Claiming the bride. [Mf] [reluc] [creampie]

*Today is going to be the happiest day of my life.* Or at least that’s the mantra I repeat to myself as my doe emerald eyes pass over the mirror in my dressing suite. My heart flutters in my chest, nerves twisting through my petite, hourglass frame in the last few hours before my wedding. My silky, dark red locks cascade over my shoulders in artful, loose curls that provide delicious contrast against the ivory hue of my skin. Expertly applied touches of makeup grace my heart shaped face – a dramatic swipe of eyeliner, the dusty pink shade of my lips. I’ve got time to kill in this small, softly lit dressing suite, a floor length mirror tilted and rimmed in gold in the corner of the room while a chaise lounge stretches in the opposite corner, inviting me to recline. But that doesn’t stop my nervous pacing, the click of my heels against the hardwood floor filling the room as I try to spend some of this frenzied energy.