Anchor

by M. Mabie

  “Take your time, Miss Bride-to-be. Remember what I taught you.” She walked Blake just inside and then left, closing the door with a click.

  Now that was more like it. Blake didn’t know if she was alone or not. She turned her head toward the sound of the door latching behind her. The music got gradually louder.

  “Hello?” she asked into the dim room. Then she removed the blindfold, blinking her sight back into focus. When she saw me her hand covered her laugh. She’d had a few drinks. Quite a few if she got into that get up without a fight. Then again, Sabrina didn’t look like she took much shit. However, that woman said something which had my attention.

  What had she taught her?

  “Are you tied up?” Blake asked, seeing my hands behind my back.

  “I was tricked,” I confessed.

  “Oh, you were?” she said skeptically, but the humor in her eyes gave me relief. Her being there in general relieved me, but knowing she was having fun—just by her expression—made all of my earlier protesting hilarious. “Were you expecting a professional?”

  “I didn’t know what to expect. I lost a bet.”

  She nodded in understanding.

  “I think they set us up.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  Set up or not, there we were. My fiancée was half-naked and I was tied to a chair.

  After the shock started to wear off, I asked what was really on my mind. “What did she show you, Blake?”

  Blake faked Sabrina’s accent and said, “How to seduce my loverrrr.”

  “Well, I’m right here. Seduce away.”

  I didn’t know whether to hate the dudes I came with or if I owed them anything they wanted. Looking at the situation, I’d say I owed them. Big time.

  She swayed a little, either from the drinks she’d had or she was just finding her rhythm. Her hips rocked side to side. I quickly learned it was both. As she began to walk around the pole, letting it hold her weight as she twirled, I watched her chest jump.

  My pole dancer had hiccups.

  Sexiest fucking hiccups I’d ever seen.

  The bass thumped and she kept time like she actually knew what she was doing. Her posture was straight as an arrow and her legs spread wide, as she slid almost all the way to the floor. Seductively, she surveyed me studying her. As I watched, she bloomed into a full-on sex goddess before my very eyes. Dipping a finger in her mouth, then slowly running it down the center of her chest, all the way to her barely hidden pussy. She clearly liked my reaction—shifting in my seat—because she repeated the act until she had both hands on her center. I almost came unglued when she rubbed herself through the black fabric as she stood confidently before me. Then she turned and grabbed the pole with one hand, bending at the hip as she shoved her ass close to my face.

  I licked my lips. I wanted untied. I needed untied.

  Her hand lingered on the spot I craved more than ever, then slid back, and she tapped her pussy in front of my face. Her ass hypnotically moved back and forth in front of me. When she turned back around and we were face to face, with one little finger she pushed me back in my seat. Then she hopped up on the pole and I’ll be damned if she didn’t spin on the son of a bitch. I was wrong. There was plenty of room for a naughty twirl.

  I’ve had hard-ons before. Lots of them. I’ve never had one like that. It was uncomfortable. It was persistent and about to break through my pants—Hulk style. It was getting angry for being so neglected.

  “Honeybee,” I pleaded. “Untie me.”

  The tease pretended to think about it.

  Showing mercy, she straddled me. That was better.

  “I’m not sure you want to be untied. Feels like you’re enjoying yourself.” Her sweet breath was like a narcotic to my senses.

  Our mouths crashed into each other. Her tongue led mine in a seductive dance, rivaling the show I’d witnessed. My girl had skills. I couldn’t wait to talk to her about her night. But at the moment, I was enjoying the whole private room experience.

  With her still moving to the music and her weight on my already swollen cock, she had hell turning into heaven in that one kiss.

  We could do whatever we wanted. They weren’t likely to bother us after setting this up.

  “Untie me, please,” I requested again into her mouth. “I promise to tip for the extras.”

  She laughed, but making her giggle was always her weakness. I felt her little hands loosening the strap behind me. I didn’t hesitate when I was free. I didn’t know what to touch first, but I knew I needed to unwrap her. I stood, picking her up and her legs wrapped around me.

