by KT Morrison
“Oh fuck, mm, oh you, ah,” she grunted and coughed as the orgasm continued to seize her.
“Oh God, I missed you so bad,” he sighed, shimmying up the bed to join her face to face, putting his arms around her, caressing her and kissing her.
She let him put his hands all over her, her chest rising and falling with great lurches of breath. “That’s how … ha, how you wanted to do it … ha, the first time we’re husband and wife?”
Cole closed his eyes and turned his face upward, thinking interiorly. “Yes,” he said.
She kissed his ribs, working a little higher, suckling his nipple, then running her tongue through the hair in his armpit. With her head laying on his shoulder, she said, “Three months without you was torture.”
“Was it worth the wait?”
She chuckled. “Not yet.”
“Oh, not yet? I didn’t satisfy you?”
“It was a good start. Untie me.”
He watched her eyes, and she locked on his blues while his arms went around and worked behind her, undoing the loops of belt that bound her.
She added, “And the dildo …?”
He smiled, slipped it gently from her bottom where it made a slick crackle heard over the drone of its little motor. She ran her hands over his muscle, up his chest and cupped his cheeks. “You called me Mrs. Cantarella.”
“I did.”
“Do it again.”
“You’re an honest woman now, Mrs. Cantarella. I’ve freed you of your shame,” he said, caressing her breast, his thumb circling her rubbery nipple.
Her hand went down between his legs, cupped his balls, let them sag, stroked his shaft. “Make love to me,” she whispered.
Keely said, “I thought your speech was quite rousing.”
“Did you?” Max asked.
“Yes, but I have a fondness for mentally unstable drunks who quote Shelley.”
“Hilarious,” he said. “But I didn’t have much to drink.”
“Hmm, just mental then?”
“Just mental,” he agreed.
They were on the second floor of The Poirot, heading along the hall toward the room, Keely ahead, standing at the door to their room. He stopped and put his hands on her face, kissed her.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“You’re my rock,” he told her.
Her face softened, her eyes going wistful, and no smart quip for him this time, she said, “It’s my honor, Max. I mean it.”
The door to the room loomed large behind her and though he heard nothing behind it, he imagined there would be much ribaldry. With imaginary sounds in his ears he protected Keely’s, putting his hands over her long thick hair and covering her ears.
“What are you doing?” she asked with one peaked eyebrow. “Take me to bed already.”
“I will,” he said, running his hands from her ears and down her arms, leaving her and continuing down the hall.
She called to him, “Where are you going?”
“Down here …”
“That was our room …” she said, catching up to him and thumbing over her shoulder.
“We’re taking another room.”
“What was wrong with that one?”
“I got us a better room.”
“You’re always full of surprises, Max,” she said, obviously piqued, and taking up his hand.
At the end of the hall, they turned to the right and made their way to the last doorway.
“Oh no, Max,” she said. “This … it’s the Bridal Suite …”
“It is,” he said, swiping the key card through the slot. “Surpri-ise …”
They entered the opulent room together, Keely hesitant, leaning forward with her clutch pressed to her stomach, looking around the space. The suite was massive, beautiful, ornate. Walls in French blue-gray with white trim, Louis XIV furniture, crystal chandeliers in each of its many rooms. A fire lit up a brick hearth and white wood mantlepiece at the foot of a very tall and massive four-post bed.
“This isn’t our room, Max,” she whispered, afraid to come in further, standing on the gleaming maple at the edge of a woven wool rug.
“Come in,” he laughed. “We’re alone. This is our room.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, loosening, coming to stand with him.
“It was a surprise. They took our room because … just for old time’s sake.”
“You switched?”
“Cole wanted to surprise Maggie.”
“Old time’s sake, huh?”
“They shared an evening in it. A long time ago.”
“That’s sweet. He’s so thoughtful. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He took the key card and his wallet out of his jacket, threw them on a tall dresser. “We didn’t tell you because you can’t keep secrets.”
“I can keep secrets.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I can keep the boring ones.”
“You just forget the boring ones.”
“Aye, that’s true,” she said with a cute little smile and coming to stand with him, putting her hands on his shoulders. Keely was as tall as him, taller in her heels, looking directly into his eyes with the greatest understanding. Most often without makeup, he liked to see her this way, made up for the wedding in her satiny gray dress, her hair in a long tail and a braided crown. She said, “Were you covering my ears outside our room?”
He huffed a breathy laugh and smirked for her, ran her ponytail behind a pale shoulder.
With her hands cupping his cheeks, she said, “You did really good today, Max.”
“Don’t …” he warned her. Looking down to avoid her serious gaze, he noted Cole’s glasses still in his pocket. He plucked them out, tortoiseshell rims with stainless arms, opened them and put them on, regarding her now cooly with his hands in his pockets through Cole’s prescription.
“Would you stop it,” she said, taking them off him and throwing them onto the bed. “Be serious.”
“What?” he laughed, trying to make light of it, but inside his heart was breaking and he just didn’t feel like talking about it right now.
“Max, my angel,” she said softly, her hand smoothing over his chest and slipping under his tuxedo jacket, then across his shirt and finding the gap between two buttons her slender hand slipped in to touch his bare chest, right over his heart. “I can take it away.”
