by DL White
"Hear, hear!" says Camille, lifting her wine glass.
“Hey, maybe I'll walk her down the aisle," says dad.
My mother heaves a long, loud sigh. “Eric, do not start, please.”
My eyes shoot over to him, then mom. She frowns and excuses herself to the kitchen. “What are you talking about, Dad?”
"I'm talking about telling my doc that I want to get in on one of these medical trials. There are good drugs in the pipeline for Parkinson's. Maybe try that shock therapy they told me about."
"But I thought mom said—”
He flops a hand at me, waiving away my concerns. "She's scared something will happen. I'm in a wheelchair. I can barely walk, some days I can't talk. How much worse can it get?"
"It could get a lot worse." Mom is lingering in the entryway between the kitchen and the dining room. "Something could happen, and you could die. All because you want to walk for thirty seconds."
"Donna, honey… don’t forget that I’m the one in the chair. I think I get to decide if I want to try something different."
"And the rest of us have to deal with it?"
"That's right!” Dad spits. "The rest of you deal with it!”
This ripple in the holiday atmosphere is awkward. Thomas and Camille stare into their wine glasses. My parents glare at each other from opposite ends of the table.
My guilt is heavy. All this talk of walking is my fault. Preston must sense it; under the table, he grabs my hand and brings it to his lap.
"Dad, I don't want you to do this if mom doesn't want it. She's right; something could happen. And she's the one that’s taking care of you. I'll still be married if you don't walk me down the aisle—”
"Dammit, I said I want to walk! I'm going to walk you! Now you two set a date, so I know how much time I have to work with."
He moves his wheelchair out of lock position and backs up, rolling himself away from the table and down the hall.
"I'm so sorry," Mom whispers as she retakes her seat. "We've been arguing about it lately. He won't listen."
"This must be so tough on you." Camille stands and walks over to mom, wrapping an around her shoulder as fresh tears fall. "You're worried. He knows that. Eric wouldn't do anything to harm himself or put a burden on you seriously. You have to believe that."
Mom nods, brushing tears from her cheeks. "Well, this is a somber Christmas. Everything will be fine."
She pastes a wan smile onto her lips and taps the table, then gets up and heads back into the kitchen. Donna Blake solves every problem with food.
“Where did the music go? Did that Sly CD end already? Who's ready for dessert? Preston, I know you want some of these cookies I made. I’ve packed up a batch for you to take home."
Snuggled up next to Preston, I sip from a mug of spiked hot cocoa and munch on the chocolate covered popcorn and nut mix that mom sent home with us, along with other sugar laden goodies that won't make it past the next couple of days.
"Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”
Preston lifts his mug to his lips, pursing them to slurp steaming cocoa. "It was paper. Besides, I heard I have a reward coming.”
I smile and sip more cocoa. I'm so warm. And happy. Mostly.
“You’re obsessing about that stuff with your dad.”
“Can you pretend that you can’t read my mind, Preston?”
“Nope. You wear your heart on your sleeve. It’ll be okay.”
“I know,” is my automated reply, even through a heavy sigh. "I don't want my parents fighting because of what I want. Now he's going to kill himself trying to walk me down the aisle.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Angie. He knows what he's doing and what he can handle. He's been talking about it for a while. Not just about the wedding.”
I sit up and twist around to face Preston. "He has? What did he say?"
Preston pulls me back. I settle into my spot. “Just that he's sick of feeling like an invalid. He has the energy to try something new, so he wants to go for it. You and your mom have to stop treating him like he doesn't get an opinion, Angie. He gets the only opinion."
"And the rest of us get to deal," I mutter.
"Like the man said..."
Preston leans forward, setting his empty mug on the coffee table. "I think that's enough chit chat about your parents. I want to talk about you."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. And all that money I spent on this ring." He picks up my left hand and holds it up, turning it one way and another, watching the gems catch the light and sparkle. I laugh, curls of warmth moving through my belly, working their way up. "And us. And getting married..."
