The music softened as the emcee announced what was coming next, and the crowd erupted in cheers. You laughed nervously, cheeks warm, as your friends led you to the center of the reception hall. A chair was placed just behind you, and you were gently guided into it. The hem of your dress rustled as you sat down, heart fluttering.

“Alright, folks,” the emcee grinned. “It’s time for the garter!”

Your new husband, Matteo, was already approaching with that signature smirk—the one that made your knees weak no matter how many times you’d seen it. He looked effortlessly charming in his half-loosened tie and rolled-up sleeves, as if the celebration had made him even more magnetic.

He knelt before you, his hand resting lightly on your knee. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, playful and tender all at once. The emcee gave the cue, and the guests began clapping rhythmically, some whistling, some chanting Matteo’s name.

Matteo leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss just above your knee through the layers of fabric. Then he glanced up again, lips barely brushing your skin as he spoke.

“You smell like heaven,” he murmured with a grin, his voice low and teasing. “Like vanilla and something sweeter I can’t quite name.”

Then, with the kind of confidence only he could pull off, Matteo ducked beneath the folds of your wedding dress. There were cheers, laughter, and the flash of cameras, but all you could focus on was the flutter in your chest as you felt the light tug of his teeth on the soft lace garter around your thigh.

He was careful, slow, drawing it down with deliberate playfulness. The crowd hollered louder, and when he finally emerged—garter triumphantly held between his teeth—he was laughing, flushed, eyes full of mischief.