“Take what away?”
“Your troubles,” she said, and now she turned away from him, staying close and looking over her shoulder at him with lowered chin. A finger came and plucked the stringy strap of her bridesmaid’s dress off her ivory shoulder where it fell along her slim upper arm. She waited.
He did the other, taking the string and sliding it over that graceful curve, letting it fall. With his index finger hooked down the back of her dress, he tugged it lower, bit by bit, till the silky thing she wore lost its form, clinging to her sexy body for one more second then billowing to the floor in a quiet whisper. Now she was bare but for lavender lingerie and her gray satin pumps. Eyes wandering up and down her absolutely flawless body, wide hips and bottom and narrow waist, he chuckled.
“Breathtaking, yeah?” she said over her shoulder.
He chuckled again, said, “Breathtaking.” Tall, curvy, a striking mane of fiery red hair streaked with blonde highlights that tumbled to the top of her ass cheeks, whip-crack smart, sexy accent, funny, accepting, and … fucking faithful. “Breathtaking,” he repeated.
“It’s all yours, Max. I want you to do anything you want to it.” She swayed her ass as she spoke and it mesmerized him.
“I’m going to do awful things to it.”
“You’re a big talker.”
“You know I’m not,” he said, unsnapping the clasp that held together the bra of the woman he would marry.
“Hurry up and show me then.”
His hands came around her front and swept up her tight belly to find the swelling goblets of her creamy bosom, his palms scored with th
e already hard shapes of her strawberry nipples. She moaned with pleasure and leaned her back against his chest. While one hand cupped a heavy breast, the other strayed low and made its way down inside the front of her lacy panties, fingers smoothing over her shaved sex and finding her split, creasing it along her slippery center.
“Keep your heels on,” he told her as he pushed her panties downward. Keely seesawed to help them pass the swell of her hips, then they fell to join her dress, still hooped around her ankles. “I need you so bad, Keely.”
“I need you, Max,” she moaned, bringing a hand up to gently scratch at his cheek over her shoulder.
He walked her toward the foot of the bed, kissing at the nape of her neck, and when they got there, she climbed up and looked over her shoulder at him. Emerald eyes sparkling in the low lamplight, she gave him a devious yet loving smile, swaying her hips and presenting her glossy, salmon pink sex to him. With a push of his hand against her haunch she rolled over to her back, fan of hair spreading around her, bringing her knees up and cupping her big breasts together with her arms. On the bed on his knees now, he hooked a finger around her lacy panties, drew them off her pointed heels where they’d snagged, kissed her ankles and then down the back of her thighs. She drew her knees to her chest and watched excitedly, waiting to feel his tongue against her favorite part.
She moaned when he parted her, the tip of his tongue working both sides of her hot coppery petals. She was excited, wet, looking for his tongue; he slipped it inside her and she let out a high quavering note.
The points of her heels lowered and dug into the back of his tuxedo jacket. His hands climbed her hips, walking up the bed, and they locked forearms. Him gripping each of hers, she digging her nails into him hard enough he felt them through the fabric. Hips swiveling, she moaned and gasped. Soon, her legs fell to drape over his shoulders.
He looked up her body, saw her head rocking from side to side. His hands came up to clutch her breasts, she joined in, both her hands over top of his, and then he was pushing her, turning her over and she complied. With both her forearms crossed over her chest, she turned over, lay on her stomach thrusting her rump up in the air. She made high girlish sounds that drove him crazy.
The points of his thumbs pushed into her ass cheeks, he spread them apart, turned her glistening slit into a puckering sideways line, bright pink anus winking at him. He attacked her again with his tongue, letting it go wide and slipping up and down. Then he was climbing, getting over top of her, hugging himself to her back, both her breasts mushed together, and he was able to grab both her nipples, gripping them in his hand. While he kissed her, she reached up and cupped the back of his head, her neck craning to meet his lips.
They made out like that, man and future wife, him humping his bulge against her ass cheeks, the two of them writhing in bed together sucking on one another’s tongues. She hooked a leg over his hips, opening her sex, inviting his touch.
He ran his hands down her stomach, slipped a finger inside her. She humped against it. Her arm crossed over his, hand gripping his cock through his pants, stroking it underhanded, growing impatient then grabbing at his belt. Took his finger from inside her, helped her, undid the belt and pulled down the zipper the whole time his mouth locked over hers. They pushed his pants down together, and he found her hand, caressed it with his thumb and then wrapped it around his aching cock. They went up the bed kicking with their heels until their heads were on the pillows. She jerked him and he stroked three fingers up and down her pussy, slipping inside and rolling circles over her clit.
Now she wanted control. Bouncing out of his arms and getting over top of him. He looked up at her and her beautiful smiling face looking down on him. Complete with love and happiness, so understanding, knowing how his heart ached and accepting it. Long hair hung over her shoulders and touched his stomach. She undid his shirt buttons.
