The Wedding: Dark Romance

by Sienna Mynx

  “Hey? You okay?” he whispers against my ear.

  “Mmmhmm,” I say.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I look into his eyes. They are so gentle and caring. I touch the side of his jaw and kiss him with our foreheads bumping. “I’m thinking about us,” I say with my lips pressed to his. My tongue slides in and glides over his. The kiss is a tantalizing tease. My senses are seduced and I can no longer think about what I don’t want. All I can think about is him. The kiss we share is slow, soft, comforting in ways that words can never be. And when my mouth parts from his, I realize that my vision of the future is not wrong. It’s just different the future we can make. Maybe I can have him and my freedom too.

  “I’ve fallen in love with you, Brick,” I confess and stroke his face.

  “Good.” He has a sly smile to his face. The boat jerks from a decrease in speed and we’re jostled a bit. I look over and my eyes stretch. There, beyond the bayou swamp trees, is a four-story log cabin home that looks like something out of another century.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s where I grew up. It’s home,” Brick chuckles.

  The pier is lit with lanterns. In fact there are lanterns that hang from the low branches of the trees. Each level of the log cabin has a porch with rocking chairs. The lower level is where several people sit outside and socialize. I’m afraid and intrigued all at once. The place is big enough for maybe thirty to forty guests.

  “Do they know I’m coming?” I ask him and stand. He stands.

  “Word travels fast. Looks like they all came out to get a look at you. I don’t bring home women often.”

  “Pops wants to see her.” Jessup says. It’s the first time he spoke. His voice is deep like the baritone note of a bass instrument. He grabs my luggage and tosses it to the pier.

  “I think we should get the greeting over with first, don’t you.”

  “Brick. I don’t know. I mean, do they want me here?”

  Brick laughs. “You’re safe with me, Coco. Come on.”

  He steps out of the boat and I follow with his help. The year is 2012 but the look of the pier, the swamp, and the Bondurant camp makes me think of folklores of 1860. Time has not touched this place. I see a few other boats, but nothing else modern. I hear music too. Someone playing a guitar and harmonica. Brick slips his arm around my waist and I put mine around his. Jessup is taking care of my luggage and. When we approach the front of the house the laughter and talking ceases. All of those, mostly men, sitting out front stare at us. A woman gets up and runs inside the house, slamming the screen door behind her.

  “Everybody! Meet my girl, Coco Larue,” he says.

  A few of them mumble hellos. Some of them sneer at me. Brick starts introducing his cousins one by one. I nod respectfully to each. There are a total of fifteen. And three of the women are their wives. No one asks me a question or Brick. He takes my hand walks me inside. A few of the men give me sideways glances as I pass them. I try to seem unaffected. But trust me, I am affected. I’m so damn affected my legs feel like jelly. I’m terrified. I’m beginning to regret coming here. I regret running out on my family. I regret it all.

  “Coco, meet my stepmother, Evangeline.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. Welcome.”

  My mouth drops open. Evangeline is a black woman. She walks over and hugs me. There are three young women with her. I guess their ages range from twelve to sixteen. All of them looked to be of mixed heritage with light brown skin and golden brown dreadlocks like their mother. I guess them to be Evangeline’s daughters and Brick’s sisters. I hug her back. Brick never said, never mentioned, never once alluded to the fact that his father had married a black woman.

  “Pops is waiting for you both,” Evangeline says.

  Brick takes my hand. I can’t help but stare at Evangeline. She looks to be in her early fifties. She has thick dreadlock hair that she wears up into a fixed ponytail style causing the locks to fall past her shoulders. She has a very trim body. I can tell under her sweater by the swell of her breasts and expanse of her hips. She’s a shade darker than me, wears a lot of bracelets. There are feathers, beads, cowry shells in her hair. She smells like licorice. And her eyes are hazel green. They’re hypnotic against her brown face.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, unable to look away from her eyes. Evangeline’s smile fades as Brick pulls me away from her. Then she and her girls go in the opposite direction.

  “You never told me she was… black.”

  “Yea? Guess I forgot.” He says and keeps going. Doesn’t feel like something he would forget. But as I recall it, he’s never made much of a deal about our skin color being a difference. I guess I assumed, especially after seeing his brothers and those men outside when we arrived that it would be.

  “Pops has a entertainment room. No one goes in it when he’s not home but him. Come, it’s this way.”

  “Okay. Why does he want to see me?”

  “You’re in his home. He knows I’m bringing you here to stay. It’s the way it is.”

  “Ah, okay,” I say.

  Brick takes me around the corner to double wood doors. One is open. We enter through it. A man is seated in a recliner smoking a cigar. The entertainment room is huge, with a leather L-shaped sofa and an eighty inch wide screen television mounted to the wall. There’s a full bar, a pool table, and two arcade machines. How on earth did they get all of this out here in the swamp? Pops is staring up at the television with his feet up on the footrest of his chair. Two other men, younger, but much older than Brick and me are lounging on the sofas. They look over. Pops doesn’t. He blows up a ring of smoke.

  “That her?” Pops asks without looking at me.

  “Yes.” Brick replies.