"And you spending your life getting on my nerves."
"All day long. Forever.”
I pause, thinking about that sentence, letting it wash over me, once again, that Preston is going to be my husband. And my coworker. We will literally be together all day. I smile and stretch so my lips meet his.
"I'm happy that I'm about to be your wife."
"Hmmm."
Preston hums as he shifts on the couch. He takes my cup from me and sets it on the coffee table before dipping his head toward me. He presses his lips gently against mine in a kiss much too brief.
"Just… happy?"
“Uh… yeah. Happy. What other emotion would you have me feel?"
"I mean, something more exciting. Ecstatic, maybe. Elated.”
"Elated. To be marrying you?"
He grins. "Do you even know how many women you beat out?"
I pretend to ponder this question. “Enlighten me."
“Like… all of them."
Playful, I smack his bicep and laugh. "Trying to make me jealous?"
"Is it working?"
I shake my head, reaching for him so I can snake an arm around his neck and bring his face to mine. I pull until I am lying against the cushions. The weight of his body sinks onto mine. Through the thin cotton of his pants—and mine, he is warm. Rigid. Already throbbing. He's not the only one.
“I’m the only woman that will put up with you, and most days I don’t even do that. Jealous isn't the word that comes to mind right now."
"Oh?" He mutters against my lips, then drops feather light kisses down my neck, brushes over my lips, and travels back down the other side. "What's the word that comes to mind?"
"I think you have an idea."
He nods, chuckling softly. His pelvis begins to move in a slow, sensuous grind. It's enough to make my eyes roll back into my head. "Maybe I want to hear the word, Evangeline."
"Ready..."
"Mmmmm…that's what you feel?" His hips pick up a rhythm, a more forceful thrust. I lock my limbs around him and grind against him.
"Yessssss.” I whimper with each movement. “So. Very."
“It sounds like you need me to do something about that."
I’m close to whimpering. Preston knows I'm not above begging. Preston rests his forehead on mine, the better to stare into my soul.
"Tell me what you want. Say it."
"I want to end this day the way I wanted to start it."
He chuckles, a sound and sensation that sends an electrified pulse through me. "And… how is that?"
“You know."
He laughs again, tipping his head back a little. "Humor me, baby. I want to hear the words. How did you want to start today?"
"Naked. In bed with you."
"That's it? You want us to go upstairs, get naked, and get in the bed. Easy.”
“Maybe not just naked.” I stroke his chest, dragging my fingernails through the soft hair.
"So, what else, then? Naked, in bed, and..." His voice trails. The question lingers in the air.
I flick my eyes up to meet his and let the rest come. “You, deep inside me."
The smile that spreads across his face stirs any lustful thoughts that might have been languishing in the corners of my mind.
I want him. Right now.
I tip my head up so that our lips meet, trapping his tongu
e in a frantic kiss. My hands claw at him, at his clothes, pulling his t-shirt up, his pants down. While Preston kicks his pile of discarded clothing off of the edge of the couch, I pull my t-shirt over my head and shimmy out of my pants.
"Wait, wait, wait..." Much to my disappointment, he's sitting up. "You said naked in the bed."
"We can do it there, too."
I grab him by the shoulders and pull him back down to me. Without arguing, he settles his body onto mine and resumes driving me out of my mind, lightly nipping at my skin with his teeth.
He moves down my body, taking first one nipple, then the other into his mouth. Moving further down, he licks a trail from between my breasts, down my stomach to my warm, pulsing core.
I sigh as the rough texture of his tongue rasps over my clit. My hips buck as I reach for his head and press him into me. He closes his mouth around me and rolls his eyes up to mine so he can watch me fall over the brink. It doesn't take long. He licks and sucks me to hip jerking, thigh shaking, sore-throat-from-screaming orgasm.
As if it were nothing at all, he kisses his way back up my trembling body. With all of my strength, I wrap my limbs around him as he presses into me with a muffled grunt.
