by Mj Fields
“We’ll figure that out, too.”
“If you hurt her, I will find a way to make you wish you–”
“Mom!” Natasha laugh-yells.
“I’ll cut you a switch.”
“Oliver!” Natasha now scolds me.
“I need a drink,” Bass sighs.
We walk over to the same vendor where I had followed her after I brought a ‘date’ to the wedding because Autumn told me Natasha was bringing one.
As Bass buys water, I remember the last time Natasha and I stood here.
“You remember before your mom’s wedding standing here?”
“I was so mad at you.”
“You were hurt, and I thought buying you a stupid Eiffel Tower keychain would make it better somehow.”
I push my hands in my pockets and pull them out, holding two very important items.
“I don’t care that this isn’t a picture-perfect opportunity, I just care that neither one of us ever feels the same way we did then.”
When I kneel down, she gasps, Angela drops her bottle of water, covers her mouth and Bass laughs.
“Natasha Petrov, will you do me the honor of picking item one,” I hold out my left hand, “If you want to make me grovel awhile before you say yes, or pick the item in my right hand if you’re ready to spend the rest of your life with me.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Felt right,” I wink and hold my right hand out. “Marry me, Natasha.”
Tears immediately fill her eyes as she nods.
I open my hand and she holds out her finger. I push the princess cut emerald surrounded by diamonds onto her little finger, and then slide the Eiffel Tower keyring around it and she giggles.
“It’s beautiful, Natasha.” Angela begins to cry.
I stand and she jumps in my arms. I lean in for a kiss, but she leans back, not allowing it. I laugh and twirl her in a circle as her hands cup both sides of my face.
“Thank you.”
Setting her on her feet, I just don’t feel right not kissing her and hell, the amount of restraint I used over the past couple years proves I can handle it.
I put my hand on the base of her neck and run it up the side, cup her cheek and bend down, placing my lips to hers, gently.
The soft moan she lets out precedes a humming sound. She sounds like a bird and tastes faintly like the mocha pots de crème she had for dessert. I move to her top lip, kissing it, adoring the scar with soft light kisses to show her just how much.
When I feel like letting go, kissing her harder, tasting her deeper, I groan as I regretfully pull my mouth from her and rest my forehead to hers.
“I’m so much more into you now.” She closes her eyes and smiles.
I kiss her cheek and whisper, “What are you imagining, Natasha?”
Her smile broadens, and she blushes.
I whisper softer, “You’re making me hard.”
She pushes on my chest smirking, and then fists my jacket and pulls me against her. She puckers her lips for another kiss and I give it to her.
“Congratulations, Oliver,” Bass says patting my back.
“Natasha.” Angela smiles and Natasha lets go of me and turns to hug her. “I’m so happy for you.”
When she steps away from her and comes to me with her arms out, I lean in because, well, my futures wife’s mother doesn’t need to know that her future son in law can’t wait to get her daughter alone.
As she’s hugging me, she asks, “What are you hiding?”
Fuck.
“Yeah, Oliver, what’s in the left hand?” Natasha laughs.
Thank God. Thank Maisie.
“You really wanna know?” She smiles and nods. “Come and get it.”
I hold out my hand as she stands in front of me cupping hers and I drop the keychain in it.
“Is that a chainsaw?” Bass asks confused.
Natasha doesn’t look up at me as her face turns nearly purple, and she stares down at the keychain with a tiny chainsaw on it.
“Why a chainsaw?” Angela asks firmly.
“If she said no, I was going to use it against her.”
Natasha’s eyes widen, and she looks up, trying to look all innocent.
When I start laughing, she shakes her head before lowering it to shield her face with her hair and then she begins to laugh.
“Natasha’s?”
“Your daughter is–”
“I cut down a tree with a chainsaw,” she blurts out.
“I was gonna change the story a bit.”
“You cut down a tree?” Angela asks confused.
“Oh God.” She palms her face in embarrassment.
“Please take your time, Natasha, but do finish this story.” Angela shakes her head.
“Oliver hurt my feelings, so I went to his house and cut down a tree.”
Bass and Angela are both clearly shocked.
“So yeah, I was mad.” She shrugs.
“Why a tree?” Bass finally laughs.
Knowing she’s clearly hiding the whole story for me, I decide to answer, “The willow tree, the one my old man used to make me cut switches from. The one that left the worst scars. She cut it down, for me.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Natasha
As a girl with not so very high self-esteem, I imagined my first kiss with a boy who was at my level. It would be awkward and would soon fizzle out because he’d decide I wasn’t good enough for him, but he wouldn’t be so conceited as to come right out and say it. He’d tell me he wants to still be friends and we would be, for a short time.
I was prepared to grow from the experience. And believed it would have given me confidence and lessened my fear about not being attractive, so that when a guy like Aaron Esposito asked me out, I’d say yes.
Until I met Oliver.
As a girl, I imagined I would have to carry that burden alone because it wouldn’t be something I could talk to my mom about, and Autumn would probably hunt him down and rid him of his balls.
Until I met Oliver.