  “Hang on to me, Blake,” I said, walking her to a spot on the wall that I didn’t think was another hidden door. I pressed her up against the mirror and felt her jump as the cool surface came in contact with her skin. “Are you okay?”

  I didn’t want to frighten her. She’d only had that one moment in the restaurant where things came back to haunt her from something I’d done—as far as I knew. Knowing what happened that night, I knew what might be triggers so I made sure to stay far away from them.

  “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

  “I’m better then fine. I just found out I’m marrying an exotic dancer.” We laughed into another heated kiss. That was one of the best parts of sex with her. The talking. The playing. The teasing. It never got old.

  “How do I get to you through this?” I’d been feeling for a zipper or a knot somewhere, but I was coming up short. I was practical in times like that. Sure I could fumble around like a fool, but I could ask and get inside her faster. Inside her faster was always the most logical route.

  “Here.” I pulled back a little and she pulled one end of the bow in the center. It began to unravel. I wondered if she’d mind wearing it every day. Her hands moved the silky black ribbons around he,r and before I knew it, the only place it was still on was where we met in the middle. I grabbed her ass, lifting her a little, and it fell away.

  She was completely bared to me. By the way her face was flushed, and her breathing labored, my girl was very turned on.

  After she’d rid herself of the lingerie, she went to work on my pants. When I was free, she guided me to her entrance. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t slow either. I spun us around, taking a few steps and put her back to the pole. She stretched, grabbing ahold of it for support. She raised her arms above her head and began to lift herself onto my cock. The position allowed me to get so deep, and the weight of her body falling on me pushed me inside her in a new way. The view was amazing. Her breasts bouncing, her back arched. Legs wrapped around me moving at a pace that ensured we wouldn’t be there long.

  As the movements became fevered, she let go of the brass fixture and hung onto me. I wrapped my arms around her back and bent, just slightly, as I moved us both toward climax. I plunged into her, passion moving me in a rhythm more hypnotic than the music that played. She hung on for dear life and tossed her head back when she began to come.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged. “Don’t ever stop.”

  I never planned on it.

  My favorite part of coming was the few seconds right before. The magic moment when everything got blurry and time and space stood still for us. Breaths mixed. Every fiber in my being pulled tight and then released like rain from the sky. Nothing holding it back. Nothing in its way to stop it.

  I also loved when our eyes met. It was hardly every time, but when it happened it was mesmerizing. Her face filled with wonder. Passion. Awe. Love. And all for me.

  When we were finally decent, or at least I was—no man needed to see Blake looking like that, all re-wrapped and well fucked—we tapped on the door she came in from. When no one came, we opened it.

  “It’s okay. That’s my instructor,” she whispered like we were sneaking out of the house in high school. The room had been abandoned and Sabrina was wiping everything down. Poles lined a long wall of mirrors.

  Mirrors. Maybe Blake would consider doing some redecorating
in our bedroom with mirrors. They were growing on me. First the jewelry store and now at the club. I hoped I wasn’t catching a fetish. But if I was, I’d throw in a pole for good measure.

  “Well, Mr. Groom-to-be, are you satisfied with our dancer’s performance?”

  I knew she was goading me, but what did I care? That was the best private dance of my life.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good, I’ll call you a car while your pretty bride gets dressed.”

  Our friends and family had left, which suited me just fine. It had been a great night. I was sure to get a lot of shit the next time I saw any of them. But the fuckers couldn’t say I was a dick who blew my cash on strippers. Hell, by my estimation, if Reggie was serious about the last part of the bet, I was about two grand up for the night. I planned on collecting, even though I’d gladly pay twice for a repeat performance anytime.

  I wondered how much mirror and brass I could buy with that kind of money.

  Blake’s parents had an early flight, and we were tired from the busy weekend. So we did what normal people do on Sunday afternoons. We ate too much food early and fell asleep watching a movie in bed. It was a really good life.

