#patrickdempsey

The soft afternoon light filtered through the lace curtains of your cozy home, casting a warm glow over the intimate gathering. Twenty-five cherished souls filled the living room, transformed into a makeshift chapel with white roses and fairy lights strung across the beams. There were a few familiar faces from the Grey's Anatomy cast, your loving family, your childhood friends who had known you since playground days, Patrick's sister beaming with pride, and his children—tall, bright-eyed teens who had taken to you like their own from the moment you entered their lives. They sat in the front row, whispering excitedly as the officiant began.

You stood at the altar, heart pounding, dressed in a simple yet elegant gown that hugged your curves just right. Patrick, ever the picture of timeless charm, faced you in a tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame. His blue eyes locked onto yours, filled with a depth of emotion that made the world fade away. The vows came next—yours first, spoken with trembling sincerity about building a life together, cherishing the laughter of his children as your own, and loving him through every script and spotlight.

Patrick's turn arrived, his voice steady but laced with raw feeling. "From the day I met you, you've been my anchor in this chaotic world. I promise to hold you close, to build our dreams side by side, and to love you fiercely, every single day." The words hung in the air like a promise etched in stone. The officiant smiled. "You may now kiss the bride."

He didn't hesitate. Patrick's hands cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that started tender—a soft press that deepened into something profound, sealing your union with a spark that ignited the room. Cheers erupted, his children clapping the loudest, but all you felt was him, the taste of his breath mingling with yours.

The reception unfolded in the adjoining dining area, tables laden with homemade dishes: roasted chicken, fresh salads, and a towering cake frosted in vanilla. Laughter echoed as stories were shared—tales of Patrick's on-set mishaps, your family's embarrassing anecdotes, and the kids recounting how you'd won them over with late-night movie marathons. You floated through the crowd, Patrick's arm always finding its way around your waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip. But beneath the joy, a quiet anticipation simmered. This was your wedding day, and the night promised more than just rest.

As the sun dipped lower, casting golden hues across the room, you both stole glances toward the clock. The guests had settled in comfortably—plates refilled, wine glasses clinking, conversations stretching like taffy. Patrick's sister was deep in a debate with a cast member about the best rom-coms, while the kids challenged friends to a impromptu dance-off in the corner. No one showed signs of leaving.

You caught Patrick's eye across the table, where he sat nursing a glass of scotch. His jaw tightened slightly, a playful frustration flickering in his gaze. Leaning close during a lull, his breath warm against your ear, he murmured, "If they don't start heading out in five minutes, I'm picking you up and carrying you straight to the bedroom. I can't wait any longer to make you fully mine."

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, a thrill racing down your spine. You nodded, biting your lip to stifle a smile. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow. Five became ten, the group only growing more animated. Finally, Patrick stood, his decision made. Without a word, he scooped you into his arms effortlessly, your gown swishing as he cradled you bridal-style. Gasps turned to laughter and whoops from the crowd.

"Sorry, everyone," he called out with a grin, not sounding sorry at all. "The bride and I have some... private vows to exchange." His children rolled their eyes but cheered, waving you off with good-natured ribbing. You buried your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the day's warmth, as he carried you down the hallway to the master bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the distant sounds of the party. Patrick set you down gently on the edge of the king-sized bed, the room bathed in the soft flicker of candles you'd lit earlier. His eyes roamed over you, dark with desire, but tempered with the tenderness that defined him. "Finally," he whispered, stepping between your legs and tilting your chin up for another kiss.

This one was unhurried, his lips moving against yours with deliberate slowness, savoring every second. His tongue traced the seam of your mouth, coaxing it open to explore deeper, a low hum vibrating from his chest. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric, and you tugged at his tie, loosening it until you could unbutton his shirt.

He shrugged it off, revealing the toned planes of his torso—years of disciplined living etched into every muscle. Your fingers trailed down his abdomen, eliciting a shiver from him. Patrick's hands found the zipper of your gown at the back, pulling it down inch by inch, his knuckles grazing your skin. The fabric pooled at your waist, and he eased it lower, helping you step out until you stood in just your lace lingerie.

"You're breathtaking," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. He knelt before you, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, down to the edge of your panties. But he didn't rush. Instead, he rose slowly, guiding you back onto the bed, his body covering yours in a protective cocoon.

Clothes shed layer by layer—his pants discarded, your bra unclasped with reverent care. Skin met skin, warm and electric. Patrick's mouth trailed from your lips to your neck, sucking gently at the pulse point that made you arch into him. He lavished attention on your collarbone, then lower, capturing one nipple between his lips. His tongue swirled around the hardened peak, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks through you, while his hand kneaded the other breast, thumb flicking in rhythm.

You moaned softly, fingers threading through his salt-and-pepper hair, urging him on. He took his time, switching sides, his free hand sliding down your side to hook into your panties. He peeled them away, exposing you completely, and settled between your thighs. His gaze met yours, seeking permission, and you nodded, breathless.

Patrick's fingers parted your folds, stroking with feather-light touches that built the ache inside you. He circled your clit slowly, watching your reactions, learning every gasp and twitch. When he slipped one finger inside, then two, curling them just right, you whimpered his name. He pumped them languidly, his thumb pressing against your sensitive nub, all while his mouth returned to yours, swallowing your cries in deep, soul-stirring kisses.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips, his voice a velvet rumble. "Every part of you." He withdrew his fingers, positioning himself at your entrance. His cock, hard and throbbing, nudged against you, but he paused, forehead resting against yours. "Tell me if it's too much."

"It's perfect," you assured him, wrapping your legs around his waist. With a shared breath, he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you with exquisite care. The fullness was overwhelming, a perfect union that made tears prick your eyes. He stilled once fully seated, giving you time to adjust, his hands stroking your hair, your arms, anywhere to convey his adoration.

Then, the rhythm began—gentle thrusts, deep and measured, each one drawing out your pleasure like a symphony building to crescendo. Patrick's hips rolled against yours, grinding in a way that hit every sensitive spot. You met him thrust for thrust, nails digging into his back, bodies slick with sweat. His mouth found yours again, kisses turning fervent yet still laced with romance, tongues dancing as intimately as your lower bodies.

The pace remained unhurried, a testament to the love you'd vowed. He shifted angles slightly, deepening the connection, and you felt the coil tighten within you. Patrick's hand slipped between you, fingers resuming their work on your clit, circling with precise pressure. "Come for me, my wife," he urged softly, his own breath hitching as your walls clenched around him.

The orgasm washed over you in waves, slow and all-consuming, your body trembling beneath him. He followed soon after, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, spilling inside you with hot pulses that left you both gasping. He didn't pull away immediately, staying connected, peppering your face with lazy kisses as you came down together.

Wrapped in his arms, the world outside forgotten, you traced patterns on his chest. "Husband," you whispered, the word tasting like forever.