“No expression at all?”
“Nope.”
“Damn.”
“It’s kind of scary, actually. Like a psycho killer. I’m still not used to seeing him go blank like that.” Jen smooths the black bias-cut silk frock she’s wearing over her hips. Her choice, as agreed. It’s a really nice dress. “Not that I’m calling your soon-to-be husband a psycho killer or anything.”
“Kind of think you are.”
“But not really.”
“Let’s agree to disagree.” I shake my head. “He’s just nervous.”
“Of course he is. Everyone else seems to be kicking back and having a nice time,” she continues. “Though the big blond hairy dude keeps thumping Thom on the back like he’s encouraging him to hack up a hair ball or something. Is this typical soothing, manly behavior?”
“Not sure. But that is actually pretty typical behavior for Bear. He’s probably just annoying the crap out of Thom for fun. It’s how he expresses affection.”
She sips from her glass of wine. “Love the name. Bear. Because he really does sort of look like one. Some parents are so mean yet so accurately descriptive.”
“Yeah.” I give her my best fake smile. “Aren’t they?”
“He is a big dude. Decent-sized head. Maybe it was a hard birth.”
“Ah, maybe.”
“And who’s the handsome, classy-looking dark-skinned guy standing next to them?”
“Hmm?” I move over to the window. “Oh, that’s Cro… Chris. Yeah. Chris. He’s an old friend of Thom’s.” If too many people are named after animals, Jen would definitely get suspicious. And while she knows a little bit, I’m not going to encourage her to get curious about anything else and attract the possible attention of the organization. That would be dangerous.
“The man is supermodel gorgeous.”
“I know, right?”
“Oh, he brought a date.”
“That’s Fiona. Another friend from where Thom used to work.” Mental note to tell Crow and Fox they’ve had a change of identity. Probably pretty normal for them.
Despite numerous lessons from Thom, my lying skills are obviously nowhere near his. Fortunately for all of us, Jen has accepted that any weirdness related to Thom and Co. should be ignored. Though today is the first time it’s been “and Co.” since the hospital. Guess the rest of the zoo have been kept busy working. Or they’re just not the type of people to drop by for Friday night football or a Sunday BBQ. Which is sad. I think Thom misses them and the comraderie more than he thought he would. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing. Why, it would probably be considered a weakness among the hardcore operators. He has me, and I’m all he’ll admit to requiring in life these days.
Thom has been…keeping busy. We now have an entire room dedicated to his whittling. What can I say, the man likes playing with knives. Everyone I know has been gifted at least one wooden squirrel or hummingbird in the last four months.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say retirement is slowly driving him insane, and he’s in complete denial about it. I’m not sure what to do about it just yet. Various articles said newly retired folk can take a year or two to find their stride without work to ground them.
Maybe he needs a new and different job. Something part time, perhaps. Or at least an interest outside of me, working out, sculpting wooden critters and, of course, the maintaining and cleaning of his stockpile of weapons and various safe houses. Just in case. Thom wouldn’t be Thom without a couple dozen different emergency exfil plans, retired or not.
We still both go to a shooting range twice a week to practice. Even my draw has gotten faster. And when at work or anywhere outside of the house, I call or text him regularly to let him know I’m still alive so he doesn’t worry.
We should be in a state of domestic bliss. But something feels off. I don’t know. I worry. I love him and want him to be happy. Just not quite sure the quiet life is right for him, though. Or perhaps it’s the old occasional bullshit anxiety rearing its ugly head, making me wonder if I’m enough.
Ugh. I know he loves me. Like I need that nonsense creeping up on me today of all days.
“More rosé?” asks Jen.
“Yeah. Actually, gimme the bottle.”
“That’s the spirit!” She laughs, handing the booze over. “Skip down the aisle, I say. Or no, rumba.”