Shirt open and parted, she kissed his bare chest, worked her way down his stomach, took the point of her tongue and ran it down the underside of his shaft then sucked a ball into her mouth, her eyes locked on his. He reached down and wove his fingers through her hair running his thumbs up and down her beautiful brow. She took him in her mouth, sinking him fully and he groaned with pleasure and drew his knees up. While she sucked him, he worked his arms out of the tuxedo shirt and jacket and threw them to the floor.
She would suck his cock all night if she thought it would make him happy. But he didn’t want that. It was more complex.
“Come here,” he whispered, and she looked up, his cock slipped from her mouth. She looked to him questioningly but patient. “I need you,” he said. “I want to make love.”
Love was what he needed right now. Togetherness, companionship, that connection he felt with her. She fell over top of his chest and kissed him and he put his arms around her and they rolled until he was on top between her legs, her knees up and open. She ran her feet up and down his back.
Then he was inside her. Sliding all the way. She moaned, the sound growing high and tight as he sunk deep. A sample of the cacophony that might come.
“Shh-shh,” he whispered, knowing that turned her on, seeing her smile and nod and bite her lower lip. Keely was vocal, and her kink was the anxiety that could bring. He brushed her hair back from her face as he eased himself in and out. Her arms crossed around his neck, her hands bobbing loosely on either side of his head as he made love to her as slowly as he could. They locked eyes, looking into one another, but each time he went inside her, her eyes narrowed and fluttered and she had to bite back her sounds.
“I love you so fucking much,” he told her.
“I love you too, Max,” she said, her legs squeezing at his sides.
A sudden swell of emotions brought inexplicable tears to his eyes. It was sadness and joy and loss and the bright potential future he had, all one long tangled strand straining from his past, out to his future as long as it may be.
She worked with him, her thrusts meeting his, his hands searching around and finding his bowtie. With wriggling fingers he managed to fold it into a satiny lozenge, brought it to her mouth and she laughed and clamped down. He picked up the pace, getting faster, bringing her anguished sounds of ecstasy. They were muffled around the fabric clenched between her teeth. He explored her with his hands, running all over her body as his hips worked himself in and out of her. She made him so hard; she made him so complete. She was his perfection.
He kept them on the brink, building then waning, feeding from her reactions, tuning in to her joyous screams of pleasure. Sometime an hour later, both of them so drenched in sweat the sheets tangled and clung to them, they both came together. Keely screamed into his saliva-soaked bowtie, the crown of her head thrust into the pillows, every tendon and vein bulging against her creamy, elegant neck. He kissed her—her jaw, her chin—as he shot his seed inside her.
It was three in the morning when he woke again—restless and too warm, sheets damp from their exertion, the fire a little too much for a warm spring night. He got up, slipping himself out from underneath Keely without waking her. Stopped to admire her; the sharp but perfectly feminine features, her long eyelashes, her pouting pink lips, the tangling mane of fiery hair. He ran his hands over her softly, then over the glossy curls that spread out around her on the bedding. If he didn’t have her there would be no way he could’ve made it tonight. No way he could’ve made it the last two years, probably. But she came to him when he needed her and her timing, as usual, was perfect.
He rose, stretching out his arms and back, walking in the dim amber light thrown off by a bed of coals in the brick hearth. Crossing between the pale colorless humps of ornate furniture, he wound his way to the window. On the ledge, sitting on one hip, he leaned to the glass and felt its coolness against his hot sticky body. Below, the remnants of Maggie and Cole’s celebration. The lines marking the dance floor removed now, bouquets bundled and brought indoors. The tables remained, bare now, their settings being cleaned by busboys, linens bei
ng washed in the laundry. It had been some night. Heart still heavy, he placed his hand over his chest when he saw movement outside.
They’d always had a connection, had it still, and in some paranormal way he was awake to see them now. Cole and Maggie trotting across the very lawn where he’d watched them celebrate their union with a beautiful practiced dance that broke his already hurting heart. Just two pale moonlight figures trotting happily and sneakily across the grass in Poirot robes. Could be anybody but, as he said standing on his speaking-stool, he knew those two better than anyone.
Just ghostly figures, their silhouettes were still imprinted on him forever. He’d seen them in everything, seen them in every way. They trotted down the lawn, crossing the walkway. Looking around, he could tell that they were laughing though he heard nothing. They wound their belts from around the robes and threw them off their shoulders. He knew they would be naked. Then they disappeared. His two best friends off together on their new life. They slipped away, their shimmering pale forms being eclipsed by the grassy knoll running the cliff’s edge. They danced naked down the steps along the cliffside to the beach below where he knew that they would go swimming together in the ocean as man and wife.
A brief mournful sob eructed from him suddenly and unexpectedly. He grabbed his mouth with his hand. A tear spilled from one eye and he blinked it away. Things never stay the same and he would be foolish to think they would. A long inhaling groan to strengthen himself, he rose from the ledge and turned his back to them, crossed the room to the perfect naked figure in his bed, her long porcelain limbs lit in the glow of the dying fire’s embers.
He slipped in next to her, put an arm around her waist. She covered his hand though she slept. He sniffled and breathed deep and did the best to put it all behind him. One fitful hour later he’d finally fallen asleep.
Epilogue Two
A Honeymoon