by Xavier Neal
As if my thoughts are transparent, Brie turns around, and pins me with a sweet look over her shoulder. “Pull.”
Entranced but anxious over the idea of ruining the moment by rushing through it or not moving it along fast enough, I try to swallow the grapefruit sized knot in my throat. I try to steady my hand to give the white ribbon a yank.
After my accomplishment, I glance back up at her to thoughtlessly confess, “I’m nervous.”
Brie tries not to chortle. “The One Nightstand King is afraid of what comes next?”
Her sassy attitude surprisingly doesn’t faze me. “It’s different now. You’re not just the woman I fall into bed with every night and can’t wait to shag every morning. You’re my wife. You gave yourself to me completely in front of all of our friends and family. You gave yourself to me in heart and soul…And now you’re giving yourself to me in body. It all feels…so…different.”
She tilts her head at me sweetly. “You’re much more sentimental than I was expecting.”
I shrug. “I guess I’m still in slight disbelief I haven’t managed to destroy the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life.”
And she is. By far. Nothing else is this amazing. Not the money. Not the fame. Not the royal responsibilities. None of it compares to having someone love me for me. For all of me. For the good, the ugly, and the parts I wish I could hide from.
“I know exactly how you feel,” she quietly whispers in return.
Loving the fact we’re often more simpatico than we realize, I offer her a smile.
“But if you don’t get this dress off of me in the next thirty seconds, Kellan Kenningston, I will, and you’ll be forced to jerk off on our wedding night as punishment for making me wait so long.”
We chuckle together and the previous apprehension completely vanishes. The moment our laughter fades, I wrench her body to mine by her hips, and drop my lips to the side of her neck. My tongue lightly licks the area causing her to shudder. I repeat the action, toying with the sensitive skin, teasing her for teasing me, and she lets her head lull backwards against me as a loud whimper is freed. The sound instantly tempts me to abandon the tender touches I’m delivering. Brie breathlessly whispers my name, and I suddenly find myself torn between tearing the dress off and unwrapping her like the once in a lifetime gift she is. I growl my frustrations over the struggle of trying to achieve a harmony of my actions. My hands gently tug at the material in the pursuit of removing it and my mouth feverishly devours every inch of exposed skin. Each time she moans, her body arches into mine, and tips the decision to let my movements become ferocious rather than romantic. However, the second she steps out of the gown revealing to me a white lacy corset top, a tiny matching thong and garter, logic to treasure the situation is banished and a primal urge to claim her mercilessly takes its place. In an unexpected haste, I yank her lips to mine while my hands rip apart all the barriers blocking our bodies from being completely united. Within mere seconds, all clothing has disappeared, and the two of us are on the bed in a tangled mess of twirling tongues and breathless bites. The decision on who gets to dominate becomes more of a brutal battle than a suggestive argument. Every chance Brie has, she’s tugging my ear lobes between her teeth and letting her hand give my cock hard jerks that feel more like torture than anything else. Unable to take it any longer, I roll her back underneath me, pin her hands down, and thrust myself inside.
A tandem of groans echo throughout the room.
Never again are we waiting this long to have sex.
My forehead bumps against hers and I slightly pull myself out to promptly push deeper.
“God Kellan,” Brie whispers desperately.
I keep my attention latched onto her every movement. She digs her nails into my grip. Sways her hips upward to match every stroke. Struggles to call out my name as if she’s suffocating in pleasure. Greed to have a better view of her body’s desire for mine causes me to roll us over again, allowing her to be on top. The moment she’s straddling me, she lifts herself up, revealing her perfect perky nipples that are pointing like directions for my mouth. I eagerly shoot myself up as well and capture one between my teeth. Her pussy constricts around my cock in warning. Now in a true position of power once more, she pushes me backwards before I have the chance to tease the other one. Brie’s body blankets mine and her hips brazenly begin to rock. After just a minute of having pure control, she shatters and I have to force myself from bowing off the bed by gripping the sheets beneath us.
“Bloody hell,” I pant while straining my body’s instinct to follow suit.
She buries her face against my collarbone and relentlessly continues to ride my dick. One hand palms her ass and the other tangles itself in her hair. Moans oscillate between us in a crescendo until it becomes too much to bear. With only the warning of a sharp gasp, Brie comes again, this time successfully bringing me with her. Her pussy perpetually pulsates with so much pressure my cock feels as if it’s lusciously crumbling instead of just coming. As I empty myself into her, I twist my head until she moves hers to meet with mine. Our mouths crash together creating the final signature on our marriage.