  Days peeled by as the wedding crept closer and closer. I assumed shit-and-get time during wedding planning was when most men got cold feet. It was stressful, but it was nothing compared to the things we’d been through over the past few years.

  We took a trip up to Seattle to see Dr. Rex, which was Blake’s idea. I was happy she still felt like she could talk to someone, other than me, and I’d become really fond of her myself. She and Blake Skyped once or twice a week, and sometimes Dr. Rex would ask if I could join—particularly when the night at Grant’s was discussed. But mostly it was more about Blake healing and identifying who was to blame.

  Guilt was an ugly bitch and even though we slowly worked through it, there were times she struggled accepting what Grant did wasn’t her fault. It was his. No matter what she’d done in the past, his actions were unforgivable and evil.

  Dr. Rex wasn’t easy on Blake either.

  “What’s bothering you about the wedding vows?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s not so much that I’m worried, it’s more like I want to give him everything he wants.” I was holding her hand that day as she explained how she was struggling with what to write. I knew it was because she’d already made promises to someone else and broken them. She was worried I thought she’d break ours too. Or maybe she was struggling because she didn’t want them to feel repeated. It made sense to me, but honeybee was stubborn.

  “Well, why don’t you just find some non-traditional vows and say those? You don’t have to write your own,” she suggested.

  “No. I want them to be personal,” Blake explained.

  Dr. Rex tapped her pencil against her lips.

  “I’ve got it. Casey, you write Blake's vows, and Blake, you write his. In the past, in my opinion, that was always your biggest hurdle. You never told each other what you wanted. This is an opportunity to do that.”

  I liked the idea; she was a smart woman.

  “I’m in,” I said. “But how do we know if they’re about the same, you know? Lengthwise.”

  Blake gave my hand a little squeeze.

  “Well, I suppose I could read them for you. Or Micah and Cory, aren’t they your matron of honor and best man?” Dr. Rex clapped her hands together decisively, excited by the concept. “That’s it. They can compare them for you. Oh, it’s so perfect. Then you both get exactly what you want. You’ll never have to second-guess that you didn’t promise vows that mean something to you.”

  “And we don’t read them beforehand?” Blake inquired.

  “No. It’s so romantic. The gesture of blindly promising what the other desires. It couldn’t be more perfect for you two.”

  I was sold. Whatever she wanted, she could have. The look on my girl’s face said she was on board too.

  “I kind of love that idea,” honeybee said. It was settled. We’d decide what promises we wanted to hear. Then we’d honor and keep them forever.

  Tuesday, September 14, 2010

  IF CASEY THE HUSBAND was anything like Casey the fiancé, I was going to be a very happy wife. He made it easy to love and cherish him forever.

  He ran errands before I got around to them. He was attentive and thoughtful. He’d made every part of planning fun, and when it was stressful, he added levity when I needed it. Truthfully, it wasn’t all that bad.

  The wedding was less than a week away and the dresses had been fitted and shipped to the resort. The caterers and bakers had confirmed everything was still going ahead as planned. The event hostess at the lodge called regularly and never let me worry about a package not arriving or any detail being forgotten. Everyone had their travel arrangements organized. All systems were a go for the Warren-Moore nuptials.

  And sometime between then and when Casey put the ring on my finger, I quit waiting for the other shoe to drop. Somewhere over time, the fear of things going wrong faded. There wasn’t anything in the world that could get in our way. I pinched myself every morning to prove it was real. I had everything I ever wanted.

  I just needed to finish my vows, something Micah hounded me about nearly every day. Casey had finished his, even though Micah told me he’d changed them three times already. I think, above all else, the vows were the part I was most anxious about. It was certainly the part that meant the most.

  I’d start writing, then I’d get sidetracked.

  I’d think of something perfect when I was driving, but when I got home it always fell flat.