“I don’t even know how to rumba. But you know, I just might.” I slip it under my arm and pull out my cell, sending a quick text. “Be back in a minute or two.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“Something important I have to do. Won’t be long. Don’t freak.” I slip out the bedroom door and cross the hallway into the office or den or whatever it’s called. The place where Thom stores his creations. I set the bottle of wine down among a tabletop full of eagles and coyotes. His latest animal fascinations. So many beady little wooden eyes looking back at me. At least he didn’t take up taxidermy or something equally gory and strange. That would have been full-on yikes.
My man slips into the room, closing the door behind him. And the look on his face, it’s very gratifying. “Babe, you’re beyond beautiful. A walking dream. And that is a shit-hot dress worthy of a queen.”
“Thank you.” Nice to know the two hours’ worth of hair and makeup were worth the effort. I swish the full skirt of my silk strapless gown. “It has pockets.”
“Yeah. What’s in them?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease. “You look pretty damn handsome in that suit.”
It’s an understatement. The man is drool worthy. With the old Thom’s precise, slicked-down hairdo, tepid manner, and slumped shoulders gone, he stands out as the strong, virile man he’s been all along. I can’t help but stare. Without a doubt, he makes my heart beat double time.
“What am I doing here, Betty?” he asks, stepping closer. “Are you all right? Is everything okay?”
“Lock the door, please.”
He does as asked.
“So…my sources reported you looked somewhat tense standing down there among our guests.”
“Your sources, huh? I’m fine.” He sighs. “Actually, I’m more than fine, I’m great. About to marry the love of my life. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
I just wait.
A groan. “Maybe I’m a little uptight about not being able to properly monitor all of the people coming and going, but it’s okay. I’ll live with it.”
“Repeat after me. This is our wedding, not a high-threat zone.”
“I know, I know.” His hands slide over my bare shoulders. The pads of his fingers warm and just a little rough. “It’s all good. Really.”
“Tell the truth. You’ve got the zoo casing the place, don’t you?”
He scoffs. “No.”
“Yes, you do. You big fibber.”
“They’ve been trained to monitor their surroundings. I didn’t say a word, I swear.”
“You didn’t need to.” My fingers trail lightly over the lapels of his suit jacket, his crisp white shirt. “I’m glad your friends are here for you today. And I know you think I don’t take security seriously enough, but I do. I get it. I want us both to live a long, healthy life together. It’s good that they’re keeping an eye on things. Makes me feel safer. Now, however, you need to relax and enjoy. That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My hands glide lower, over his belt buckle and onto the fly of his black slacks. Down the zip goes and in my fingers slip.
“Babe.” He grins. “Do we have time for this?”
“It’s important. We’re making time for it. The pre-wedding blow job is a tradition. You’ve never heard of it?”
“Oh, now that you mention it, that does sound like an important institution that should be diligently honored,” he says, cock hardening in my grip.
“Because, let’s be realistic, our wedding night is going to consist of hours of you painstakingly removing bobby pins from my hair until we both collapse
in exhaustion.”
“There seems to be a lot of thought behind this tradition. I’m at your command.”
“Are you now? Widen your stance a little, please.”
He’s all velvet skin and heat. And the scent of him and his cologne, it gets me so high.
Carefully, I arrange the skirt of my dress and get to my knees. One hand around the thick length of him, guiding him into my waiting lips. Much swearing from him. Some of it in foreign languages.
I tighten my lips around him, sliding them up and down his length, stopping to give him the amount of suction he loves. Meanwhile, my other hand plays inside his pants, toying with his balls. I suck and lick and take him deep, loving him with my mouth. Letting him know we’re all good. The salty taste of his precum hits my tongue, and oh God, pleasuring him pleases me too. I’m already wet and ready to go. But this is about him.
However, when his dick is truly swollen and rigid, lined with veins, he stops me.
“You come with me,” he breathes, hands on my arms, lifting me to my feet. “Be on top. That way we won’t crush your dress too bad.”
“What about your suit?”
“Fuck my suit.” He slips out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. Then he lies down on the floor at my feet. A slight sheen of sweat covers his forehead. “C’mon.”
