Wedded to a Wayne: A Finn World Holiday Romance

by R. G. Alexander

  And I really need to catch my breath.

  Not because of the boys. They’re absolutely wonderful. Barry reminds me of a younger Joey, which is really all that needs to be said. He’s a caretaker. A nurturer. Full of love and tender feelings. His older brother, Langston, is amazingly intuitive and attentive. Almost too observant at times.

  For example, he notices almost before I do if I need to be off my feet or adjust my prosthesis. He’s fascinated by it from a purely mechanical prospective, so it doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all. I’m almost positive he’s a genius, and he’ll grow up to do something innovative in the medical cybernetics industry. Or build a robot army that could kill us all. It’s too soon to tell.

  I’m already in love with both of them.

  We hung Christmas lights a few days ago, and I got the best pictures of all of them together, tangled up in wires and bulbs.

  It doesn’t seem fair to Emerson, to be honest. So far, I’m getting so much more out of our deal than he is. My mother even left a message today, thanking me for sending those pictures.

  This is the first time she’s initiated contact since I moved.

  Do I wish she’d done it without me having to conform to her version of femininity by getting married? Of course I do. But I’m not expecting a holiday miracle. All I need is a chance to reconnect. To keep my promise.

  I wanted to call and let Emerson know as soon as it happened, but I wasn’t sure he would appreciate the interruption. Or if our relationship was even there yet.

  Thinking about him is one of the reasons I came home early today. He’s why I need to catch my breath. I can’t get the man out of my mind.

  When I’m sorting through client questionnaires, I think of Emerson’s lips. When I’m scanning status updates and reworking managerial schedules, I’m thinking of that time I walked into the garage and saw him lifting weights, his shirt off and his muscular body covered in sweat.

  I think about that all the time.

  And then there are our evenings watching television in the master bedroom so we won’t disturb the boys.

  I set down my keys and take off my jacket, my cheeks warm as I wander toward my bedroom. Other than Joey and my brothers, no man has ever seen me without my prosthesis before. But that first night, Emerson suggested I make myself more comfortable, staring at my legs so I couldn’t mistake what he was referring to.

  I kept my stump covered with my sock and a throw blanket, but I still felt naked. By the third night, I’d almost forgotten all about it, because of the other things Emerson was doing.

  First, he was only holding my hand. Caressing it through an entire episode. Then he rubbed my shoulders. My arms. Every night he found new ways to touch me. Always wearing less and less. Sweatpants. Shorts. Sweater. Tank top.

  It’s like the slowest strip tease in the universe, and it’s starting to get to me.

  I think he’s been trying to ease me into our relationship. Make me more comfortable around him. It might have worked, but then last night happened.

  No, it wasn’t Dot Dot Dot. Not yet.

  Joey was right about that.

  I slip off my top and unwrap my skirt as soon as I get to the bedroom, closing the door and heading for the bath. I’ve been longing for a soak in that big beauty for days. As well as some exclusive me time.

  I thought I knew what I was getting into. I did my research and I’d been diligent in the initial phase of our communications. Everything I saw about Emerson Wayne before the proposal said he was a careful man. Cautious. Patient. As detail-oriented as I am. A little old fashioned, but not in a grating way.

  His ex-wife was the only piece that didn’t fit with anything else I learned about him. Rowena is too…Kardashian. I don’t mean it as an insult, but it’s the only way I can describe the in-your-face, over-the-top sex kitten attitude she exudes in all her photographs.

  Now that I know Emerson and the boys, I think my research must have missed something. Or their attraction was all about the sex.

  And now I’m a little jealous.

  Because I want my husband, and he seems to want me. If last night is anything to go by, he really wants me.

  I had no idea he was so sexual.

  What if I don’t measure up?

  I sit on the small bench I’ve placed near the tub and run my bath, adding oils meant to soothe my spirit as much as they ease my sore muscles. This is my old unwinding ritual. It usually comforts me.