  Pops drops the footrest of the chair and cuts his gaze over at me. He has a salt and pepper grey beard. It’s shaved and trimmed neat to his jawline. His eyes aren’t like Brick’s. They are more of a bluish grey color. And his tan is much deeper than Brick’s. His skin is almost a reddish tan like that of a Native American.

  “‘Ello, Coco,” he says.

  I look at Brick. I’m not sure how his father knows my name but I get a shiver when he says it. Pops stands and he has to be the tallest man in the room. My guess is that he’s in his sixties, but he has the muscular strength and build of a thirty-year-old man. He walks over to me and I feel myself shrink under his gaze.

  “She’s a pretty girl, Brick.”

  “She’s my girl, Pops. And I want her to stay here for awhile.”

  “Yeah, I heard. You in trouble, Coco? Family trouble?”

  “Ah? No, I… ah,” I stammer and my voice dies in my throat.

  “You know her troubles, Pops.”

  For the first time Brick’s father’s gaze cuts over to his son. The cruel hard glare he gives Brick should have us both running from the room. But Brick stands his ground. Pops pats Brick’s jaw as if he’s proud but it sounds off like a smack.

  “Laisse tomber,” Pops says in french which means for Brick to drop it.

  Pops walks back over to the lounger. The other two men, who have to be Pops brothers, never speak or rise. They continue to stare at us.

  “Brick est vénère,” Pops says and the other men laugh. Brick face turns red. But he doesn’t say anything of disrespect to his father.

  “Take the cabin,” Pops says. “And tell Evangeline I want me some filè gumbo, yeah. Bring me some of her pie too.” Pops says as he draws back up the footrest on his recliner.

  “Yes, sir,” Brick says. He takes my hand and starts toward the door.

  “Brick?” his father speaks.

  We stop. Brick hand tightens on mine as if for restraint.

  Brick looks back and so do I.

  “See me later, eh? We have that talk you itching for, boy.”

  “Yes, sir,” he says and pulls me along. We leave and I can tell by Brick’s angry but not in the mood to discuss it. So I say nothing. Besides. I’m at a loss for words.r />
  Chapter Fourteen

  The Bondurant camp is much more than a four-story log cabin house with many rooms. Behind the huge house and on tall planks in the middle of swampland are many smaller cabins. Brick and I are given one. They are close quarters. One could open a window and reach into the window of the cabin next to it and take a cup of sugar. But each has a separate walkway. My things are already inside when we arrive.

  Brick comes in and he’s pacing. I look around the cabin. Just like the big house the place is nicely furnished. Leather sofas, the latest in flat screens televisions, expensive rugs and throw pillows. The family is accustomed to nice things. I can tell.

  Brick turns and looks at me. “I’ll be back. Something I need to take care of.”

  “What? Wait!”

  He storms out with his nostrils flared like a bull. I can’t stop him. I stand there in the cabin alone. And I have to admit to my fears. I’m in swampland. I don’t even know this place. I go and check the room. There is a king size bed with quilts that look hand-sewn and a television in the room. I come out and check the kitchen and find more beer than food in the refrigerator. I also find things that look like they belong to Brick. Like reeds on the counter for his saxophone. And shoes and clothing. This is his cabin.

  Resigned to my situation I remove my cross over straw purse from my body and reach inside to find my phone. I have several missed calls from Georgie and the sun hasn’t come up yet. That worries me.

  I sit down with a racing heart and call my best friend.

  “Georgie?”

  “Why didn’t you call me? You said you would. It’s five in the morning.”

  “Sorry, I was with Brick and things were just, I don’t know, time got away from me. “

  “Are you okay?”

  “I guess,” I say and slump back against the sofa.

  “Where are you?”

  “The bayou. In a town called Golden Meadow, heard of it?”

  “I think I have. Swamp town with those Cajuns?” Georgie asked.

  “Yep, that’s it. I’m at Brick’s family place. He calls it the Bondurant Camp. Get this Georgie. His father, the one they call Pops, knows me by name.”

  “Yeah, he’s a mean bastard. That’s what Marcel told me.”

  “Well he’s married to a black woman.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yep, and they live out here in the swamp in this four story log cabin house, that looks like something from the 1800s. Girl I’m telling you it’s so beautiful and creepy. There’s a whole tribe of them. Maybe fifty people.”

  “F’true? I hear they stay together like that,” Georgie says. “No one can really get out there to them. Not even the fucking hurricanes.” Georgie laughs.

  I smile.

  “Where’s Brick?” Georgie asks.

  “He’s angry, about something. It’s between him and his father. He has his own cabin out here behind the big house. It’s weird like, there are many smaller cabins with families out here. So yea. He’s left me in one of them. Went back to the main house to talk to him.”

  “Well, you’re safe. That’s all that matters. And guess what?”

  “What?” I ask and start to take off my sneakers.

  “Marcel called me. He called me, crying girl. Said he was sorry. Said he made a mistake. Asked me to forgive him. Said he’d run away to Vegas with me tonight and marry me if I wanted.”

  “Are you serious!”

  “Yes!” Georgie giggles.

  “So? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m royally pissed at his black ass. I told him it’s over.”

