by Staci Hart
Wife. Mine. Forever.
In the span of a few hours, all of that would be fact, not future.
She was in my arms, her face turned up to mine. I didn’t know how she’d gotten there, only that she was. The weight of her body against mine was so familiar, the feel of it beneath my hands, the way she smelled of lilac and springtime and woman.
“Never have I seen a woman so beautiful.”
The color in her cheeks rose, her eyes shining with tears. “You clean up nice, too,” she joked, but the words wavered with emotion.
“I love you,” I said without levity. “I love you more than I knew I could. More than I knew a man could feel. Your life, your happiness mean more to me than my own.”
“Unless that includes following simple instructions to stay away from me for fourteen hours,” she said on a chuckle.
“It’s a silly tradition.”
“It is, but if this brings us bad luck—”
“It won’t. And I’m not sorry I came here because goddamn if I don’t feel calmer than I have since I left the apartment last night. Don’t you?”
She nodded, smiling. “I’m glad you did, too. I’ve been crawling out of my skin waiting. And now I’m not scared. I’m not nervous. Can we just stay together until then?”
It was my turn to chuckle. “I wish we could. But we’ll have to settle for this.”
She arched into me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and lifted up onto her tiptoes, angling for my lips. “Kiss me, West.”
And so I did.
Her lips were soft and pliant, sweet and open, her body winding around mine and mine around hers, sparking first only appreciation and relief. But her arms tightened, her mouth widening to give herself deeper access, which we both took. And the spark of appreciation began to smolder, then flare with desire.
I broke the kiss. “Lil …” It was a warning and a request for permission.
She mewled, pressing her hips against mine as best she could. “I should have let you come over for naked napping.”
I laughed. “Yes. Yes, you should have.”
A needy hum settled at the base of her throat. “How much time do we have?” she asked breathlessly.
My hands slipped down her thighs and gathered the material as I leaned forward to nip her lips. “Enough.”
I kissed her, sweeping her behind the screen, my hands roaming her body before hurrying with her skirts.
She halted the kiss, breathlessly saying, “Hang on. As much as I want to see you in that suit while you do what you’re about to do to me, there’s only one way we won’t ruin my dress.” She kissed me again and let me go. “Unbutton your pants,” she ordered as she turned around and hinged at the waist, back arching.
I’d just gotten my belt unnotched when I momentarily lost all ability to function.
Her dress rested like an ivory curtain in the small of her back, exposing the curve of her naked ass from cheek to cheek and the cleft in the center where they met.
I thumbed the slick line of her and breathed, “Goddamn, Lily.”
“I love you, too,” she breathed back. “Now, touch me before I die.”
I freed the aching length of my cock, my eyes on the tails of the shining silver necklace that dangled between her shoulder blades. And then I wrapped my arm around her waist beneath her dress to keep it away from the place where our bodies were about to meet. My free hand tested the center of her, which was warm and welcoming, slick and ready.
She hummed beneath me at my touch, bracing her hands on the wall, her breath quick and shallow.
“I missed you,” I said as I fisted my length, bringing my hips closer, pressing the very tip of me to the very edge of her. “I woke up needing you.” I breached her, and she gasped, her hips shifting to settle herself onto me, but I wouldn’t let her. “In the shower, I held my cock just like this, imagining you in this dress. This day.” I slipped in incrementally, and she whimpered a plea. “But damn if you aren’t more beautiful.” Another inch, painfully slow as her body made way for mine. “Damn if you aren’t more prefect.” It was barely a whisper, my control faltering. “Damn if I don’t love you,” I said as I filled her up.
And she sighed with relief as I spent a heart-thundering moment right there, so still but for a pulse of my body inside hers and a pulse of hers around mine in answer. I angled to press a kiss to the center of her back. And then I pumped my hips.
“Oh God,” she said, her fingers flexing against the wall.