This is it…This is the only woman I will ever love. The only woman who will ever have me this way or any other. This is my happy ending and I look forward to enjoying it for the rest of my life…Now if you’ll excuse us. There are a few days of celibacy we need to erase before we start our actual honeymoon and so many places to leave our mark as husband and wife. Hm…Perhaps we’ll try the bath next…
Brie
I bang my head along with the music while watching the group of older youth vigorously lose themselves in their creations. Sliding my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, I continue trailing around the courtyard providing encouraging nods and points to the projects. Splashes of paint continuously cover the concrete, the brick walls of the building, and the surprisingly green grass.
It’s January and cold as shit outside…How the hell is it surviving? I swear my toes would’ve fallen off if I wasn’t wearing the fuzzy socks Soph got me for Christmas. They’re bright and colorful. Totally look like something that came out of a Dr. Seuss book. Kellan can’t even look at them without gagging or complaining what a crime against fashion they are. It makes me love them even more. I think she knew that when she bought them.
“May I politely ask, what the hell is going on?”
Quickly, I spin around and allow my attention to fall on the man it feels like I haven’t seen in weeks.
After ten days of endless sex, shopping, sightseeing, and more sex on a tropical island, coming back to Doctenn felt like a prison sentence. The day we returned was the day Kellan disappeared to deal with signing documents and deliberations that came up while we were away. Apparently, Felicity refused to have them go ahead with what they had previously discussed without Kellan around to reassure her he hadn’t changed his mind on details. I wanted to scream at her of course he hadn’t. He’s had the same plans for years, but I politely smiled and expressed my understanding for her wanting his passion project to be perfect. Like an idiot I assumed once all of that was settled, things would return to a normal setting or at least one in which we had more than a meal together during the day. Almost hurts how wrong I was. While he’s been slaving away in an office Felicity rented out for them to meet with clients, store important paperwork, and have a secluded area to discuss business with one another, I’ve been having playdates with Amelia, which consists of board games and peanut butter, banana sandwiches as well as hanging at out MINOH here in Fayeweather. I’m getting to know the youth and the staff better than I imagined I would. On the complete QT, turns out art with me is the thing they look forward to doing the most all week.
Kellan shoves his hands in his heather gray suit pants pockets and lifts his eyebrows waiting for an explanation.
“It’s therapeutic art.”
He casually approaches, eyebrows darting down. “How is listening to Metallica therapeutic art?”
I fold my arms defensively across my chest. “Do you not trust I can do my job?”
“I’m just trying to understand your job.”
My mouth twitches, prepared to argue when I notice the growing grin. With slight hesitation, I ask, “Why are you smiling?”
He gives me a short shrug. “I like saying your job. Much like I enjoy saying my wife.”
His confession completely shifts my demeanor.
Ugh. Hate when he gets all too sweet for his own good. Pretty sure that’s how I got conned into going to the Opera with the DuPonts this weekend. He’s mastering the art of charming to a new level. It’s terrifying.
“It’s an exercise we did often when I was in college,” I begin my explanation as the song fades. “You play one type of music, loud, give them an odd mixture of materials, and then let them pour out whatever is pent up. More often than not whatever vibe your music displays is what will bubble to the surface. So in this case, I was hoping heavy metal would allow them to express some of the darker emotions that maybe they’re not comfortable speaking about. Disappointment. Disgust. Self-hatred.”
The two of us glance over my shoulder just in time to see Cliff, a thirteen year old boy and fairly new visitor, throw the stone in his bowl of blue paint. It splashes outward onto the paper underneath and he yanks the rock back up to repeat the process again with more force. A cycle of unhappy emotions cycles on his face yet after each throw into his personal paint bowls, he looks a little more at peace than he did seconds before.
I turn back to face Kellan with a proud expression. “There are no rules on how you use the materials except that you cannot hurt yourself or others.”
He lets the corner of his lip kick up. “And when you did it back at the university, were you throwing rocks and air trouping to Master of Puppets or did your professor pick something a little more mellow?”
“I’m actually impressed you know what song that was.”
“Why?”
“They’re a little dark in comparison to your typical Prom King tastes.”
He instantly glowers.
“You can look at me like that all you want, but I’ve heard you singing Taylor Swift more than once while you tie your ties in the morning.”
Hysterically adorable.
With a smirk, I question, “Did you just come here to check in on me? Make sure I hadn’t burned this baby to the ground?”
“Why would I worry about that? They know better than to let you into the kitchen.”
“Says the man who lit our penthouse kitchen on fire twice.”
“Just the pan!” The two of us exchange a laugh and he motions his head towards the building. “I actually need to talk to you in private.”
“Like really talk to me in private or are you saying that as an excuse to get me bent over the office desk?”
Kellan lets a smug expression taint his face. “That I’ve also done twice.”
I shake my head at the comment.
