The Marriage Contract

by Rose Wulf

  She tightened her grip of the phone. Her definition of “need to know” and his were likely vastly different. “She told someone. A complete stranger. Then she tried setting me up with him, but he let it slip.” She took a breath to keep from letting her voice rise. “Grandma doesn’t care how, or if I humiliate myself in process, she just wants the contract broken. She said so when I called her out. Apparently, she’s always been against it and—”

  “I know that much,” Jonas cut in shortly. “I know her reasons. They’re outdated and petty. Skip that part. What has she done?”

  Ophelia bristled. “Then explain them to me! I don’t understand her reasons. She obviously hates Batson and his family, and apparently all salamanders, but there was clearly more. She said something—when Batson called her—about a biracial experiment. Tell me about that.”

  She could practically see the narrow-eyed glare when he spoke again. “You don’t need to understand all of that, Ophelia. It’s irrelevant. I only have a few minutes left. What has my fool of a mother done? Why would Batson bother to call her directly?”

  Tears pricked her eyes but she shoved them back. “He called because I was upset. I was so upset I collapsed and all he knew was that Grandma had something to do with the stranger who knew we were married. And yes, I do need to understand. It directly involves me. It’s affecting me, and Batson, too. We both deserve to know.”

  “Has she told anyone else? Or just the one man?”

  “Dad!”

  “Answer the question, Ophelia.”

  Feeling inexplicably like a scolded child, Ophelia replied, “I don’t know. I only know that she swore she won’t stop until she succeeds and that she doesn’t care how I feel about it.”

  “I’ll handle her,” Jonas said curtly. “Just carry on as always. But keep your guard up for the time being.” There was a momentary pause and a muted background noise. “And Ophelia,” he added, “it sounds as though you’ve grown closer with Batson. Don’t.” The line clicked before she could respond.

  Ophelia stared at her phone, watching, barely seeing, as the screen faded to black.

  She’d forgotten. She’d actually forgotten, with everything else that was happening and all the time that had passed, one of the reasons why she hated talking to her father anymore.

  “Don’t.”

  He’d insisted on the marriage. He’d drafted the contract. Yet at every turn, he seemed bent on keeping a mountain between her and Batson. Her father was the reason, on some level, why there had always been so much distance between them. It made no sense. He wanted them bound, but not together. Whereas his mother wanted them separate in every way.

  At least Grandma was consistent, now that her intentions were clear.

  But that wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want any of that. She wanted exactly the opposite. She wanted to be closer to Batson, to be loved by him, to truly be man and wife. A couple of tears rolled down her cheeks. That may be what she wanted, but it would take a miracle for her to see such a dream come true.

  ****

  “Tell me again why we’re at Batson’s birthday party?” Alice asked quietly in Ophelia’s ear Saturday afternoon.

  It was barely past noon and Batson was on his way—Ophelia had made her promised call to lure him out—and the women were standing amidst a gathering of people they mostly didn’t know. In truth, it was a social scenario Alice wouldn’t normally balk about. Ophelia didn’t tend to care one way or the other, but these were Batson’s associates. Colleagues and day-life friends who knew him—knew him as a single, hard-working man. She was simultaneously excited and nervous about having been included, however innocently.

  Ophelia grinned anyway. “I have the distinct honor of playing the unassuming bait,” she bragged. “Also, I have the benefit of bringing an important plus-one.”

  “Oh?” Alice asked with exaggeratedly raised brows. “I’m important? To whom?”

  Ophelia cast her gaze around and easily spotted the salamander in question, chatting with a slightly older man she didn’t recognize near the gate of the yard. “That guy with the spiky blond hair over there. I think you met him earlier in the week. Flirted a lot, gave him your number. Ring a bell?”

  Alice obediently followed Ophelia’s brief gesture and promptly grinned. “It kinda does.” She shifted her weight and tapped her chin. “He’s good-looking in the daylight, too.”

  Ophelia laughed.

  “Would it be rude of me to ditch you at some point to do some more flirting?” Alice asked. “You know, after the guest of honor arrives. And not for the entire party, of course. I won’t be that friend, I swear.”

  “Oh my gosh, Alice,” Ophelia teased, rolling her eyes. “I would hope not!” She gave her friend a playful shove. “But I think poor Kipp would be disappointed if he doesn’t get to talk to you this afternoon. I’ll be fine for a bit. I’m not fragile.”

  Alice laughed with her, but someone else’s words caught Ophelia’s attention.

  “Shh! He’s here!”

  Obediently, the pair turned with the rest of the group to face the unlatched fence gate Kipp had already slipped through. Ophelia felt a buzz in her purse, likely Batson texting her, but she ignored it for once. It was for a good cause, after all. Alice handed Ophelia a disposable cup filled with lemonade as the gathered crowd fell quiet. Like a silly teenager with a secret crush, Ophelia felt her pulse speed up in anticipation.