Every nerve in my body reached for the center of her, and as I braced her with one strong arm around her waist, my free hand skated from her ass to her hip to the point where her legs met. When my fingers found the swollen flesh and circled in time with my hips, she hissed a swear.
I was already close—the sight of her in that dress like I’d dreamed, on this day I’d been waiting for, wife, wife, wife, love, forever—and I throbbed inside her, my senses dimming as I tried to hang on to my wits long enough to give her what I knew she wanted. With the flats of my fingers, I pressed her hood, rolled the flesh until she gasped from deep in her lungs, reached for my wrist to brace herself, and came with a thundering squeeze, flex, pulse of her body.
And my awareness was gone, my body its own, the feeling of her drawing me into her, the sound of her panting her yeses and her body shuddering under mine, and with a strangled groan, I came as she was still falling, eyes slamming shut, hips slamming her ass, heart slamming my ribs.
She sagged against me, her shoulders heaving and head dropped as I held her up.
“Why haven’t we been doing that all day?” she said, her voice rough and sleepy.
I chuckled and kissed her shoulder, her neck, the space behind her ear that smelled of her perfume. “Because you told me to stay away.”
“Well, I am stupid and cannot be trusted. Don’t listen to me.”
“I’ll remember you said that.”
She straightened up a little. “Shit, what do we do now?”
“Get married.”
Lily looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “I mean about this?” She shifted her hips and me inside her, sending an echoing throb through both of us.
I frowned, glancing behind me as best I could into the small wedge of the room that was visible, which was useless—the view mostly consisted of a corner.
I took stock of my person, tallying what I had in my pockets. “Here, take my pocket square.”
She made a frustrated sound. “I am not using your wedding pocket square to clean my vagina!”
“Hey now, don’t get mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” she snapped. “I’m mad at your dick and my desire for it.”
I snorted a laugh.
“I think there’s a box of tissues on the table by our bags. Will you go get it? If I walk, it’s gonna be a fetish sex show. Thank God I’ve been doing Kegels.”
“I hope you have underwear,” I joked and kissed her shoulder, but she made that angry kitten sound. I should have felt bad, but I so didn’t. “I’ll be right back.”
I pulled out of her—woefully, so woefully—and hurried across the room with my pants half-undone, eyes scanning the room, suddenly aware that our time was borrowed. Someone would be walking in any second. And her naked ass was dripping while I rushed around the bridal suite with my sword drawn.
I didn’t see tissues, but I caught sight of her bag and rifled through it. “Can we use your sundress?”
She scoffed. “That is from Anthropologie.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means no. No, we cannot use that.”
A case that looked like a girlie toolbox sat off to the side, and I opened it up to find more makeup than I’d ever seen in my life. But there were some makeup wipes and a couple packs of tissues in there, so I swiped them and hurried back to her.
“Will this work?”
She sighed, finally smiling. “The tissues, please. I don’t think Clinique ma
kes wipes that are pH-balanced for lady parts.”
I pulled a couple for myself and gave the rest to her, and as we got ourselves right, she said something that would haunt us like those vengeful Native American souls in Poltergeist.
“God, West—I swear, if this brings us bad luck, I will never let you live it down.”
The door burst open, and the sound of our mothers talking turned us into a whirlwind of hands and fabric and zippers and tucking and adjustments. With the briefest, sweetest of smiles and a brush of our lips, I stepped out from behind the screen, towing Lily.
Our mothers stopped in their tracks, beaming and clasping their hands, blissfully unaware—thank God. Rose, Maggie, and Astrid stood behind them, their eyes wide and apologetic.
“Oh my goodness,” Lily’s mom breathed. “You’re both glowing!”
Astrid snickered, and Rose elbowed her.
“I didn’t know you two had a first look planned!” Mom said.
“We didn’t,” Lily noted, “but we were nervous.”
“Aw, honey,” Lily’s mom cooed, stepping toward us to clasp Lily’s upper arms. “Do you feel better?”
I stuffed the hand that had just been under her daughter’s wedding dress in my pocket.
