The Everlasting Chapel

by Marilyn Cruise

  Yes.

  He lowers himself over me on elbows and knees, imprisoning me with his body, and starts to move, an all-too slow, lingering pace, a sensual rhythm that flares the embers of a low-glowing burn.

  I bring my hands to his chiseled face, the face I have come to love so much, and trace my fingers along his jawline.

  “Michael,” I say, a barely-there whisper. “Oh…”

  “Mrs. Scarlett Manning,” he says with so much affection, his words shoot straight to my heart. “You are mine.” He tugs at my hair and thrusts himself inside of me—hard.

  I shove my fingers through his hair and tug as I feel myself rising higher and higher, as I ride the rushing wave toward my climax.

  “Oh God,” I moan, unable to concentrate on anything other than just letting the pleasure possess me, letting it thunder through me like a storm from the sky, letting the shudders of my inner muscles spasm in decadent agony.

  “I love watching your face when you come around me,” he grunts, still pumping me full of him, slow and deep. Without sliding out of me, he lifts my right leg and hoists it onto his shoulder. He takes my hands in his, interlacing our fingers, and starts slamming into me at a fierce pace.

  “I want you to come with me again,” he says. “Come with me over the top.”

  “I will,” I say, the ripples of ecstasy starting to rise inside of me again.

  “Let me know when you’re there,” he says, continuing to ram into me over and over. His cock sinks in and pulls out of me, and our clasped hands make it so he can go so much deeper. Faster. Harder.

  “You love it hard, don’t you?” he says.

  “I do. Very hard,” I say.

  He releases my left hand, and places his fingers on my clit, rubbing across it, faster and faster.

  Suddenly, it’s as if something inside my body overrides all my thoughts and all my other senses. All the muscles in my lower abdomen compress into a tightly wadded ball of pleasure, and from there, a current of sheer and utter gratification rips from the deepest part of me and up my entire abdomen, up my chest, and straight to my head.

  “Oh, Michael,” I scream as I rocket to a place so high, I know I’ve never been there. “Now!”

  My body starts trembling, and my eyes roll to the back of my skull as he continues to catapult me to paradise. At lightning speed, and with a vicious pace, he strums his fingers across my clitoris. Relentless, but soft fingers. Faster. Faster. My body convulses as I continue to stay at the peak, as it intensifies and reaches a climax so high, I am taken to a place of pure nirvana.

  Over my own primal cries, I vaguely hear him yell my name as the earth-shattering and glorious orgasm takes possession of every inch of my body, mind and soul. He thrusts his dick onto me one more time, and then he lets his head fall back as he finds his release.

  Slowly, he collapses on top of me, our slick, sweaty bodies melting together in the afterglow or our union. He breathes heavily down my neck, and I reach my arms around him and just hold on for many beautiful moments.

  Lifting his head, he gazes into my eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done had you not said yes.”

  I stroke his sweaty hair back, and kiss him softly on the lips. “How could I not? I love you, and every day for the rest of my life I will say yes.”

  18

  It has been six months since I agreed to marry the man I love. It is also the day of our real wedding, and I simply can’t wait to live the rest of my life with my best friend and lover. After we became engaged, we spent the first few months in counseling. But when I saw that he really has changed, and that we have finally learned to trust each other without hesitation, we agreed that proceeding with the sessions was unnecessary.

  Michael and I have spent a lot of time planning for this day, to make it perfect in every way. We’re taking our vows in the place we met—well, officially at least—in the Portland Episcopal Church. I’ve invited everyone, even Laila and the gang from The Black Chapel. And you guessed it; Reverend Summerlin will be the one to perform the ceremony.

  My father is going to walk me down the aisle. He’s almost done with his chemotherapy treatments, and the doctors are all saying that he is well on his way to recovery. Seeing my father improve has been one of the highlights of my life, and it helps me manage the grief of losing my mother so much more. My father and Vivian are still on and plan to marry around Christmas time. I’m truly happy for them, and am excited about having a stepmother.

  And to make matters even better, it turns out that Michael is not the father of Alexa’s child. She never told us who it was, and it’s just as well. I don’t really want to know.

  “Now, are you sure you want to marry this guy?” Anne asks, in the bride’s room, weaving the last of the diamond-studded pins into my French twist.

  I flew her in on first class for my wedding. She’s on summer break from college right now, and has been here the entire week helping me prepare for the big day. She’s been going to counseling twice a week since she went back home to Florida: once a week to deal with the posttraumatic stress syndrome and panic attacks she’s still suffering from, and once a week to sort things out with her parents.

  I was able to convince her to let me buy her a car, but she refused a house. So what I did instead was to invest in a small vacation condo right next to the University of Florida and let her stay there for free. There’s no need to tell her that her name is on the title.