  “What? Georgie…”

  “Girl, I don’t mean it,” she laughs. “I realize Marcel ain’t ready for marriage. Me either. We still young. But he’s mine. And I’m going to torture his ass good. Teach him a lesson.”

  “You and Marcel give me a headache.”

  Georgie laughs. We sit on the phone in silence for a few minutes. Then Georgie speaks. “You sure you want me to give your parents the letter?”

  “I’m sure. Give it to them,” I say.

  “Okay girl. It’s Brick’s funeral.”

  I talk to Georgie while I snoop around the cabin and check out all the other things. She tells me all she knows about the Bondurants and it’s not much. Other than their business, and the rumors of them being smugglers of cars and stuff there isn’t much else to know. These people keep to themselves.

  When Georgie gets tired of the conversation we hang up. To be honest I’m drained too. And it’s been an hour since Brick left me. I take a shower and put on one of my silk nightdresses. It’s the kind that I never wear around my family without a robe. When I check the time it’s been over two hours since I’ve seen Brick. Now, I’m worried. I get under the covers and turn on the television. I can’t find a single thing I want to watch. So I turn it off and try closing my eyes. I also do a silent prayer that everything will work out. I have hope before I fall asleep.

  I feel him. His hand gliding over my stomach. And his lips brushing my shoulder. I open my eyes and there is a little daylight in the room. “Where have you been?”

  I turn over to him and I pause. Brick’s bottom lip is split and his right eye is swollen and puffy. “Oh my god!”

  He drops to his back and I sit up to turn on the light lamp next to the bed.

  “What happened to you now?”

  “Had a talk with Pops.” His speech slurs. Not only did he get attacked but he’s been drinking.

  “And he beat you?”

  “It’s not important. Pops and I understand each other.”

  “Is this because I’m here?”

  He reaches for me and pulls me down on him. “No. It’s because he and Smoke sent Domino out there to your family. He knew about us. Wanted to upset your family. He has a grudge against your father ever since… it’s a long story.”

  “My father? What did my father do?”

  “Never mind. Pops understands now that he is to leave you alone. Everything is cool.” Brick pushes me down and draws off the quilt and blankets to see me. He smiles. “Pretty girl,” he says.

  “Maybe I should go home.” I’m creeped out by the violence in this foreign place.

  “Stay,” he pleads and sits up. He pulls his shirt off. For a man so tanned he bruises easily. The beating Pops put on him has left bruises to his face, throat and his chest. But he doesn’t seem to mind them. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s just their way. Now he’s touching me in all the right places and I’m weakening. His warm chest, chiseled to perfection, is pressed down to mine. I was completely unprepared for the taste of blood in our kiss. But his passion was the kind I can’t deny. He rolls over on top of me and parts my thighs to position his dick at my entrance. His mouth lifts from mine. I can see both the beauty and trauma in his face and my heart aches for him. Brick, however, is staring at my nipples that can be seen through my silk gown. He licks his hand and slicks his dick. He doesn’t need to do this. I’m always wet for him. Brick thrusts his hips and he slips inside of me. My lids flutter and shut. You would think after the weeks I’ve spent giving him my body over and over again I would know all there is to know about sex with him. But each time Brick thrusts inside me it feels like a virginal first. His dick is thicker than it is long and I’m forced to stretch and accept every inch of him.

  After the first pump of his hips I’m addicted. My butt cheeks clench and my pelvis rises to make his descent even more delicious. Brick likes to pin me down when we do it. At least the first time we do it. It’s like he has to get all of his passion out before he can relax and enjoy sex with me. He takes my hands and pin them over my head. My legs cinch around his waist and my feet cross at the ankle. Swirls of emotion mixed with sexual heat ignites like a solar flare between us and he’s drilling my sex with his hard dick thrusts. He’s kissing my face as if it’s supposed to appease me. It only makes this passion burn through me even hotter. One touch of his lips to my skin and I’m panting a
nd chanting his name while bucking beneath him.

  “I can’t stop. I want you so bad,” he pants.

  My heart screams: You are mine Brick. Whatever you want to do, I want to do. I just want to feel like this always. In the small room of dawn and shadow Brick ravishes my body. And before he can climax he rolls us so I can get on top. I can’t stop moving for him. I pull my slip dress over my head and toss it aside while swirling my hips. I run my hands over the fresh bruises and wish him a healing from my fingertips. Brick bites down on his bottom lip and his head goes back and his chest bows as if he’s taking a deep breath. I’m in control now. He can try to breathe through sex for restraint, but when I’m done with him there won’t be any thing between us and his release.

  No more rush to the finish line.

  No more of that cave man fucking that leaves my pussy sore for hours.

  With me on top I set the natural rhythm between us. Our bodies fit together as if we were made for this. It’s only torture for him because I’m forcing him to enjoy it. Brick needs to learn how to relax and enjoy me, our time together. And just as I think I’ve won. As the pleasure of his dick unfurls in my womb and my toes curl Brick loses control again. In seconds he’s flipped me over to my back and he’s on me again, intoxicating my mind, fucking me hard and relentlessly.