Lily let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, much better. Thanks, Mom.”
“I should go,” I started, not at all wanting to leave her side. Everyone busied themselves in an effort to give us a modicum of privacy as I turned to her. “I love you, Lily,” I said so only she could hear, “and in a few minutes, I’m gonna make you mine forever.”
“I can’t wait.” Her eyes glistened with tears.
And then I kissed her one last time before drawing her into my arms and bringing my lips to her ear.
“Next time I kiss you, you’ll be my wife,” I whispered.
She sighed, melting into me. “Forever.”
3
Like a Virgin
Lily
Within a second of the door closing behind West, I took a step and heard the last sound any woman wanted to hear on her wedding day.
The zipping crack of fabric splitting.
With horror I could only express in shades of red and purple, I turned to the offending sound. My unsuspecting mother held the short train of my dress down with her misplaced heel, and a tear the length of my middle finger exposed a sliver of my bare ass.
“Lily!” my mom gasped, eyes on my rump. “You’re not wearing underwear!”
I leveled her with my gaze. “Not really top on the list, Mom.”
She snapped herself to attention. “No, I suppose it’s not.”
Astrid was at her side, bending to inspect the tear as horrified tears pricked my eyes.
“What am I gonna do?” I breathed, the words trembling like a feather in the breeze.
“It’s not that bad,” Astrid said, whipping her phone out of the pocket of her bridesmaid dress. “Luc Phillipe is here, and he never goes anywhere without an emergency kit.”
My throat clamped shut from relief and uncertainty. “Do you really think he can fix it?”
“I once saw him reattach an entire bustled train in under four minutes during fashion week. I’m not even sure he’s human, but I’m damn sure he can fix this.”
She stepped away as he answered, and when I turned around, Rose was thrusting a lacy wisp of nude fabric at me.
“You might want to put these on.”
I snatched it from her. “Thanks.” I hurried behind the French screen where West had just annihilated my ladyhood, cursing his name and my absent willpower as I shoved my legs into those silky drawers.
Bad fucking luck. I told him it was bad luck, and I was right. Oh, am I gonna tell him how right I was.
The door burst open, and I heard the second to last sound no bride wanted to hear on her wedding day.
“We have a problem.”
It was Cam, and the tone of her voice sent a shiver tumbling down my spine.
I stepped out from behind the screen with a slow, numb detachment settling into my chest. “Tell me.”
She nibbled her bottom lip, the crease between her brows disconcerting. Rose had called it— Cam had a headset nestled in her ear and a clipboard in her hand.
“The hors d’oeuvres had anise in them.”
I frowned, narrowing my eyes in concentration like it would help me make sense of the sentence. “I don’t—” I started at the same time Maggie gasped.
“Oh my God. Cooper ate one, didn’t he?”
Cam nodded, and the two shared a dark look.
“Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?” I asked, pressing down the hysteria as it rose in my chest.
Maggie turned to me, her blue eyes big and wide and apologetic. “Cooper’s allergic to anise.”
I sucked in a breath. “Oh my God, is he okay? What’s happened?”
“He’s fine,” Cam assured us, “but …” She swallowed, and I balled my fists to stop myself from grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. “Well … his … his lips and throat are a little … swollen.”
“How swollen?” I asked through my teeth.
Cam cringed and extended her phone, which displayed a picture of Cooper.
His lips looked like he’d attempted the Kylie Jenner lip challenge and subsequently seen the wrong end of a vacuum cleaner.
“Oh. My. God,” I whispered, big-eyed. “Please, tell me he can talk.”
“I mean, he can talk. I’m just not sure anyone can understand him.”
A groan climbed up my throat. “He’s officiating. He’s supposed to marry us. Who will marry us? How will we get married?” The pitch of my voice rose to a shrill tremble. “There’s no one else! No one else is ordained! We can’t get a priest or a preacher or—”
“A sea captain—” Rose offered helpfully.