  Since it wasn’t a true surprise party, when Kipp led Batson through the gate a minute later, the group shouted, “Happy birthday!” instead of “Surprise!”

  Kipp laughed and gave Batson’s shoulder a light smack as the gate swung shut behind them. Batson’s always intense ruby eyes widened only slightly and swept over the crowd. They lingered on Ophelia knowingly and she fought to keep her smile small. She hadn’t told him about the party, in the interest of maximizing the surprise aspect Kipp had gone to so much effort to throw together last-minute. She didn’t expect him to be upset, but she did intend to apologize privately later.

  “Well,” Alice said quietly as someone greeted Batson, “looks like the party’s officially on.” She bumped Ophelia’s shoulder. “Try not to get drunk and embarrass me.”

  Ophelia choked on a laugh. She’d never been drunk a day in her life and Alice knew it. She didn’t even grace the joke with a response, instead sipping at her lemonade as she watched Batson acknowledge the men she didn’t know.

  Except she wasn’t really watching the interaction so much as him.

  He was dressed in a simple pair of worn-in blue jeans over heavy duty boots with a tight, dark red t-shirt. It was only mid-April, and the weather was perfectly mild at most, but of course he didn’t need a jacket. The only times he ever wore a coat were when it rained or snowed. It wasn’t like he actually got cold. And in the tight t-shirt, his wonderfully sculpted torso was just a step shy of being on full display. The shirt was neatly tucked into the jeans, the jeans themselves a more comfortable and equally flattering fit.

  Ophelia pulled in a breath through her nose and forced herself to look away. It wasn’t fair at all how good-looking he was. She’d known that for a long time, but somehow, whenever she saw him in public, that fact hit her in the face all over again. Seeing him this time, though, brought up something she hadn’t expected.

  She hadn’t seen him since her conversation with her father the night before. She’d been too upset to do much of anything and she hadn’t wanted to rehash it while her emotions were raw. In the back of her mind, though it may have been an excuse, she also hadn’t wanted to dump her frustration on him the night before his party. Besides, what progress had she made in that phone call? Batson didn’t need to know her father had told her to keep her distance from him again.

  Ophelia sighed into her lemonade. For everything she thought she understood, another thing popped up to confuse her. Emotional whack-a-mole. All she really wanted was to go stick herself at his side while he socialized. In reality, however, the m
ost she could risk was a brief greeting and well-wishes. She’d have to let him amble away to another colleague, even when Alice inevitably went off in search of Kipp.

  “Well,” Alice said, demonstrating her unspoken telepathic powers, “let’s go greet the birthday boy.”

  Ophelia smiled at her. “Let’s.”

  ****

  Batson brought his beer to his lips and let his gaze drift away from the colleague talking to him until he spotted her. Kipp and Alice seemed to have wandered off, leaving Lia alone for the moment. Standing like a cliché beside the goddamn drink table. She looked amazing in a simple green dress that went barely past her knees. She rarely wore knee-length skirts. The sight was causing him certain problems, given he was supposed to be socializing. She had to have done it on purpose, since she obviously knew more about what the hell was going on here than he had until he’d spotted Kipp by the fence. Something to ask about later. Right then, he hardly cared about that stupid detail. He wanted to run his hands over her legs, from the strap at her ankle to the hem of her skirt, just for the hell of it.

  He looked past her, tracking the distance from where she stood to the woodshed he’d noted earlier near the back of the yard. A bit of a risk. But all great rewards came with some risk. More importantly, it was get her to the shed or take her in the middle of the crowd for all to see. The shed was better for everyone.

  Gulping down the rest of his beer, Batson tuned in to the two men nearest him and concluded their conversation had shifted from work and sports to wives and babies. That would make checking out easier, at any rate. He waved with the hand holding the bottle and grunted something semi-cordial, unsurprised when they barely noticed his departure. Guest of honor my ass.

  Lia had conveniently turned to deposit her disposable cup in the garbage beside the drink table by the time he approached. From what he could tell, she honestly hadn’t seen him making his way toward her.

  Batson dropped the empty bottle into the pail, leaning slightly into her shoulder so he could whisper, “Woodshed.” As he straightened and adjusted his course to move in the promised direction, he used the angle of their bodies to brush his hand up her leg, briefly dipping below the line of her skirt and teasing her skin. He let his fingers roll across the back of her thigh as he moved before his arm fell away from her entirely.

  With Lia behind him, Batson tucked both hands into his pockets and strolled toward the backside of the property at a deliberate pace. He doubted anyone would notice, but if they called to him, he could easily make an excuse. No one did, and once he was close enough, he cast a single glance around and ducked out of sight behind the shed.

