean up. Erwin tucks himself woozily back into his pants, taking sharp breaths to steady himself. With a final kiss, the two of you stumble out of the photo booth together, giggling in an obvious way, but you’re too drunk and smitten to care anymore.
Then you see Miche standing in front of the photo printer, holding the photo strip face down against his chest and shaking his head at Erwin with a knowing smirk.
“Treasured memories,” he quips, sliding the photos into Erwin’s hand. Erwin tucks the photos into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and kisses the side of your head proudly, but you can’t stop staring at Miche. He just winks at you. “I didn’t look, I swear. I just know this guy too well.”
Maybe you do too, you think. And maybe you like his wild side a little too much.