Leaving not only Mom, but her husband, waving me off to go with Oliver tonight was also something I never imagined. And it was awkward as hell, until he kissed me.
This kiss wasn’t the Eiffel Tower kiss, it was lips and tongues and moans and groans. It was need and want, desire and demand. It was touching and being touched, and it was nearly so much more, until he jerked away and growled, “We need to go.” It was so much more than I ever imagined.
Walking into the hotel holding Oliver’s hand, I know I should be nervous. I mean, what girl isn’t her first time? But excitement is trumping nerves as I look up and see GQ Joe, the very first man to look at me like he desperately needed to know me, who looked at my scar and thought I was beautiful because of it, not in spite of it, the man who protected my virtue, played along with a stupid lie to ensure my feelings weren’t hurt, the man my best friend still calls the inked God of Heat, the man who told me the truth when it would have been easiest to lie, the man whose pain I felt deep in my soul, the man who broke my heart, the man who went to war to find out the meaning behind the color of my eyes, the man I was so afraid to love, and now will love until my last breath, my fiancé, my future husband, Oliver Josephs.
On the elevator, he hits the top floor button and walks at me with purpose. I walk back until my back hits the wall, his hands grip mine and he pulls them over my head, enclosing one hand around mine as his lips come down, first softly then… teeth pulling at my lower lip, he groans. My mouth opens to his and his hot tongue rubs up and down mine as his free hand grips my side and he pushes against me.
He’s hard against my stomach and soft against my mouth. He’s gentle and firm at the same time. When his hand grips my butt and pulls me against him, I bite down gently on his tongue and suck on it, causing his hand to grip me even tighter.
When I take a breath, his lips move across my cheek and his hand slides down my backside until I feel his fingers on my bare skin.
Everything inside me heats, and my breasts instantly become heavier, and warmer.
When his kiss moves from my neck and I feel his tongue caress where my warrior tattoo lays, I push my breasts against him.
“Why?” he whispers
“You made me believe in myself.” I push against him harder.
“You made me imagine the life I can live with you.”
His lips crash against mine as he pulls the fabric of my dress up, and then his finger grips the fabric of my thong.
He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes black, but no longer shielded, his full lips now swollen and red from mine. I feel him yank the string and hear it rip apart.
“Fuck the panties,” he growls.
I can’t help but grin.
“Did you watch the movie?” he asks.
“Three times.”
When the elevator door opens, his mouth stops its descent and he whispers, “Then you know what you’re in store for?”
When my jaw drops, he smiles. “I’ll go easy.”
When he wraps his big muscular arms around me and picks me up, I whisper, “I want you anyway you want me.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Natasha. It may come true.”
“I trust you, Oliver, I trust you with my everything. So, take what you want and I’ll do the same.”
Inside the suite, he walks me to the windows and I watch our reflections in it. He shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt as he kicks off his leather shoes.
“You are incredible to look at.” I sigh.
“Then keep looking,” he says and kisses my neck as he unzips my dress and then pulls it down slowly, kissing and licking my skin as he exposes it, making every part of me feel as if I’ve come to life for the first time.
“Christ, you’re beautiful, every fucking inch of you is goddamn flawless.”
“Every inch of you is art,” I moan as my back arches and he kisses across my lower back.
“Keep Imagining.” His tongue traces the letters. “I’m never gonna stop.”
When his hand wraps around the front of me and slides up my thigh, I feel heat rushing to my center. When his finger lightly rubs against my most intimate part that heat begins to liquify. When he starts kissing my backside as the pressure of his finger increases until it’s inside me, I cry out from a pleasure I never imagined
“Little Warrior, you’re so hot.” When I feels him insert another as he kisses up my back, I feel full, so full. When he begins to curl them, my legs shake, and I press one hand on the cool glass as I put the other behind me around the back of his neck.
“How do you feel?”
“Dizzy, so-oh.”
“Yeah, right there.” He curls his fingers again.
“Oliver?”
“Relax, I got you.” He kisses my neck.
I turn my head. “Oh, oh, please, please–”
He kisses me before I even ask, and his fingers move in and out of me.
In, curl, out, twist… he continues, making me cry into his mouth, against his cheek and I continue to feel pressure, so much that my hips begin to rock and he hisses.
“Open your eyes, beautiful,” he quietly demands.
“Oh god, Oliver– I-I-I-Oh–”
His fingers pull out of me and I feel empty, but only for a moment.
As he rubs something much different than a finger against my entrance, he whispers, “You ready to see fireworks?”
Oh God, his voice, his words, so hot. This is happening. Oliver and I are happening.
“Look out the window, Natasha. What colors do you see?”
I turn my head and see actual fireworks lighting up the sky.
When he pushes against me, he whispers, “Lean forward. Put both hands on the window and tell me, beautiful, what colors you see?”
“Blues and golds, purples and reds.” I feel him begin to push into me and I tense.
His hand reaches around me and pushes the cup of my bra down. When his fingers press against my aching nipples, I moan. His other arm wraps around me and he rubs my clit again.
He leans into me again, and groans, “What colors do you see?”
