by Q. T. Ruby
“Nope.”
“When do you think it’ll become public?”
He leans in and pecks at my lips with his. “Two days, hopefully, but for now it’s just us . . . spouses.”
“Spouses,” I repeat. We kiss endlessly, and our hands run nearly all the bases.
“Stop.” He sits up suddenly, slides away from me, and runs his hand through his hair, exhaling deeply.
“What? Why are you stopping?” I sit up, too, breathing hard, and so very confused.
“Because. Our first time as a married couple cannot be in the back of a limo.”
“Um, you were ready to have sex in the middle of the street at Christmas!”
“My morals were loose then.”
I crack up. “Well, it’s a good thing I showed you the way.”
“Yeah. Good thing.” He straightens out his jacket, maintaining a good foot of distance.
I scoot a little closer and throw my legs over his. “Well, if you’re not going to have sex with me, then you should at least tell me how you planned all this.”
He strokes my legs softly. “Good distraction. Good distraction. Yeah.” He exhales again and continues. “So, after we talked that night you were drunk—”
My eyes widen. “Oh my God, did you do all this based on one drunk conversation?”
“Isn’t that what everyone does?” He makes a silly face at me then chuckles. “In all honesty, our drunk conversation struck the match, so to speak. I knew where I wanted our relationship to go, and during our conversation you seemed to be on the same page. And, yes, I know you were drunk, but I also know in the past when you’ve been drunk, you were more open, more forthcoming. But I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure you were ready to say yes, so I was taking a leap. A huge fucking leap. Hence, my inability to even look at you at the theater.”
“That’s why you looked away?” The pieces begin falling into place in my head.
“Yeah. It’s not every day I propose to the woman of my dreams.”
I shake my head at him as if he’s exaggerating.
“I’m serious. Anyway, I figured if I was going to go for it, I was going to make it unforgettable . . . like you. Hopefully, I’ve done that, so far anyway.”
“Yes . . .” I say softly as a wave of emotion washes over me.
“It’s why I had to avoid you these last couple of weeks. I was so afraid I’d spill something and ruin it all.”
“And here I thought you were planning to break up with me. You left my father’s party so abruptly and didn’t want to talk and . . . I was so worried. I thought maybe we couldn’t come back from the distance.”
He pauses, gazing at me a moment. “No,” he says, quietly shaking his head. “I’m sorry you thought that. I didn’t mean to hurt or worry you, but I needed time to plan things. I couldn’t have surprised you if I let on, could I?”
“That’s true. You just seemed angry when you left.”
“Well, I wasn’t thrilled that Mark was there, not to mention invited by your mom, but let’s just say if our drunk conversation struck the match then your father’s party lit the fuse. It’s when the whole thing came together for me. You said you couldn’t imagine your life without me, so it sealed the deal in my head. Plus, I wasn’t going to let anyone define us anymore. No more roadblocks so to speak. I already knew you were the one for me, so on my end it was time, and I just prayed that my gut was right—that you were ready, too.”
“Clearly your gut was right.” I hold up my ring finger.
***
Soon enough, we’re at the airport, but in a non-commercial section that I’ve never been to. Stepping out of the car, I look around. It may be nighttime, but the lights of the airport transform it to daytime. Brad takes two suitcases from the trunk, and we shake his hand before stepping over to an awaiting plane. The stairs are already lowered and waiting for us.
An airplane staffer nods hello and takes the bags, loading them as Dan takes my hand to lead me up the stairs.
“You’re amazing, Dan.”
“No, I’m Mr. Beautiful.” He makes a silly face and we laugh together.
Once inside, I look around at the large, leather seats, wood trim, and soft carpet. “This is quite luxurious.”
As we sit and buckle in, Dan says, “Honestly, I haven’t really had reason to spend lavishly on anything. I haven’t wanted to. Never needed anything, but this—marrying you, wanting to do this—made me want to spend every last dime to get it right.”
“So are you saying you’re poor now?”
“Yes. Dirt poor. I’ll kick back, and you can take care of me. I can be your man candy.”
“I’m more of an Everlasting Gobstopper kind of girl, and you’re more of a Hershey Kiss kind of guy—you know, small and only minimally satisfying.”
“I do have a lollipop that needs some sucking.”
“You’re shameless!” I say, laughing and swatting his shoulder. “So how long is the ride anyway?”
“Long.” We begin to taxi the runway.
“How precise of you.”
“You’re going to have to just go with the flow. YOLO, Claire, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. YOLO.” The plane takes off, and it’s clear he’s not going to tell me anything, so I spend a few minutes playing with the seat, which fully reclines, while he watches me, amused. The sparkle from my brand new ring catches my eye, and I sit, staring at it, amazed that the last hour or so even happened. I’m sorting it all out in my mind when something dawns on me. “Where will we live? New York? L.A.?”
There he is with that wicked smile again. “Trust me. I’ve been steeped in this entire thing for weeks, planning every angle. I think you’ll like what I came up with, but if not, that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”
I smile wide, utterly content. “Yeah. Together.”
***
Soon enough, I fall asleep. Perhaps it’s all the momentous events and the stress, but I don’t wake until we’re nearly there, or so I’m told.