  She seems much happier than before she moved, and we’ve had many long, heart-to-heart conversations over the phone. She finally opened up to me about her past—told me everything about the first guy who raped and impregnated her. He went on to rape a few other girls, and was also caught molesting his younger sister. Needless to say, the creep’s behind bars and will forever be known as a sex offender.

  Anne has lost some curves and gained some muscle since she dances around six hours of ballet a day. I am really glad she can function somewhat normally, and it gives me hope she will one day completely recover and find someone she can love and trust. From time to time I ask her if there are any interesting guys around campus, but right now she says she’s just focusing on earning her double major—ballet and accounting—and on healing her heart. She also visits Charlotte, her four-year-old daughter once a month, and says she love seeing her grow and learn.

  “Scarlett…did you hear me?” Anne asks.

  “Sorry,” I reply.

  “Are you sure about marrying this sex-crazed maniac? I mean, you can always pull out now. I can take you with me to Florida, and—”

  “I’m sure,” I say. And I feel it, too. One hundred percent.

  “How sure?” Her baby blue eyes squint and she smiles.

  God, I’ve missed her. “I’ve never been as sure about anything in my life,” I say, and I haven’t. Michael is the love of my life.

  “Good enough answer,” she says and holds up my wedding gown.

  I slip into the ivory Carolina Herrera, drop waist, satin and lace floor-length dress. The arms are see-through lace and the neckline a deep V-cut.

  There is a subtle knock at the door.

  “I’ll get it,” Anne says and hops on over to open up. There stands Kenneth, my soon-to-be cousin-in-law, holding a painting in his hands. I can’t see what it is since he’s holding it behind his back.

  “Don’t you know it is bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” Anne narrows her eyes.

  “It’s okay, Anne. Let him in,” I say.

  Kenneth smiles. “Michael wanted me to bring this up to you. It’s your wedding gift from him.”

  “Oh really? What is it?” I ask.

  He turns it around and I see he’s holding House of Parliament Sun by Monet.

  I gasp. Back when the original deal was just starting out, and right before our first practice kiss, we had agreed that we’d tell everyone that that’s where we met. In front of this painting at the Portland Museum of Art. “Is that…no…it can’t be the real on?” I
reach out and let my fingers gently trace across the uneven surface.

  “What do you think? Of course it’s real. Michael doesn’t own anything that’s not real,” Kenneth says. He sets it down by the desk.

  “And you don’t have a security guard stalking after you?” I say.

  “Nope.” He smiles.

  I have started art lessons again, and have actually sold a few paintings at the Portland Museum of Art. I don’t work there anymore in the bookstore, although the connections I made while I was there are now proving to be priceless. I have since come to find out that Ross, my old boss, is best friends with one of the main benefactors of the museum. Ross showed the benefactor one of my paintings, and he immediately put in a request with the museum to schedule me for an exhibit. A year from now is when I’ll have my work on display. Needless to say, I’m spending every waking moment painting. Well, other than when I make love to Michael, which is more often than not, several times a day.

  “Good luck today, Scarlett. I’m so glad things worked out between you two. The whole family loves you so much already.” He picks the painting up again. “I’m just going to put this in your limo. Wouldn’t want you to forget it.”

  “Bye. And thank you” I say. Holy shit—a real Monet? I have never received such an amazing gift, and although it is priceless because of who painted it, it is also priceless because of what it signifies. Michael pays attention and it makes me feel unbelievable loved.

  Anne hands me my bridal bouquet—a heavy wad of ruby red roses.

  “You look ravishing,” she says, and I see tears in her eyes. “I am so happy for you.”

  We embrace, and I try not to cry because it will screw up my make-up. Should have worn waterproof.

  We walk down the U-shaped wooden stairwell and I enter the quaint lobby. The French doors to the chapel are shut, but I hear people talking inside. My heart flutters, and suddenly my stomach is a swarm of butterflies. Does every bride feel like this: completely overwhelmed, yet thoroughly intoxicated with happiness? So much hope fills ever part of me, and if I think too long about how very fortunate I am, my heart might explode.

  My father comes in from the opposite door, looking so handsome in his black tuxedo.

  “Other than your mother, you are absolutely the most beautiful bride I have ever seen,” he says, his eyes gleaming with pride and love as he approaches me.

  “Thanks.” Now I am unable to hold back my tears. There are so many things to be grateful for: my father and his health, Vivian who has brought his smile back, and Michael—a man who loves and adores me and who I can trust with all my heart. But even though everything is wonderful, I still have an aching, empty space in my chest. I wish my mother could have been here to see me.

  “Oh, sweetie, don’t cry,” my father says as he gives me a hug.

  “I just wish—” My vocal cords clamp closed.

  He whisks my tears away with his thumb. “I know. But your mother is here. I feel her presence,” he says, looking into my eyes. “Now, no tears on your wedding day. It’s bad luck.”