"Fuck, Angie..."
I giggle because I tell him that's the first thing he always says. He says he can't help it. Though I'm sure he heard me, he ignores it, this time. Instead, he reaches between us and grabs my outside leg, pressing it so that my legs open wider.
His thrusts set a rhythm quickly, his strokes deep. "Is this what you want?"
I can only smile and grunt in approval, clinging to him as his hips crash into mine, our skin slapping together in a most erotic chorus. Drops fall from his forehead; his back is slippery with beads of sweat. His breath is hot as he struggles to keep time with his thrusts.
With no warning, he stops and pulls back. I've been knocked out of orbit. All of his warmth, his heaviness, even his sweat is gone. "Wha... what happened? What's wrong?"
"Upstairs." His voice is gritty, his chest heaving.
I obey without another word, heading for the staircase. As soon as I make it across the threshold of our bedroom, Preston is behind me, pulling me into him. He walks me over to the edge of the bed.
"Up.” I climb up onto the bed on my hands and knees and turn my head to look back at him.
At least it seems like I'm looking back at him, but as he grips my hips and slips inside me, I'm watching us in the mirror over the bureau behind him. It's an erotic view— Preston with his feet apart, every muscle standing out, my thighs on the outside of his, my feet hanging over the edge of the bed. The sight of his hips working, the muscles in his ass clenching as he plunges into me, the sound of his grunts and moans, his hands pulling me tightly up against him.
I could watch us fuck all night.
But I can't, because I'm about to come. I want to wait for Preston, though, and that means I need to help him along.
"You close?" I push back against him, clenching him inside me. He grunts. His eyes are closed, and his face bears evidence of extreme concentration. "I want you to come with me, baby."
"Not... yet. Wait."
He speeds up his rhythm, increases the pressure. His grip on my hips tightens.
"Close," he mumbles. His eyes open slightly, and I recognize a flash. I know before he does it that he's going to pull out, push me forward onto the bed and flip me over. When he sinks into me again, I'm not sure how much longer I can hang on.
"Fuck! I need you to come."
"Working on it," he says, smirking. "Was I good today?"
I grin and buck my hips into his. "You were the very best today. I love you so much. I'm so happy to be with you."
He smiles back, a full and happy grin. "That’s what I needed to hear. Come to me."
"Are you—”
"Don't kill the vibe, Evangeline. Do it."
My legs lock around his torso. He grinds against my clit, and it doesn't take more than a few seconds before my hips convulse and my body spasms. I groan, my head tossed back, not caring if every owner on the lake heard me.
Preston pulses inside me. His entire body stiffens as his breath catches in his throat. His hips jerk against mine as he moans, his movements growing slower until he grinds to a stop and nearly collapses on top of me.
This… this is my favorite part of sex with Preston. When he's exhausted, and the weight of his body rests on top of mine, I wrap him in my arms and legs, and we lay together, catch our breath and live in the moment. It's been a dream to have these moments with him again.
I tip my head to brush my lips against his sweaty temple. The fan circles above us, whipping cool air over our bodies as we come down from our high.
"Baby..."
Preston grunts in response, not bothering to open his eyes.
"You know how marriage is forever? Richer or poorer, in sickness and in health and all that?"
"We're leaving obey in our vows," he mumbles.
“No, we’re not. I'm saying, though… we have a lot of years together. You don’t want to wear yourself out."
Preston laughs, then yawns before lifting himself and tossing his body over onto the bed next to me. "I know it doesn't seem this way right now, because I gave you everything, but…”
He rolls his head toward me and makes sure I'm paying attention. The glint in his eye amuses me. "I've got so much more where that came from. I hope you can keep up."
It takes everything in me to not laugh. I almost make it. "I'd like to see you try to wear me out."
"Game on, baby," he says before another yawn overtakes him. "Right after I get some sleep."
We should get up and shower, as is our habit before bedtime, but neither of us makes a move. Instead, we lay next to each other and watch the ceiling fan make revolutions above us.