“We have about half an hour left,” Dan says as I sit up and stretch in my seat.
“How long have I been sleeping?”
He’s about to answer then catches himself. “A while.”
I shake my head at him. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m dying to know where we’re going.” I shift around. “And to get out of this dress.”
He smiles wickedly. “I can’t wait for that, too.”
The plane lands and I’m pretty much glued to the window for clues until we disembark. There’s a car—a limo—waiting for us on the tarmac. “A limo. I am highly impressed here.” He grins, holding the door open for me, and we both get in. As we drive along, I begin to see signs in another language, and I turn to him. “Are we in Italy?” I ask with baited breath.
“Yes, we are.”
“Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to go to Italy!” I bounce in my seat a bit.
“I know. That’s why we’re here.”
“What part are we in?”
“Florence.”
I slap my hands to my face as I burst into tears.
He pries my hands away. “Why are you crying?”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. To Florence. Always. And we talked about it, what, once? And you remembered, and now, here we are!”
He kisses my hand. “And we’re going to see the David tomorrow.”
More tears, but each and every one is happy.
Soon enough we arrive at what looks like a very swanky hotel and get out of our limo. As if the staff is expecting us, which with the way things have gone so far, they probably are, they whisk us inside and to our room. It’s spacious with a clean, modern flair that overlooks the Ponte Vecchio.
I’m drawn to the large balcony that opens from the living room, and step outside to the dark skies and twinkling lights reflected in the Arno River below. “My God,” I whisper, gripping the marble rail. There’s a light, cool breeze that makes my skin shiver, but I don’t move. I can’t move actually. I’m so overwhelmed.
A rush of warmth and soap-and-shaving-cream scent engulfs me from behind. Dan’s body gently presses against mine as his hands slide down my arms and intertwines his fingers with mine. His lips press small, soft kisses up to the back of my ear, while he wiggles one hand into my hair to take it down. One bobby pin. Then two. Another bobby pin and another kiss, and on it goes until my hair unravels itself. He turns me around to face him, running his hand through my hair. “My beautiful wife.”
“My Mr. Beautiful.” His arms lock tight around my waist, and his mouth is on mine before I can say another word. My arms link around his neck, returning every ounce of passion and love and commitment.
Somehow, without breaking our kiss, we blindly shuffle inside the room, lit only by the moon and twinkling lights reflected in the river. But it’s enough. Enough to see my love, enough to feel him, and enough to hear him whispering my name.
“Ow,” he mumbles when he bumps his leg on the side of the chair as we pass.
We rotate a bit and I whack my hip on the side of the sofa. “Ugh.”
Soldiering on, determined to reach our bedroom destination, we nearly trip and almost fall over each other when we attempt the one step up. Giggling, we finally make it. His breath is so warm as he kisses my neck it sends chills down my arms. “Are you cold?” he whispers as his lips skim across my skin.
“No, not really.”
His hands are searching me, or my dress anyway. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to figure out how to smoothly take it off without it ripping or him falling or me tripping, so I step back, slightly out of his reach and slowly unzip the side. I hold it against me until it’s fully undone. I breathe, taking in this moment. I let it go, and it pools at my feet. I love how his smile is impossibly bigger, sexier, hungrier.
Bare, except for my panties and heels, I stop him as he steps closer. “Your turn.”
Happily obliging, he loosens his tie, whips it through his collar, and tosses it to the floor. His fingers fumble with the tiny buttons on his shirt, trying to undo each one quickly. He yanks on the sleeve, trying to rip off his wrists, when a button flies off and bounces across the wooden floor. We both giggle a bit before he’s back to stripping for me, wiggling his hips in time to some tune playing only in his head. He flings his shirt to the floor next then kicks off his shoes. Finally, he’s got his belt in his hands, unlatching it in record time, my fifteen-minute king, and I’m giggling madly. He is, too.
“It’s been so long I’m apologizing up front. Fifteen minutes might be tough tonight,” he says with a grin as his pants hit the floor. Somehow the sight of him in his tight boxer briefs, which strain to contain him, is an image I’d love tattooed on my brain.
I sit on the bed, scooting back a bit and beckon him with my finger. “Tick tock. The clock is ticking, Mr. Chase.”
He crawls on top of me. “Hopefully, it’s not ticking too fast, Mrs. Chase. I’d like to remember this night forever.” He’s kissing me hard again—there’s nothing stopping us now. No stipulations, no time restrictions, no one’s waiting, and best of all, nearly no one knows that Dan and I are in this incredible hotel on the Arno River in Florence, Italy, making love as husband and wife for the first time.
As his hands navigate my body, and mine explore his rippling peaks and valleys, there is a new and unexpected spark, a lightning bolt of love striking me in the heart, the mind, and right between my legs. I have an indescribable, almost desperate need to fulfill him and be fulfilled.
His body is, well, Michelangelo himself couldn’t sculpt muscles as fine. And his scent intoxicates me, compelling me to be closer, closer, but there is no more space to gain. Twisting and tumbling on the bed, I scramble on top of him and we connect—finally! Our bodies strike perfect note after perfect note—a fresh melody and harmony—as we compose our new song here, now. Our breathing is the rhythm; our hearts are the beat. Synchronicity.
