The Chateau Marmont suite felt like a sanctuary carved out of time—soft golden lamplight spilling across cream walls, white roses and gardenias still fragrant from the afternoon ceremony, empty champagne flutes catching reflections on the side table, the distant hum of Los Angeles muted behind heavy curtains.
They'd barely crossed the threshold before the door clicked shut and Zendaya was on him.
She pressed him back against the wall just inside the entry, mouth finding his in a long, slow, moaning kiss that tasted of champagne, salt from earlier happy tears, and pure want. Tongues slid together lazily at first—exploring, savoring—then deeper, hungrier, wet sounds filling the quiet room. Zendaya whimpered softly every time his tongue curled around hers; Tom groaned low and broken when she sucked gently on his bottom lip, the vibration traveling straight down his spine. The kisses stretched—minutes long—neither willing to break away for more than a stolen breath before diving back in, moaning into each other's mouths like they were trying to fuse together.
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, then down his throat, feeling his pulse hammer under her touch.
"Husband," she whispered during one brief gasp, the word still new, still electric, making them both shiver and crash back into the kiss with renewed desperation.
Tom groaned—reverent, wrecked—hands sliding up her thighs under the ivory lace, bunching the fabric.
"Wife." He said it like a vow against her lips. "My beautiful wife."
They kept kissing—long, moaning, desperate—while hands roamed. Zendaya tugged his shirt open, palms gliding over his bare chest, worshipping the lean muscle with slow, dragging touches, thumbs brushing his nipples until he hissed into her mouth and bucked against her. Tom's hands slid up her back—fingers finding the hidden zipper, peeling the lace down her arms until the gown pooled around her waist. No bra underneath—just soft, warm skin, nipples already tight from the cool air and anticipation.
He pulled back from the kiss just long enough to look at her—eyes dark, reverent.
"God, Z… look at you." His voice cracked. "My wife. So fucking beautiful."
He dipped his head, kissing along her collarbone, then lower—slow, open-mouthed worship across the tops of her breasts. Tongue flicking over one nipple, then sucking it gently into his mouth while his hand cupped the other, thumb circling the peak. Zendaya arched, moaning softly, fingers threading into his curls.
"Tom…" she breathed. "Touch me everywhere. Worship your wife."
He did. Mouth moving to her neck—long, wet licks up the column of her throat, sucking lightly at her pulse point until she whimpered, then biting just enough to make her gasp. Hands roamed—palms gliding over her ribs, waist, hips—memorizing every curve like he was committing her to memory all over again.
"Every inch of you is mine now," he murmured between licks and kisses. "My wife's body… perfect… made for me."
Zendaya rocked against him—feeling how hard he was through his trousers, the heat of him pressing up against her lace panties.
"Tom…" She kissed him again—deeper, hungrier—then pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Get all our clothes off. I need us naked. Skin to skin. No more waiting."
They stripped each other with trembling hands and impatient tugs—his trousers kicked away, boxers following, her panties tugged down her legs. Naked now, gold bands glinting, they pressed together—chest to chest, thigh to thigh.
Tom guided her to the bed, laying back first so she could climb over him. She straddled his hips—cowgirl—knees bracketing him, hands braced on his chest. Their eyes never left each other.
She sank down slowly—inch by inch—taking him in until he was buried completely. They both moaned—low, shared, reverent. Zendaya started rolling her hips—slow circles at first, then lifting and dropping, riding him deep on every downstroke. Tom's hands gripped her ass—helping her move, fingers digging in while he watched her breasts bounce, mesmerized.
"Fuck, Z…" he rasped. "Look at you riding your husband. So beautiful… so tight… my wife."
Zendaya moaned—head tipping back—then leaned forward, forehead to forehead, noses brushing.
"Feel that?" she breathed. "Feel how deep you are inside your wife? I'm gonna come all over your cock, Tom… gonna soak you…"
He thrust up to meet her—matching her rhythm—hands sliding up her back, then cupping her face for another long, moaning kiss. Tongues tangled, moans muffled between their lips, gold bands clicking softly when their hands met.
After several minutes of desperate cowgirl—sweat slicking their skin, breaths ragged—Tom wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest, shifting them both into lotus. Legs tangled, bodies locked together, faces inches apart, eyes never leaving each other.
In lotus the angle was even deeper—intimate—every roll of her hips grinding her clit against his pelvis while he filled her completely. They rocked together—slow, intense—hands roaming, mouths meeting in long, moaning kisses that swallowed each other's sounds.
"God, I love you," Tom whispered between kisses. "My wife… my forever."
Zendaya clenched around him—moaning into his mouth.
"I love you too… husband… come inside me… fill your wife… give me your cum while we're like this… locked together…"
Tom's hips bucked—rhythm faltering—then he buried himself as deep as possible.
"Fuck—Z—coming—take it—take your husband's cum—"
Hot, thick pulses flooded her—spurt after spurt—while her walls clenched hard around him. Zendaya shattered—screaming his name into his mouth, body convulsing, legs trembling as she came with him, milking every drop in the tight lotus hold.
They stayed locked together—panting, trembling—foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, gold bands warm where their fingers intertwined.
After long moments, Tom eased them down onto the bed—still connected—kissing her softly, reverently.
"You okay, love?" His voice was hoarse.
Zendaya smiled—lazy, wrecked—curling into him.
"More than okay. You fucked your wife perfectly."
He laughed quietly—breathless—then reached for the warm cloth. Cleaned her carefully—between her thighs—while she hummed contentedly.
They tangled together under the sheets—her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist, fingers tracing the gold band on her finger.
"First night as a married couple," he murmured against her hair.
She pressed a kiss to his collarbone.
"Best night. Every night from now on is going to be like this… just us."
Tom tightened his hold.
"Forever, Mrs. Holland."
She smiled against his skin.
"Forever, Mr. Holland."