  I need it desperately. Based on his previous choices, I may or may not be my husband’s type, but he’s definitely mine, and he’s making me want things I’ve never wanted before. So badly, I’m not sure how much longer I can resist his advances.

  I’m not even sure why I’m resisting at all.

  I don’t know if he’s aware of it, but the way he follows me with his eyes drives me crazy. The way he seems to hold his breath when I pass. Or leans into an accidental touch. Or licks his full lips when I speak and makes me forget what I’m saying.

  He reminds me of a dormant volcano ready to come back to life at any moment. And I want to believe I can be the one to make that happen, but it might be wishful thinking. Still, I’ve been making a lot of wishes lately.

  I turn off the tap and, take off my bra and underwear, hyperaware of the way the fabric scrapes against my sensitive skin. Then I remove my socket, liner and sock before slipping into the deliciously hot water.

  I wished to choose the husband I wanted, instead of the one my brother thought would benefit him financially.

  I wanted Emerson as soon as I saw him, so I chose him.

  As Joey would say, mission accomplished.

  I rest my head on the waterproof pillow and let myself float in the water, thinking of last night again.

  Emerson is so strong, he could probably do whatever he wanted to me. He could put me wherever he wants me, could lift me in his arms and pin me against the wall, and there’d be nothing I could do about it.

  When he set me in his lap in the middle of a Queer Eye life makeover and started nuzzling my neck, that truth crystalized in my mind.

  “Are you trying to tell me something with this show?” he murmurs in my ear, his hand caressing my back. My side. “You’ve already redecorated the house. You want to go through my closet?”

  “N-no. I like your sweaters.”

  His lips open on my neck, his tongue tasting my skin. “Are you sure? I’m willing to make a few changes for you.”

  He lifts his head long enough to tug off his t-shirt, and then he’s placing my hand on his bare chest. “Now you can do whatever you want. Make me over.”

  His kiss is so carnal it overwhelms me. His hands are everywhere over my nightshirt, then lower, cupping my bottom.

  I’m lost to it, loving it, but when he touches my thigh—that thigh—I go stiff in his arms.

  He lifts his head and looks into my eyes. “You can trust me, Tanisha. Trust that when you’re ready, I want all of you.”

  I feel his fingers skim the sock that covers the proof of my imperfection and I shake my head, burying my face in his neck. “Not yet. Please.”

  He stops immediately, holding me tight and kissing my temple. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t try to touch me again.

  I go to sleep wishing I’d let him.

  I wonder what could have happened as I let my fingers trace over my collarbone and along the tops of my breasts. I squeeze my thighs together to ease the building ache.

  What would it be like to be with him? To let him touch me everywhere, with nothing between us? Would he be rough? Gentle? Would he be afraid of hurting me or too aroused to be careful?

  I want to be brave enough to have all of it. I want things I can’t clearly define because I’ve never experienced them before. The weight of him on top of me. His hands on me. His mouth…

  I gasp as my fingers brush over my sex. My clit is sensitive because of him. I need him to rub it for me. I wonder if he’d let me show him how I like to be touched.


  I squeeze my breast and pinch my pointed nipple as I press down with the heel of my other hand and rub harder. I can almost feel his eyes on me.

  Not almost.

  I know before my lashes lift that he’ll be there, but it’s still startling to see him standing in the doorway. His nostrils flare and his lips part as he watches me, and I freeze for an instant before instinctively covering myself with my hands.

  His mouth forms the silent denial, and then he closes his eyes and swallows visibly before turning to leave.

  I’m the one calling him back. “Don’t go. I… I want you to see me.”

  Before I can take it back, he’s kneeling by the tub. “I’m here, baby. I won’t touch you, I promise, but I want to see you, too. I need to see you.”