A need is building—a need to commit fully and totally physically, or perhaps that’s our souls melding. I’m lost in the moment until I open my eyes—he’s under me, his eyes are closed, and his face is tensed with sheer bliss. My ring, glinting even in the dark, is gasoline, igniting my passion into a five-alarm blaze. I don’t want the moment to end—no, no, no—but I’m so close. I need to claim the ultimate moment of pleasure, of satisfaction. Everything in me tightens and tingles. His eyes open, and it’s almost too much—all the love and desire aimed my way—and he shakes his head just like I’m doing because this release is coming quickly, and I cannot prolong it another second.
My sharp intake of breath matches his, and we cry out at the same time, our bodies pulsing through our crescendo, simultaneously gratified like never before, and yet wanting to rewind this tape and replay.
I chuckle despite my panting.
“What?” he asks through heavy breaths.
After a moment of breathing in and out in steadying breaths, I say, “The idea of a music tape popped to mind just now and . . . I remember playing my college tape for you. I was so nervous, worried you’d think I was an idiot, and now here we are a year later, and I’ve just finished riding my new husband, who obviously liked the tape.”
He bursts into laughter. “How are you even thinking of that now? Fuck. I’m just trying to breathe here.”
“I know. I have issues.”
“A workaholic mind.” He grabs my arms and pulls me down to kiss me. “No more thinking on our honeymoon, okay? I’ve got the whole thing covered.” He kisses me again.
I straighten up. “Okay. I’ll do my best.” I shift to his side, snuggling up against his chest with a leg swung on top of his. He throws the covers over us. After a few moments I say, “I think that was a solid twenty minutes. Go you.” I pat his chest in congratulations.
He squeezes me. “The doctor said we couldn’t overwork your heart, Miss Daisy.” I laugh and yawn at the same time. “Rest. You’re exhausted.”
I nod. “I’m not sure why—I slept on the plane, but yeah, I am. I’m sure you are, too.”
“Yeah, I am.”
And like a flick of a switch, we’re out. Neither of us moves until the morning light is streaming in and hitting us square in the face. We stretch and take stock of one another the next morning.
“Hi,” I say, situating myself on my side, facing him.
“Hi, my love.” He strokes my cheek. “Sleep well?”
“I don’t think we moved. I’m actually a little stiff.”
“Me, too.” He grins and grabs himself over the blankets.
I laugh and grab him under the blankets. “I see the problem—your needy sex.” I whip the covers over my head and slink down the bed, taking him firmly, yet gently into my mouth. I’m spurred on by his loud gasp. It takes almost no effort to solve his problem, and when I come back up his face is slack and he looks, well, limp. “You okay there?”
He looks over at me, blank-faced, and moans.
“I’m taking that as a yes. You tired still?”
He nods.
I smile, loving that I can have this effect on him. “Maybe we should eat. My stomach is rumbling.” No sooner do the words leave my lips than there is a knock on the door. “Want me to get that?”
“No, no,” he grumbles, sitting up, finding some pants, and sliding them on. He’s like a flame—I can’t stop watching his every move as he walks across the bedroom. All those fine-tuned muscles working in unison. Damn.
He speaks with someone for a few moments, and then I hear the suite door shut followed by a lot of clanking. I’m wai
ting for him to return, but it takes him several minutes, which sparks my curiosity—what’s he doing? When he finally appears, he’s got a bowl in his hands. He sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “Here, have some. This will tide us over until we’re ready to leave for a real breakfast.”
I sit up and peek in the bowl. “Lucky Charms! They have Lucky Charms in Italy?”
He grins. “No. I packed it. I scheduled for room service to bring me the bowl and milk. Here.” He feeds me a spoonful before he takes a bite.
“This is very reminiscent of the morning after our first time together.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You really thought of everything.”
“Yes. I did a hell of a lot of planning for all of this, which is why you aren’t allowed to think, got it? Just trust me, go with the flow—”
“YOLO?”
He laughs. “Yes—YOLO.”
After we eat and while Dan’s showering, I open my suitcase with trepidation. God only knows what he packed me. At first glance, it appears to have some of the usual things I wear, but further digging leads me to an entire layer of lacy panties, not enough bras, and definitely some items that I’m not sure belong to me. Leather pants? Tube top? I shove those deep inside the suitcase and dig out some relatively normal clothes—jeans, T-shirt, sweater.
Eventually, we were both ready to explore Florence. As we leave, Dan shoves on his baseball cap. “Going undercover, Master of Disguise?”
“Yes.” He grabs my hand and leads me out of the hotel. It’s a gorgeous day—sunny, cool, but warm in the sun. We walk along the streets, my arm interlocked with his. We stop for a coffee and pastry. Incredible.
Eventually we make our way inside the gallery where Michelangelo’s David is, and my God! It’s far larger than I expected and breathtaking beyond belief.
We spend the day walking around, stopping for nibbles, and just enjoying one another. I know how precious time with Dan is, especially after our stipulation-forced drought.