by DL White
“Which would be…”
“Being able to walk me down the aisle,” I answer quietly. Then hold my breath, waiting for Preston's response.
When he's silent for more than a few seconds, I have to control my brain. Quiet Preston is dangerous. Or… he used to be.
Did I say too much? Is he not ready for those talks to begin? Is he going to flip out and get weird and rescind his offer to work with him and make me move out?
Before I can go too far down that trail, Preston makes me feel ridiculous for worrying.
“He’s thinking about the same thing, you know.”
"Do you think so?"
“I know so. He gave me a little pep talk after we came back from the wedding.”
“Oh. Saying what? Don’t fuck this up again?”
“Something like that. He's happy we're back together. More importantly, you are happy, and it's my job to keep that smile on your face."
He reaches around and palms a breast, pinching a nipple. I squirm, then cup my hand over his. "I'm not sure he would advise that you do it that way."
“Turn around." I turn to face him and hold out my arms, resting my hands against his chest. He coats them in foamy gel, scrubbing in a circular motion.
“What else did he say, Preston?”
“He wants to be around for our wedding. He said not to drag it out."
He chuckles, then moves on to my shoulders.
"He said that? Literally? Don't drag it out?”
"Those exact words."
"Oh. Maybe he's sicker than he lets on. Maybe he’s worried that he won't be here.”
"Baby..." He drops the puff in the water, grabs my hands and holds them in his lap, yanking on them until I look up at him. "He is fine for right now. You stood right there when his doctor told us, so don't invent things in your head. If you want to talk about some more aggressive treatments, then talk to him. It would be nice to see him walk you down the aisle."
Relieved, I let out a long breath, almost emptying my lungs. Those concerns melt away with the steam.
“But really, all he wants is to be there when we get married.” He smiles and squeezes my hands in his. “What else do you want to talk about?”
"I'm nervous about quitting F&R. And Troy should be, too."
"What for? You never have to think about that place again."
“I'm thinking about my clients, the ones I care about, the ones I want to fight for. I don't want to let them down, so I don't want to leave those cases there. But I don't want to stay to see them play out. It'll be six months before everything is settled."
I ponder six more months in that hell hole and shudder. "I don't have it in me to stick it out that long. It's hard enough to wait until after Christmas to quit. I want to call them right now and tell them where to shove their billing memos."
"So, you know what you have to do..."
"No, I don't, Preston. That's why I'm worried."
“You pick through your cases. The ones you want to keep, they'll have to fire you. Then they can hire you back after the transition. The rest of your cases, they’ll redistribute. I know you don't want to disappoint people, but F&R doesn’t give a fuck about you.”
I lift my eyes again. "But you do."
“I’ve got you covered, baby."
I smile. "Yes, you do."
"Have I helped at all?"
My head bounces with my nod, and my smile widens. I squeeze his hands and then sit up and crawl onto his lap, straddling him. The show of pleasure on his face always gives me a rush. I feel so sexy and wanted…desired when he looks at me.
It's decision time: fuck him in the tub, or wait until we get out and fuck him in the bed?
Preston chooses for me when he asks if we can get out of the tub before we turn into prunes. I let him push me up out of the water. We pull the plug, and the lavender water begins to drain.
He pulls out two fluffy bath sheets from the linen closet. I follow behind him to grab the bottle of body oil, then into the bedroom where he's already turned down the bed, and the lights are low.
We use the towels to dry off, then I spend a few minutes applying oil to Preston’s body, from the feet up. He does the same for me. In between his romantic slow jams playlist, we chat about random, unimportant subjects. This routine has become so familiar to me in such a short amount of time.
Preston gathers the used towels and caps the oil, delivering them back to the bathroom. I crawl into bed, absolutely sated and fully relaxed. When Preston returns to the bedroom, he picks up the remote and skips the songs forward until the husky, silky voice of Leon Bridges croons his hit Beyond over the surround sound speakers.
“Preston. You’re adorable when you’re trying.”