  The shower. Why was it that all my good ideas happened in there and dried up faster than my hair?

  It was less than a page, but if this was what writers felt when they had writer’s block—I could sympathize. Fundamentally, I knew what I wanted him to vow. My requests weren’t elaborate or complicated. I wanted him to love me. Always.

  But hadn’t he already vowed that? Proven it even? Who cared if it hadn’t been said and confirmed by witnesses? How could one love a person through the hell we’d put each other through, if it wasn’t an always kind of thing? It seemed so redundant.

  I knew his vows for me were probably heartfelt and full of humor, just like him. I wanted mine to be just as meaningful. I supposed I’d know the words when they came, but they needed to hurry the hell up.

  Still, the days kept peeling away.

  Casey: Want to grab a drink at HLS? One last one before we’re married. Seems like the thing to do.

  I loved how sentimental he was.

  Me: Sure. Picking me up, or am I meeting you there?

  Casey: I’ll pick you up. Be ready in ten minutes.

  There was only one thing I needed to do before I left, but I could make it fast.

  Me: Sounds good.

  I waited in the drive for him to pull up, then hopped in and kissed his handsome face.

  “How was work, dear?” I asked. It was his last day before we left for Oregon and then onto our honeymoon.

  The past weeks had been ideal with both of us being home. I’d been enjoying working out of the local office. One of the chefs got a better job offer, so I’d been busy in the kitchen when I wasn’t working on menus. I’d really missed getting my hands in there and making things for myself.

  “It was good, and yours?” he answered as he backed out.

  “It was great. Everything at work is taken care of. I’m pleased to inform you, you now have my undivided attention for the next three weeks.” I still didn’t know where we were going, but I didn’t care. It was my honeymoon. With Casey. Our honeymoon. I was in good hands. Very strong, very capable hands.

  “You gonna break down and let me get into those panties tonight?” he teased, squeezing my leg as he ran his hand into naughty territory. I didn’t understand why he asked me every day. The sex-fasting was his idea. And it had only been two weeks. We’d gone much longer before. Plus, his rules had stipulated oral did
n’t count, so we were plenty satisfied. Trust me.

  Leave it to him to find ways around rules he’d made himself.

  “Nope. I’m off limits. You’re cut off.” I closed my legs to make my point.

  “Wait.” He slowed the car down to a crawl on our neighborhood street, looking back and forth from me to the road. “You mean to tell me I’m never going to make Blake Warren come ever again?”

  “Sorry, Lou.”

  “God, it feels like the end of an era.”

  It was funny, but it was also true. Such is life. I chuckled to myself, trying to keep a straight face. “Aww. Don’t think about it like that. I’m sure your wife will have sex with you.”

  “She better. I mean, it would be a shame to turn in a smoking hot girlfriend for a wife who doesn’t wanna play with my wiener every once in a while.”

  “It’s lucky for you that I know your soon-to-be-wife, and she’s really looking forward to your … um, wiener.”

  “Really?” I swear he knew I was teasing, but he lit up like I’d told him something he didn’t already know firsthand.

  “Yep. She told me herself.”

  As we drove, I prayed to the marriage gods that we’d always joke like that. I prayed Casey would be telling me how different animals mate as we sipped lemonade on the back porch watching the sun go down. Laughing at our kids and how they did things so differently than us. We’d make fun of their music and clothes. Casey would probably harass any suitor to come by, regardless if it was for our sons or daughters. My silly man would probably be snapping the back of my eighteen-hour Playtex bra well into our seventies and try to race me with his walker.

  This was what it was supposed to feel like. This was what good marriages should be. Equal parts fun and passion. Humility and love.

  I stole a few glances at him as we drove the familiar streets to HLS. The windows were down, sunglasses were on, and the music was flowing.

  When we arrived, it was shocking we found a parking spot right next to the door, but we didn’t have to get out to see why.

  “Closed? For Sale?” Casey questioned. “What the fuck?”