  I nod and kiss him on the cheek. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he says. “I am so proud of you.”

  A tinge of guilt surfaces. I still haven’t told him I worked as a stripper for six months. I never will. Some things are better left unsaid.

  Anne rushes over and helps fix my make-up. She looks me in the eyes. “Keep it together, Scarlett. It’s going to be a long disaster-of-a-make-up-day if you don’t.”

  I laugh.

  My father takes my arm and then we’re ready. Michael is waiting at the end of the long walkway behind these wide double doors. Waiting for me. I hear the organ start to play Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and suddenly my heart jolts into a wild rhythm. The doors swing open, and all at once, the entire congregation stands up, and everyone swivels around to look at me.

  When I don’t walk, my father nudges me. I squeeze his arm, trying to find peace and as I lift my eyes to the end of the walkway, Michael beams at me. Seeing him stand there in front of the altar in his tux, looking so unbelievably handsome and calm, it brings a smile to my lips.

  As I walk down the aisle, I am awestruck by how many people are here. Every spot in every pew is filled, and there are even people standing in the back. Red rose bouquet arrangements are attached to the sides of the pews, strings of pearls and white satin sashes connecting them. Red and white rose petals are scattered across the walkway, and strings of white lights line the floor on either side.

  I walk past Laila and Jim, who both wear proud smiles. I did end up paying for the one evening Michael rented The Sanctuary. She took the money, but then instead of keeping it, she went ahead and turned it into a nice surprise bonus for all her girls at The Black Chapel. She never ceases to amaze me.

  Then I see Spencer who has his arm around a gorgeous redheaded nurse. They, too, are just friends with benefits, he has told me, although when I catch him looking at her, there is definitely a twinkle in his eyes.

  Arriving at the altar, my father hands me off to Michael. I swallow the lump in my throat, doing my best to keep it together like Anne told me to.

  Michael’s face is radiating love toward me. We’ve had a lot of time to talk over the past few months, about how things got started, about how they ended, about how we started dating again. And although it was a very rough start for us, things have been much less complicated since we became engaged. He’s even opened up to me about his mother dying, and the sorrow and loneliness he felt there, and I’ve been able to share with him how devastated I was when my mother suddenly passed. These and other conversations have knit our souls even closer together, and I know he cherishes me just as much as I cherish him.

  “Thank you for the gift,” I mouth quietly.

  He smiles.

  I too have a gift for him, and I’ll be giving it to him tonight: It’s a painting of him and his mother standing together in front of his family’s estate in Romania. It took me five months to complete it. I hope he likes it.

  Reverend Summerlin beams at us both, welcomes everyone, and gives us an opportunity to speak.

  We recite our written vows, which of course makes me cry again, and then finally Reverend Summerlin marries us.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” she says.

  Michael pulls me in close, and I feel my whole body tingle at his touch. He leans in and kisses me just enough to make me go wild and want so much more.

  “I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Manning,” Reverend Summerlin says, and we walk down the aisle, a couple which God has bound together and which no man can put asunder.

  As we exit the church, the guests cheer, and a shower of white rose petals rain over us. Michael helps me step into the white limousine, and then he closes the door behind us. We laugh and smile and kiss for several minutes, just happy we are finally married, and can finally start our new lives together.

  “We did it,” he says with a generous sigh.

  “We sure did. You’ve made me the happiest woman alive.”

  He lifts his head and peers into my eyes. “God, I love you. You’re beautiful, smart, my addiction, generous—”

  “Speaking of generous, were you able to transfer the funds to the new bank account?” I ask.

  A few months ago we founded a non-profit organization granting well-deserving, but disadvantaged women, full-ride scholarships to college. The organization and the grants are solely funded by the checks Michael and I received from Diane. Turns out Diane didn’t find out I told Michael about the checks, and we didn’t lose out on the money anyway. I think it was just her way to make sure we remember her.

  Needless to say, Anne was one of the first beneficiaries of this program, and we plan to send at least a hundred young women to school this year and every year moving forward.

  “I did,” he says.

  I sigh and snuggle up to my husband. “Good.”

  Michael tells the driver to take the long way to his house, whe
re the reception is being held. The privacy partition goes up, and the vehicle starts to move.

  Michael leans in and kisses my collarbone. “Mrs. Manning?”

  “Yes?”

  He traces his tongue along the side of my neck and up to my jaw, and just like that, he has me thinking about where else that tongue of his could be.

  “The ride over to our place is about twenty minutes.”

  “Good,” I say, pulling up my heavy skirt, and climbing on top of him, straddling him. I lean into his ear, and whisper, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

  He grabs my face and crashes his lips to mine. With one hand securing my head, he reaches the other one down between my legs and finds my dripping wet pussy. I moan as his fingers deftly shove inside of me, and all the way over to the reception, we make sweet love for the first time as husband and wife.

  THE END