"I'm into setting the mood."
“I appreciate it, but I’m a sure thing, baby. Get in the bed.”
He crawls into his side and scoots to the middle, grabs me up and pulls me close to him. "I love you.”
He dips his head to mine and kisses me, long and slow, hypnotic. Just how I like it. I sigh when the kiss ends, and he raises his head.
"That's all you got? Air? I said, I love you."
"I heard you.”
"And?" He huffs in mock frustration and grabs my face, manipulating my chin. "I love you too, Preston." I laugh until he lets me go. "Let's try it again. I love you, Angie."
"I know," I say, then burst out laughing and roll away from him.
"Nuh-uh. I've waited too long for this."
He reaches for me, trying to land his hand on any piece of my body. He settles for a thigh and drags me back across the bed. I scream, laughing as he rolls over and settles himself on top of me, clasps our hands together, pinning them above my head.
"We don't move until you say it."
"Then we don't move, Preston.”
"You're so stubborn, Evangeline."
I grunt. He knows what it does to me to hear him say my full name. Especially when he's naked, on top of me, so hard and hot, I want to wrap myself around him.
"Payback is a total bitch." He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it. "Ahhhh. Asshole Preston wants to come out and play, does he?"
His eyes narrow as he glares at me. I'm still pinned, but he frees one hand to play with me, flicking at one nipple and then the other, then bending to suck, lick, nuzzle one before moving on to another.
“Baby," he mumbles while licking the valley between my breasts. "Asshole Preston is already in play."
"Ooh. I'm so scared."
"You should be."
He dips to kiss me, his tongue moving in ways it's never moved before. He runs his hand down my body and parts my legs, fluttering the tips of his fingers over my clit. My hips roll up toward him, but he moves his hand away. When I relax, his fingers return to a slow, light stroke, down and then up again, gaining rhythm at a leisurely pace.
My hands are freed. I want to hug him close to me, feel his weight on me, but he moves away, scooting down in the bed. His mouth closes over a nipple and, very gently, nips at it. I squirm, I squeal, I rock my hips. He inserts a thick finger into me, working it in and out while his thumb strokes me, and his mouth is sucking and biting. It's a trifecta of nerve endings, and if I weren't being held down, I'd have worked my way up to the headboard by now. It's that feeling, when it's so good you love it but so intense you have to get away from it— except I don't want to. I want him to keep going until I explode.
He releases my breast from suction, and scoots further down the bed.I like to watch, so I sit up, resting on one elbow. I reach for him with my free hand and dig my fingers into his hair.
I know what he's doing. And I don't care, because giving in at the right moment is going to make mountains move.
He nibbles at the insides of each thigh, teasing me, bringing his lips closer and closer. He inserts another finger and pumps it in and out and then, so lightly, so gently drags the tip of his tongue down the length of my clit. His pace speeds but not the pressure. It's still
so light that it's almost not there. Except it is. And the sensation that is building is driving me wild.
I clutch his head, his curls tangled in my fist, and push his face into me. He resists, flicking his eyes up to me.
"Please." I'm panting and gyrating, vibrating with intensity, I'm so close.
"Say it."
"Let me come, and I'll say it."
"Say it, and I'll make you come so hard you'll see stars."
I angle my hips up, trying to make contact with him, but he dodges out of the way. "Fuck! Finish, dammit!"
"Say it, and I'll finish."
"You wouldn't let me say it, and now you're holding me hostage until I do?"
"You're stubborn." He snakes his tongue out and swirls it around my clit before he stops again. I groan and fall back, collapsing into my pillow.
I want to come so bad I could scream. And I can fix that, but I want to drag it out a few seconds longer.
"You say it first."
"I've been saying it," he responds, his voice calm. I know this is driving him crazy. "Today I told you that you could say it and you haven't said it enough to my liking. So, I want to hear you tell me that you love me. Now."
"And if I don't?"
"It would be your loss. Again. Because you never win against me."