“—Or a sea captain or anybody! What are we going to do?” I asked Cam like she was a fairy godmother.
Her face, which had otherwise been pinched in discomfort, popped open like a roller shade. “Hang on, I might be able to fix this. Be right back!” And she took off with a poof of imaginary smoke in her wake.
My breath was shallow, my lungs too tight, the air too thin. My vision dimmed around the edges, and I reached for Rose.
“Whoa there,” she said as she grabbed me around the waist and guided me to a settee. “Come here and sit down.”
“Whiskey,” I croaked.
“Step ahead of you,” Astrid said, putting a crystal glass in my hand, one I brought to my lips and kicked back, welcoming the shocking sting of molten liquid as it slid into my chest and bloomed like sunshine.
Luc Phillipe burst into the room in a flurry, his homburg hat cocked stylishly on his head and waistcoat gorgeously tailored. In his hands, he held a small case that, once unzipped, displayed a substantial collection of needles, threads, fasteners, and tools.
“Come here,” he said as he approached. “Let me see the damage.”
I stood and presented my ass to him. I felt his hand on said ass and heard a cluck of his tongue, followed by a string of gentle French that I thought might be a curse.
“I can fix this,” he said with authority.
“Without a seam?” Astrid warned.
I turned as he shot her a look that could wither a cactus in four-point-two seconds. “Please. I’m not an amateur. Now take this off and let me have it.”
My mom moved for my robe, and I stripped there in front of Luc Phillipe and everybody, grateful Rose had given me underwear. He sat casually on the settee with my dress draped across his lap, so comfortably seated that it looked like the furniture had been made to fit his form. Astrid pressed another whiskey into my hand, and I downed it gratefully, if not gracefully.
In an unbelievably brief stretch of time, he stood and held the dress up, his face aristocratic and smug. “Voilà. Here you are.”
I sighed my relief, smiling as I took it from him, and everyone bustled about to help me put it on. “Oh, than
k you.”
He waved a hand. “It was nothing. Please, try to be more careful, darling. I’m sure Weston would prefer your ass, beautiful as it is, to stay covered until he decides otherwise.”
Maggie let out a shocked laugh, and West’s mom looked at the ceiling like Jesus might drop out of the plaster to save her.
Cam hurried back into the room with Cooper on one arm and a virtual giant on the other. He looked like a boxer from the twenties—shiny, bald head, luxurious mustache, face affixed in a scowl that broke open like storm clouds for the sun when he saw me.
“You must be Lily,” he said with a Southern drawl, roughed up on the bottom with a masculine gruff as he extended the biggest, meatiest hand I’d ever seen in my life. “I dunno if you hearda me. I’m West’s cousin, Billy.”
Billy Backlash.
I placed my small hand in the C-grade wrestler’s massive paw, and he gave it a gentle, enthusiastic pump.
“I seen your pictures, but damn if you’re that much prettier in person.” He flushed, his eyes darting to West’s mom. “Pardon, ma’am.”
“Oh, it’s fine, Billy,” she said sweetly.
Cam’s face was fixed with indecision. “Billy here is certified to marry you.”
“It’s true,” he added, slipping his hands into his slacks pockets. “I once performed a legal marriage in the ring. Jenny Jangler and Timmy Two-Tone was gettin’ hitched, but Frank the Fist busted it up with the help of a foldin’ chair.” He laughed, and it sounded like a saw eating wood.
Cooper pouted magnificently with the help of his fat lips. “Wisten, Wiwy, I’ve beed waitind all year for dith. It’th my onwy job! I can do it. I’m awedy bettew, wight, Cam?”
Her face pinched in an expression somewhere between a wince and a smile. “Sure, it’s better, but—”
“Thee?” he said, gesturing to her in triumph and effectively stopping her from finishing. “Bettew.” He stepped into me, took my hands in his, and looked into my eyes with his face so earnest that I felt myself agreeing before either he or I spoke. “Don’t wowwy, Wiw. I won’t meth dith up.”