My dress was not exactly designed for this, but what the hell. Straddling his body, I sink down on his hard cock. Lucky the skirt of my gown is floor length. No one need ever know about the carpet burn I’m about to get on my knees.
A small sigh slips out of me. “Damn, that feels good.”
“Ride me,” he commands.
“We have to be fast. All of those people downstairs…”
He laughs. “You’re the one on top. What are you waiting for?”
I set my hands on his chest, my hips rising and falling, finding the right rhythm. Even grinding against him every so often. It’s all so good. The way he stretches me just so. The feel of him heavy and hard inside of me. Everything about this is perfect. I love him so much it hurts. But if my complicated updo actually manages to come out of this intact, I’m going to owe the hairstylist extra. Because soon enough, I’m riding Thom for all I’m worth.
Like mine, his breath comes in harsh pants. “That’s my girl.”
“Yeah.”
“Always feels so damn good.”
Hands squeeze my thighs, beneath my dress, as he silently urges me onward. Harder, faster, I bounce up and down on his cock. His hips rise and fall in sharp little movements, pushing his dick into me deeper. The warmth spreads and builds and finally burns in the sweetest way possible. My lungs working hard, my heart close to bursting. Until finally it hits. And it’s one hell of an orgasm, racing through me, taking me over. My pussy squeezes him tight, greedy to keep him forever.
“Babe,” he moans beneath me, coming hard too.
And I’m conscious just enough to stop me from face planting against his white button-down. Thank God. No one would believe he had a shirt full of makeup by accident. Jen must be suspicious as all hell already. Not that it’s illegal to screw your betrothed before the ceremony. But we’ve definitely thrown the old don’t-see-the-bride-before-the-ceremony thing right out the window. Oh well.
Thom’s smile is dazzling and wide. “God, I love you.”
“See,” I say, taking a deep breath and trying to set myself to rights. “You’re all relaxed and happy now, aren’t you?”
“Sure am.”
“This is what I keep telling you. I do know best. When are you going to believe it?”
“I believe it now.”
“Well, about time.”
“Pretty sure you just fucked good sense into me.”
“Nuh.” I grin. “You already had good sense. You’re a smart guy. You’re marrying me, aren’t you?”
“Kiss me,” he demands, raising his head.
I do as asked. It’s both a duty and pleasure. Something I intend to do for the rest of my natural life and beyond, if I can manage. “I better go fix my makeup. Then how about I see you downstairs?”
“You’re on.”
Chapter 11
Thoughts on marriage ceremonies. Here we go. So, it’s really weird to actually be walking into your own party without having welcomed anyone. Plus, there’s the everyone staring and smiling at you part. Like you’ve just done something really wondrous such as save the world to deserve this level of attention. When all you’ve really done is spent a bomb on a dress and heels. Normally, throwing money to the wind in this way on stuff you’d probably never wear again would earn you some small amount of censure. But when you’re a bride, it’s all fine.
None of this matters, however, in the face of Thom’s love-filled gaze and radiant smile. The blow job and cowgirl sure have loosened him up. He actually seems to be enjoying himself now. Can’t help but feel that we’re getting off to matrimony on the right foot.
Among those assembled, Crow smiles, Fox smirks, and Bear grins. My family and friends all seem pretty much generally delighted too. It’s lovely. But my gaze keeps returning to Thom, because he’s my everything. He reaches out as I move to the end of the aisle, his big warm hand gently holding mine. This is it. We’re really doing this.
“You okay?” whispers Thom, leaning closer.
I nod. “Yes.”
“No second thoughts?”
“Hell no.”
We both turn to face the lady celebrant, who stands tall and calm in her nice neat suit. She opens her mouth to speak—and that’s when it happens.
The horrible yet familiar bang of a gun going off.
People scream, the crowd scattering or falling to their knees.
A waitress stands on the other side of the deck, behind the wedding guests and back near the house. In her hands is a pistol, pointed straight at me. From this distance, all I can see is that she’s a brunette with a puffy face, but something about her feels all too familiar.