Please don’t smile. It only encourages him.
He gives me a more serious look. “Actually talk, love. At least at first.”
I ignore the end of his sentence. “Let me finish up here, and I’ll meet you in the office.”
He leans down and plants a soft kiss on my lips. There’s an immediate uproar of cheers and hollers from the teens, which ends the action all together. We chuckle together before I turn around to give the sternest look I can with a shit eating grin.
Don’t join in with them!
I allow them to continue to construct art pieces through an additional song after Kellan dismisses himself. Without being asked, they all pitch in to help clean up the mess we’ve created, put the materials back where they belong, and take art to the drying area in the back of the main sitting room. Once everything is cleaned and everyone has dispersed to other actives, I stroll to the other side of the building to the single room at the end of the hall. Helplessly, I smile at the art plastered on the walls along the path.
It was my idea to display them like this, but I had no idea they would wanna cover it like some sort of collage of our time together. I love how it started where the hall opens to the main sitting room and has migrated its way towards the office that only Kellan uses. While I know I have put up a few, I know Cliff has put up the majority of them between his turns playing soccer. He’s quieter than most but active. Aside from hanging the artwork and playing sports, I’ve seen him straighten the library section. Take out the trash when it wasn’t his turn. Sweep the leaves away for the smaller children to have a cleaner playground. It’s like he feels he has to prove his worth of being here. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s not big into that. At least not yet.
After passing a portrait of me done by one of the younger children, I begin to wonder if they’ve painted any of the other staff.
At the opposite end of this same hall is where the staffroom is located. It has desks, quiet areas for them to rest if necessary, and security monitors. While the facility is open twenty four hours, the employees rotate in shifts like they would at any other job. There are also lock down hours in which minors are not allowed to enter the building after midnight and are advised not to leave before breakfast. I only know that because Janet, a fifteen year old girl with a head full of dreadlocks, was griping about it earlier. Hm…I feel like I should really read the handbook Kellan gave me to get better acquainted with the details of the program, but…that’s not really the type of reading I feel like doing. If the boss ever brings it up, I’ll just sleep with him to make him forget. Bonus of boning the man in charge.
Entering the small office which houses a long wooden desk, a chair, a lap top, and a few built in wall shelves that are covered in binders, I’m not surprised to see him pacing the floor with his cell phone glued to his ear.
At least he doesn’t answer it in the middle of our conversations any more.
“That’s brilliant!” Kellan exclaims as I hop onto the edge of desk. He gives me a glare of disapproval and stops his body across from mine. “We will see you two for dinner.”
It’s my turn to bear the expression. When he ends the call, I cautiously ask, “See who?”
“Felicity.”
My face strains to not scowl.
I have seen her for more meals than I care to admit. In fact, since we’ve been home, the three of us have shared more of them than we have with his family. I never thought I’d miss the days where Kenneth was scolding us for dirty jokes and Soph was arguing about craving chocolate on everything. Now my meals primarily consist of watching Tomb Raider poke at spinach salads between sips of expensive wines with names I can’t pronounce without needing hooked on phonics and my husband almost unaware of my existence until I casually place my hand on his thigh. No…It’s not me marking my territory like some sort of wild animal that would prefer to scratch the eyes out of the animal sniffing around what’s theirs, rather than share a basket of bread with them. It’s just my gentle way of letting him know I am there for support if he needs it. You buy that, right? Well. He does. That’s what matters.
“Actually Felicity and a friend.”
“Of yours or hers?”
“Hers.”
Great. She’s multiplying.
I swing my blue Converse covered feet back and forth. “Is this a social dinner?”
“No, which brings me to what I needed to talk to you about.”
The shift in conversation doesn’t settle well. “I’m listening…”
“You still want to be the art teacher at Hannah’s Hope, correct? You haven’t changed your mind?”
“No.”
“Well, in order to officially be a teacher at an academic institute you will need your teaching certificate.”
My shoulders fall at the declaration.
It feels like a total ‘well no shit’ moment, but for some reason hearing it out loud makes me want to argue having a degree is enough. I know. I know. Even in the U.S. you need it. Oh shit! What if my de
gree doesn’t even count over here?!
“Your degree transfers fine, Love,” Kellan states. “You just need the certificate. I will not lie to you and pretend it is something that’s easy to acquire. There’s a test-”
I groan loudly. “Have I not taken enough of those in the past decade?”
He fights the urge to smirk and moves his body to be standing between my legs. “One more and it’ll get you through the next three years.”
“Only three?!”
“Education is of high value in this country. It is by law educators are required every three years to retest to help reassure their skills and mindsets are still in the correct conditions for those they are educating. In fact, they are lobbying now to change it from every three years to every eighteen months-”