In a few minutes, Preston sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, but he looks back at me over his shoulder. "Come on. Let's hit the showers."
I sit up, energized. "Round two?"
He stalks toward the bathroom and flips the light switch, bathing the tiled room in light. "That would be round three, and despite my big talk, I'm mostly dead right now."
"Oh. Well, can we wake up tomorrow like I wanted to wake up today?"
Preston walks into the bathroom and starts the shower. Steam begins to billow, filling the room. He comes back out and pulls me from the bed, tucking me tightly up against him. Curiously, he stirs between us.
"You know what, Evangeline? That ring that I gave you means we can wake up that way every single morning, for the rest of our lives, if you want to."
41
Gravel and sand crunch under my tires as I turn into the parking lot at Flanning & Rourke. I park next to Troy, cut the engine, and get out of my car as his door is opening.
Side by side, we stand at the employee entrance.
"We're ready for this," he says. It sounds more like an effort to convince himself of this fact than a bold statement.
"Yep," I respond. "I'm nervous. Are you?"
"Never quit a job before."
“I quit Dairy Queen because I gained five pounds."
Troy glances over at me. "You get free ice cream there?" I nod. "Shit. I should have been working at a liquor store."
We laugh together, then the chuckles die down, and we sigh together. "Well," I say, turning to him. "Let's do this."
Flanning is in the office, as usual. I'd called ahead to make sure he'd be here and was expecting us. His office door is open, and as we approach, the clack of fingers on a keyboard ring out.
"Hey Doug," I call out, keeping things friendly and casual. Troy skulks behind me with his hands in his pockets.
"Angie," says Doug, the glare from his computer screen reflecting in his glasses. "And Troy. Odd to see you two in here this week. Have a seat."
We follow his suggestion, each taking an ugly, straight back chair. Doug's office is a study in male decorating. Not a piece of anything he owns goes together. I'
m sure he got his furniture from a used office supply store-one tan and one black metal filing cabinet, a dark walnut desk, a scarred credenza whose best days are long gone, two guest chairs that are long lost relics from two different kitchen sets and a couch that is straight from the Sears 1979 catalog.
"Just working on some documents.” Doug goes back to typing, but his eyes flick up toward us every few seconds. "What can I do for you?"
"Well..." I clear my throat, mentally reviewing the speech I've gone over and over and over in my head. "The thing is, Doug..."
"We quit."
I glare at Troy. He gives a stoic, hard stare of attention to Doug.
"He means," I continue, retaking the reins. "He and I have been offered and accepted positions at another firm."
Doug has stopped typing. Frozen, he glances from me to Troy and back to me again. His mouth opens as if he has something to say but then closes without uttering a peep.
"We uhm... well, I am thankful for F&R. I've been here for a long time. I am proud of my record. But I’ve wanted to move on for a while."
"Uh huh." Doug's eyes float over to Troy. "And you're leaving as well. Going to the same firm? Your brother's firm?"
I'm not surprised that Doug knows about Reid Law Group. Wayne Reid’s return to Orlando is making the gossip circuit, as is my love life. The entire firm, from the receptionist to the newest associate, was floored when I returned from St. Lucia attached at the hip to my arch nemesis.
"My uncle's firm,” Troy corrects. “Can’t turn down a chance to work with family. I’ve done a lot of growing, here. I can learn from my uncle and do some great work in the process."
Doug removes his glasses and rubs a thumb and forefinger over closed eyelids. "So, what about your cases? You're not taking F&R clients with you."
I pipe up, already knowing what he’ll say. “I have a few cases I want to see to completion—”
"Well, too bad. Those cases belong to this firm.”
"You and I both know I can work around that."
"Don't threaten what you can't pull off, Ms. Blake."
"I'm not threatening, Mr. Flanning."
After a brief and unsuccessful stare down, Doug continues. "Reid doesn't have any cases he can take with him. Every file stays here."