“Scorpion,” shouts Bear, reaching beneath his coat.
Her gun swings toward him, and he hits the ground ahead of her volley of shots. There’s no time to check if he’s okay. There’s no time for anything. And it’s so loud. The moment seems so fast yet so slow. I’d forgotten what this is like. But there’s a fucking good reason my dress has pockets. A reason beyond lipstick and Kleenex and all the other necessities.
I meant it when I told Thom I was serious about security. Both his and mine.
Scorpion turns back to me, hurriedly firing off another shot. And I swear the bullet is so close, I can feel it fly past. Close, but not close enough.
Now someone else is firing at Scorpion, forcing her to take cover behind the nearby bar. My ears are ringing from all the noise, people fighting to get back inside the house. To escape the violence and confusion.
So much for our beautiful wedding.
With everyone clearing out or keeping low, my line of sight is clear. I draw my gun and aim, hands steady. Another thing practice has improved. The small pistol is one I’ve taken to the shooting range often. My grip is good.
Meanwhile, Scorpion is so busy worrying about Crow and Fox, she doesn’t see me. Doesn’t think I’m a danger to her. Not yet. And the next time she appears above the top of the bar to return fire, I shoot.
Red splatters onto the sliding glass door behind her and her body tumbles back. Fox just turns to me and nods. Crow carefully approaches Scorpion’s position, bending down to check the body. But she’s dead. You’d have to be pretty damn lucky to take a hit to the head and live.
“Okay. Wow. That was unexpected.” I relax my shoulders and lower the gun. “Thom?”
His body is sprawled on the deck at my feet.
My heart stops. I swear it. Except then he blinks.
Oh, thank God, still alive. “Thom!” I gasp.
“Call an ambulance!” someone yells.
On my knees beside him, I push back his coat. There’s so much blood soaking into the fine
cotton of his shirt, but it’s not in the region of his heart or lungs. At least, it seems a bit lower and to the side. I tug up his shirt, trying to get a clear look at the wound.
The bullet hit him in the back on an angle and came out just below his ribs. I use my big stupid flouncy skirt to apply pressure to the entry and exit wounds, to try to slow the bleeding. All I can see and smell is his blood, spreading out through the white cotton frighteningly fast. This is horrible.
Thom’s face is pale, his gaze pissed. “Babe. Hey. You okay?”
“Yes, and so are you.”
“Really? ’Cause it feels a shitload like I just got shot.”
“How can you make jokes?” My throat tightens, but I am not going to cry.
“I’m still alive. Why not make jokes?”
“Scorpion’s dead.” Fox stands nearby, gun in hand. “Seems she was working alone.”
“No civvies were hit, but Betty, there’s blood all over your gown,” says Crow. “Are you sure you weren’t clipped?”
I shake my head. “It’s Thom’s, not mine. Where’s the ambulance?”
“On its way,” reports Bear. “Sorry she got past us.”
“Not your fault. I told you I didn’t want to intimidate our wedding guests with full surveillance and security.” Thom winces in pain. “Well, this sucks.”
“Surprisingly good shooting, Betty,” says Fox. At least none of the zoo seem to be overly impressed or alarmed by Thom’s wound. There’s a positive. “I thought she had you there for a minute. Another second and you might have been bleeding dramatically all over the floor alongside your fiancé. What a wedding that would be.”
“She had you in her sights too?” Thom asks me through gritted teeth. “I thought it was just me she was after.”
“It doesn’t matter. She didn’t hit me,” I say. “It’s over.”
Thom does not look appeased.
“Guess she didn’t like either of you very much to take on a suicide mission like this.” Fox keeps perusing the crowd, gun at the ready. “She had to know we’d all be here.”
“Yeah, but she also knew she was dead anyway. It was only a matter of time before she’d slip up and we’d get payback for Helene. She probably felt she had nothing to lose,” says Bear. “Fox, you got this under control?”
Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5) Page 76