“Unless you quit.” I laugh, twitching almost uncontrollably. “Asshole!”
"I'm your asshole. And you love me."
It's time. It's past time. I want this. I want him. Now.
"I do love you. So much right now."
Preston groans, bucking his hips like he wishes he was sinking into me. He goes to work, tightening his grip on my thighs and attacking me with fury. It doesn't take more than a few strokes of his tongue before I'm screaming, before my ass is up in the air, and my toes have curled so tightly that my entire calf cramps. My body is on high alert, writhing, and convulsing.
It's better than I thought it would be. This man... this man is the best I have ever had.
Before I can come down, he moves up and slides into me, stroking long and hard. I lock my heels behind his thighs and my hands around his biceps, hanging on for dear life. He grunts in rhythm to his strokes, the volume rising the longer and harder he pumps. Watching him reach his orgasm sends me over the edge a second time. The return trip is just as nice.
Preston is moaning, shaking as he comes down. He lowers himself to me, and I accept the weight of his body, of his sweat mixing with mine. His head rests beside mine as he pants hot air onto my neck. With the last of his strength, he cups my chin and turns my head toward him, so our lips meet.
"I love you," he whispers against my lips.
"I love you, too." I stroke my fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.
“Messin’ up my hair, Evangeline.” He’s going to have to hit the barber earlier than his standing Thursday night cut.
“I’m worth it.”
"I just want you to be happy," he mumbles. He's on his way to sleep. He's earned some rest, I suppose.
"I am happy, Preston. I am so happy."
He's snoring in a matter of seconds. In a few minutes, I'll roll him off of me, but I love this time with him, so I'll wait. I lie there, staring up at the ceiling fan making slow revolutions, swirling out the hot air we've caused, and making it cool in the room again.
A few months ago, I was ready to run away because I didn't think I could ever be this happy.
And now, I have everything I was yearning for.
37
Winter in Orlando isn’t a wonderland by a long shot. Holiday lights wind around palm trees, but it’s still a magical time of year, especially for Preston and me. It’ll be our first Christmas together in almost twenty years. I’m giddy at the thought of waking up next to him on Christmas morning. I’ve always wanted to and never got the chance.
I smile to myself sometimes, pure stupid bliss all over my face, I’m sure. We can do everything we ever wanted to do but never got the chance.
Preston’s Benz slows to a stop in front of the Reid house. I unhook my seatbelt and pop the door latch. “I’m going to check in on my parents.”
“I’ll go in with you.” Preston unbuckles his seat belt and reaches for his door latch.
“Babe, it’s okay. I’ll be at your parent’s place in a few minutes.”
“You don’t want me to go in with you?”
“It’s not that at all. We’re attached at the hip. Every time my parents see me, I’m with you. I want to see them without my boyfriend hanging out in the background.”
Preston’s top lip curls in mock offense. “You know they love me, right?”
“Like a son, babe.” I climb out of the car and wait for him to get out, too. “I’m sure your mom wants to hug you without your girlfriend hanging behind you.”
“They’re gonna ask me where you are.”
The Reid residence is a rambling charmer that has aged but served the family well through growing and now adult children. I have fond memories of sitting on the porch with Preston and playing in the backyard. We spent as much time at his house as he spent at mine over the years.
I try the knob on the front door at my parent’s house, a sturdy brick front Craftsman. As usual, it’s open— the curse of a safe, suburban middle class neighborhood. If the door is open, anyone is welcome to come in. Mom locks the door before they turn in for the night. Old habit, one she’ll never break.
The house is aglow with lights. The fragrance of freshly baked cookies and loaves of bread envelops me. Mom’s annual tradition is to send me home with batches of baked goods. I bring them to work and let the other lawyers feast.
“Mom? Dad?”
“Angie?”
Mom pokes her head around the corner. Her face is dusted with a light coating of flour, as is her hair and her apron, a red and white candy cane striped number. Her hands are covered in dough, so she’s holding them up.