  I move my hands out of the way, and suddenly there he is. The volcano. His eyes are dark as midnight as he looks down at my body, bared to him for the first time with only the water to conceal me.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful, Tanisha. Please. Don’t stop what you were doing.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Touch yourself while I watch. Let me see you come.”

  It has to be real. None of my previous fantasies have been this vivid. This brazen. And for him, I want to try.

  His teeth bite down on his lower lip when I start to rub myself again. His gaze skims my body over and over but he keeps coming back to my core. To the tight circles I’m making over my swollen clit.

  “Does that feel good, baby?”

  The rough quality of his voice feels like a physical caress, making me shiver. I nod.

  “Don’t be shy with me, wife. Not now that you’ve brought me here. I need to hear you say it.”

  Wife.

  “Yes,” I say in a breathless voice I barely recognize. “It feels good, but I need more.”

  “Oh God, I know, baby.” He’s leaning heavily against the tub now, as if he’s being held back from me by invisible restraints. “I know you do, and I’ve been dying to give it to you. Part your thighs for me.”

  I let my legs drift apart, revealing more to his gaze.

  “Oh, that’s good.” he moans softly. “My woman has a perfect pussy, doesn’t she? But it’s shy and it needs extra attention.”

  The graphic words make my sex clench, heightening my arousal with every breath he takes. “What kind of attention?”

  “I won’t. I swear I won’t,” he mutters before I hear the sound of a zipper lowering on the other side of the tub. “I need to be with you. Only like this, for now, but I can’t wait until I’m alone in the shower, trying to recreate what I’m seeing right now.”

  Is he touching himself, watching me and— “Emerson, what do I do?”

  “Give me a minute, baby.” I can see his muscles flex as his arm works beneath my eye level. “Dip a finger inside for me. I know you’re wet. But I want you to tell me how tight you are. Torture me with that honesty you’re such a fan of.”

  I’ve never gone that far before, but it feels so good when I do that my eyelids flutter. “Very,” I gasp. “Yes, I’m tight.”

  “I bet you are. So fucking tight and wet, aren’t you? Do it again.”

  I do, but then I don’t wait before needing to do it again. And again. It feels indescribable. Necessary. Fast, shallow strokes of my finger as I watch his flexing arm instead of looking into his eyes. “Are you…Do you like this?”

  “Watching you finger yourself and feeling like I might explode? Yeah, baby. I love it. So much I’m on my knees and hard enough to punch a hole through this tub to get to you. No, don’t tense up. I won’t. Not now. Right now, I need you to keep riding your finger for me. And don’t neglect that sweet nub I want to suck in my mouth like candy. It needs love too.”

  He wants it in his mouth? I follow his instructions, wondering how it would feel to have his head between my legs. “Oh.”

  I have a feeling good would be an understatement.

  “I’m close. Emerson.”

  “Say it again,” he grits out, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Say my name while you rub on that pussy I’ve been dreaming of and tell me how close you are.”

  “Emerson!”

  “Tanisha.” It’s the look of ecstatic pain on his face that sends me spinning out of my body.

  I did that to him.

  My own orgasm takes me by surprise. I’ve never come this hard before. This is not the pleasant vibrations that usually satisfy me. This is a sonic boom. An explosion. Krakatoa. Just because I know he’s watching me.

  For a moment I feel like a goddess. Powerful. Sensual.

  Then I look down at my body and I’m instantly yanked back inside it, water sloshing as I sit up and instinctively shield the part of me that was just visible to his gaze.

  “Tanisha?”

  I’m embarrassed by that. Not what we did, but what I did. I stare at the water I’ve splashed on the rim of the tub. “Can we talk after I get out?”

  “I’ll be right outside.”

  He gets up with a groan, and when the door I forgot to close shuts behind him, I drop my forehead and press it into the cool porcelain.

  Did that really just happen?

  Draining the water, I crawl up and onto the bench where I thankfully left a towel and start to dry myself off. Every inch of my skin feels super-charged and overstimulated. Tingling with aftershocks from whatever that was.