“Green,” I sigh, and he pushes farther. “Pink.” Farther. “Blue… oh… oh. Oliver.”
“Shhh, I won’t take you farther than you can handle.”
Something burns hotter in me now. “Oliver?”
“Yeah.”
“I want all of you.”
“Natasha, it’s okay–”
“Now.”
When he slams into me, he pulls my back against his chest and groans loudly then hisses, “Fuck yes, so hot.” He pulls out and then slams back into me. This time there’s less pinch, more heat.
When he pulls out fully, I cry, “No.”
He turns me, lifts me, kisses me, pulls away, and lays me on the bed. “I need to see your face.” He holds his body over mine and rubs against me again.
“Spread your legs wider, I want to be all in.”
All in? What was that?!
He bends and kisses me. “Trust me.”
I nod and he begins to move slowly in, slower out. Each inward thrust, I watch his jaw muscles pop, I see his eyes burning beneath the black and I see a sheen of sweat coat his arms as he holds his body above mine and moves slowly, beautifully, deeper and deeper into me, until I have no idea where I end and where he begins.
Epilogue
One year later and four days later
“Again, Princess Mom?” Olivia laughs as we exit the Toy Story ride for the third time at Disney World in Orlando.
“We have to wait for your dad.”
I look back and he’s taking a selfie, making sure the high score is displayed too.
“Come on, Oliver,” I laugh.
When he catches up to us, he asks Olivia, “How many times do I have to win, before you surrender?”
She laughs, “That was my win!”
“Bass doesn’t know that.” He winks.
“I bet baby Joshua could beat you.”
He growls at her, scoops her up and she laughs a belly laugh that only a child who has known no hurt or pain can laugh, a laugh that makes me laugh, too.
“Isn’t there something else you want to go on? The early ride hours–”
“Magic hours, tough guy,” she corrects him.
“Okay, the magic hours,” he smirks. “Isn’t there anything else?”
“There’s…” She scratches behind her ear, just like Mom does when she is trying to think as she squirms to get down, and then laughs hysterically as she squeals. “Toy Story.”
“One more time,” he concedes.
She jumps up and he catches her. She grabs his ears and pulls him nose to nose. “We’ll see about that.”
Then she jumps down and we run behind her to get back in line.
I stand in line watching Oliver and Olivia laugh and think about all the past year has blessed me with. The greatest blessing, him.
After we got engaged, we spent two days in bed. I was sure it was the best sex anyone had ever had, Oliver and I walked into Disney Paris and were met by the sweetest little girl I had ever seen. She was tall, like Oliver, dark-haired like Oliver and Mommy Nat, thin like her moms, had a baby face that was cherub-like and the most beautiful green eyes, which Oliver tells people are like mine. She took my breath away.
The moms got special family leave for the holidays and days added to deal with their family circumstances. Oliver had surprised them with a trip to Disney Paris, so that he could make it right between us, introduce his Little Warriors, and thought since Olivia had never been to Disney it would be a great place to start making memories. When I admitted I had never been, he admitted he hadn’t either.
To see my big strong man melt for someone other than me, in a totally different way, made me fall even deeper in love with him.
When Olivia slept, Grace, Natalie, and I talked for hours. Grace was an open book, and at times was so
free with information it made me uncomfortable, but I got used to it and ended up appreciating it.
When she lived in the hell the ‘love of my life, at the time,’ lived in, he took care of her, protected her, and yes, loved her in a way a broken boy loved a broken girl, as best they know how.
One night while Oliver was at baseball practice, she decided not to stay and watch him. She was determined she was going to do good in school so she wanted to study. When Oliver got home, she was crying with a towel on her face. He went after his father, the obvious protagonist, and she watched him get beat because of it. When she told him that she had done her chores, ones he had done for her because she was afraid of the coon hounds locked up in a pen, one of them sensed her fear and went at her. She needed stitches, but Oliver’s mother told her if she went to the hospital, they’d take her away. She didn’t want to leave the boys she loved, so she stayed.
Weeks later, Oliver had been beat for talking back to his father, and she was told to do her chores. When she begged them not to make her feed the dogs, Oliver’s father dragged her outside and mashed her face against the cage to teach her a lesson, and she was attacked again.
When she came back crying, Oliver, who was injured, snuck out of the house and let the dogs out of the cage, hoping they would run away, and she wouldn’t be hurt again.
Grace had been told to go to her room and didn’t know that Oliver had let them out. She heard him crying in pain as he was whipped again.
From the hallway, Oliver’s mother heard her dialing the phone and leaving a message for her social worker to come get her. When Grace hung up the phone, Oliver’s mom stormed in and told her to look out the window.
When she did, Oliver was digging two holes in the earth. His mother told Grace that Oliver’s father was planning to bury both of them. She told her if she said anything to the social worker about their punishment, the social worker would take her away, but Oliver would never leave them. That is why Grace didn’t say anything, because she was promised Oliver would remain alive.
When the social worker came, Grace did exactly what she was told to protect Oliver. She says she wished she had been stronger, that they both had.