Her smile brightens as I step into the house and close the door behind me. “Well, I wasn’t planning to see you until tomorrow. I’m whipping up a few things for you to take home. Don’t you have dinner with the Reid’s tonight? And where’s Preston?”
I unbutton my light jacket and peel it off. Dad has to stay warm since the heat is better for his muscles, so they keep the temperature in the high 70s. “I sent him home to say hi to his family without his girlfriend hanging around.”
“Oh.” Her face falls, which makes me laugh. “Maybe I wanted to say hi to my son in law.”
“You’ll see him tomorrow. But I’m here! Your daughter? Your only child?”
She clicks her tongue like she always does when I’m dancing on the edge of her nerves. She turns to go back into the kitchen. I follow.
“Of course, I’m happy to see you. How are things going?”
Her baking has taken over the kitchen. Ingredients are spread across the table, and the counters are covered with dozens of cookies and loaves of banana bread, iced lemon loaf, and chocolate brownies.
“Things are fine, Mom. Who are all those desserts for, though? Not for us?”
She turns and glances at the pile, then returns her attention to the KitchenAid Mixer. “I’m taking some things over to the dealership for the guys working tonight. They’ve decided to work until midnight. We’ll drop them off later on. Dad wants to go over and say hello.”
“Oh, that’ll be nice. How long has it been since he was over there?”
“It’s been a few months, at least.”
“Let me know if you need help with the wheelchair. Preston and Troy can come over.” Mom nods, watching the mixer do its thing, slowly trickling ingredients into the dough. “Where is Dad, by the way?”
“Napping. So, everything is okay then? With Preston? You didn’t come by yourself for any other reason?”
“We didn’t break up, mom. Stop stressing.”
I grab a napkin and nab a couple of cookies, then resume my seat at the table.
“We’re going to be working together so
on. Did Camille tell you about the firm his uncle is opening down here?”
“She sure did. She’s surprised Wayne is coming back here, but the new wife is a Florida native and wants to come home. New York can be so brutal. So much concrete and coldness.”
I munch on my cookie, conveniently filling my mouth, so I don’t have to respond. Mom has never lived outside of Florida. She’s been to Ohio a few times to visit Dad’s family. She’s never been to New York.
“Anyway, Camille said that Preston and Wayne are opening the firm together, with Preston pretty much running the whole show. That’s okay, right?” She twists so she can see me. I nod, my mouth still full of cookies. “So, then you’ll be working for Preston? Do you want to do that, honey?”
“No,” I answer after I swallow. “I won’t be, thank God. Preston and I work for Wayne. All the associates and the other non-attorney staff work for Preston. The one who has to worry is Troy.”
“That won’t be too bad at all, then. And now you can leave Flanning & Rourke. You want to leave them, right?”
“Yesterday.” I bite into a second cookie. “I can’t wait. I’ll probably give notice right after Christmas.”
“Good, honey. Start the new year off right.”
The mixer comes to a stop. She tilts the head of the machine upright to lift the bowl off of the stand, then sets it on the counter. Using a scooper, she begins to dot the large cookie sheet with dough.
“These cookies are so good. Your best batch ever.” I’m thinking about having another one, but I’m already not happy with my waistline. There’s some old saying that says people get happy, and then they get fat. Preston and I are pretty damned happy. I’m going to have to pick a fight soon.
“You’ll get some, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. Hey, mom. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about since Dad is sleeping.”
“I knew there was something. Clear some space over there, would you?”
I make some room for her and her bowl and her enormous cookie sheet. She moves to the table and keeps plotting dots. “What’s up? Is it Preston? You know you don’t need to fight him all the time, Angie—”
“It’s not…” I sigh, and try not to roll my eyes at my mother. “It’s not Preston, mom, but thanks for the unsolicited advice. I’m checking in about Dad. His treatment, how he’s been getting along lately. I know his doctor said he’s fine for his stage, but I’m starting to wonder what else he can do.”