  Say my name while you rub on that pussy I’ve been dreaming of.

  I know now that he feels it too. I’ve known for a while. What just happened between us is a good thing, if we’re going to be spending the next few years together. Or just one, if he takes the escape clause I offered him.

  You don’t think he’ll want you for longer than that?

  That question seems more important now than it did a few weeks ago.

  I reattach the socket and prosthesis and get to my feet before reaching for my robe on the back hook of the door. Slipping it on and wrapping my towel around my damp hair, I take a steadying breath and open the door.

  Emerson is pacing at the foot of the bed, but he stops when he sees me. “Are you all right?”

  Am I all right?

  “What happened in there was.—"

  “Too much, too fast, I know. Like last night. Was it the things I said? Did I shock you?”

  “I liked everything you said.” It’s tempting to stop there, but I press on. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is me. I know I’m not what you’re used to. I mean, I don’t know how to…I still want to try. I want us to work into it.”

  He groans and gets to his feet, adjusting himself. “Work into it?”

  “If you still want that.” I’m trying not to sound too hopeful about the prospect, even though I am.

  Please say yes.

  “Oh, I want it.” Emerson’s hands are under my arms and then I’m off my feet and eye level with him. “I’ll want to touch you. See you. Every part of you, Tanisha.”

  I swallow hard. I can do that. “Same.”

  He sets me down and presses his lips to my forehead. “I’ll want to kiss you.”

  “You kiss me all the time.”

  “Every part of you.”

  “Oh.” I wave my hand in front of my face at the heat that image induces. “Agreed.”

  “Okay. Okay. I have to get the kids.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “I forgot Barry’s eardrops. That’s why I came in. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

  “Surprise.”

  He laughs and gives me a sideways look. “I’m bringing pizza home, so don’t make anything.”

  “I know already. We’re having game night. Langston asked me to put it on my schedule.”

  “He takes game night very seriously.” He bends down again and presses his face in the crook between my shoulder and neck. “You smell so good. I’d rather stay and have you for dinner. Let’s agree to lose the game as fast as possible, so I can get you alone.”

  And then he’s gone
and I collapse on the bed like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

  I need to get over my issues, and fast. I’m not sure I can wait too much longer for Dot Dot Dot.

  Chapter Six

  Emerson

  I wander through the bedroom, once again noticing the changes she’s made. There’s color everywhere. A red-and-orange scarf over the lamp beside the bed. Enough throw pillows for a small mountain.

  How many of those does she have?

  The dresser is weighted down with a collection of flavored lip gloss and jewelry.

  For years it’s been me and the boys. Sweat and pine needles. Bare walls, muddy shoes and frozen dinners. This is better. Her scent. Her touch on everything. I can’t imagine going back to the way things were, and it’s only been a few weeks.

  Not all of her things got my seal of approval. I moved her life-sized M’Baku out of my closet the day before yesterday and gave it to the boys, right in front of her.

  She stared at me with wide eyes but didn’t say anything, because Barry and Lang were both too happy with their present. Other than Shuri, he was their favorite Black Panther character. I knew she wouldn’t have the heart to take it away from them.

  She paid me back later. She tortured me, not with a reality show, but with the first of what I imagine will be many holiday movies, while I sat on my hands and gave her freedom to explore my bare chest with her mouth and hands.

  “We’re working into this,” I told her, “but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with you getting off to another man. Real or not.”

  “It was a present. Watch the movie.”

  “Why? Why would you force me to watch Chiwetel’s best friend putting the moves on his new wife? That doesn’t fill me with holiday spirit. I’d rather watch that Tidying Up show again.”

  “You probably think Die Hard is a good holiday movie.”

  “It’s a classic. And The Preacher’s Wife.”

  “Wait. Isn’t that about an angel putting the moves on the preacher’s wife?”

  “Damn it. Now I can’t watch that movie ei— What are you doing?”