  The open-faced structure was mostly square and Batson estimated about ten feet tall. It was also more than half-stocked with cut logs despite the fact that winter was recently behind them. That was good, though. The shed looked to be in decent condition, but it wasn’t exactly new. He might have been concerned with his impulsive, lustful plan if all that would support them was a homemade wooden wall and a few structural beams. He tapped his knuckles along the wall a few feet in from the side. Sturdy, good. He ran his palms over the surface and flicked off a few splintering particles. Better.

  “Why did you call me back here?” Lia asked, her voice a hushed hiss of a whisper. She’d come around from the other side and therefore was already facing him. Judging from the rosy hue of her cheeks, she had a good guess as to the answer to her question. “This could be suspicious.”

  Batson brushed his hand off on his jeans and asked, “Did anyone see you?”

  She pulled the corner of her mouth between her teeth for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  He stepped up and trailed his thumb under her lower lip, pushing it up and open gently. “Good.” He leaned in and caught her oft-abused, lightly glossed lips in a hungry kiss before she could ask another question. She moaned softly and curled her hands around his torso, grabbing hold of his shirt. He wrapped his arms fully around her, cupping her ass and rocking his hips into hers while he messed up her hair with the hand behind her head.

  Lia broke from the kiss after a long, heated minute, breathing heavily. “Batson, someone could see us.”

  “Let ’em,” he replied with a growl as he bowed his head and pressed his tongue to the skin beneath her ear.

  She gasped, the sound almost echoing with the stirring of the air that swirled around him. “But … th-the—”

  If that was her only argument then they didn’t have a problem. “Fuck the contract,” he rumbled against her skin. No stupid piece of paper was standing between them right now. Hell, if he refrained from stripping every stitch of clothing from both their bodies until nothing at all was between them, he’d be damn proud of himself.

  He couldn’t do that, though. That would cost them precious time and add unnecessary risk. They’d just have to do this the classically scandalous way. A primal part of him wasn’t at all upset about that, either.

  Batson spun Lia around and pressed her up against the wall, leaning his larger body over hers and bowing his head. With his nose buried in her fake-blonde hair, he murmured, “Tonight we’ll do this properly. Right now, I’m about to fucking burst.” He reached around and cupped her bountiful breasts in his hands through the fabric of her dress. “You’ll have to remember not to scream.”

  Lia made a strangled sound of surprise, a part-moan that burned through him almost worse than the way she rocked her plump ass into his pelvis. If she said anything articulate, he missed it entirely.

  Accepting her physical response as permission granted, Batson pulled away from her neck before he inadvertently marked it and dragged his hands down her body. He took a step back, tugged her with him, then slid a hand up her spine and pressed down, bending her forward. She spread her legs instinctively and his aching cock throbbed with appreciation at the sight of her rounded rear presented to him. There were so many things he wanted to do.

  He wanted to peel her panties off with his teeth, drop to his knees, and gorge himself on her nectar until she shook with the effort to stay standing. He wanted to work her up with his hands, fill her sweet pussy with every inch of him, even take her ass if she’d let him. It was a damn shame he didn’t have the time or opportunity to surrender to the extent of his raging desires. Whatever the hell had hit him the moment he’d seen her, attending his public birthday party and standing amongst his colleagues and friends, he’d clearly lost his mind.

  He trailed his fingers down the hem of her skirt. It’s the damn dress. It had to be. It fit her like a fucking glove. She’d always been beautiful, but damn it all, something about this innocent little knee-length thing was killing him. His hands slipped beneath the fabric and he shoved it up, over her backside, revealing the motherfucking thong she’d chosen to wear underneath.

  Batson growled, following the line of fabric with one finger. “I’m gonna rip these off you later.” Definitely with his teeth. She was never getting them back. For the moment, he satisfied himself with trailing his finger below the curve of her delectable ass and slipping beneath the strip of cloth. His probing digit was immediately greeted with sweet, slick moisture.

  He added a second as he stroked and she moaned low. A quick glance toward her face showed she’d moved one arm in front of her mouth in an attempt to muffle herself.

  Batson kept his hand moving as he leaned in and roughly whispered, “We’ll have to be quick. Think you’re ready for me?” She was, he could tell, but he wanted to hear that needy tone in her voice that always drove him crazy.

  Lia shifted a little and breathlessly gasped, “Gods, yes, Batson. Hurry!”

  That was all he wanted to hear.

  He straightened, withdrew his teasing fingers, and unfastened his pants. His erection sprang free and he stepped up between her spread thighs. A hiss escaped his teeth at the whisper of first contact as he pulled her thong out of his way. He took hold of her hips and surged into her heat in one smooth thrust. He had to swallow an initial groan o
f pleasure as her inner walls contracted around him. It’d only been a couple of days, but fuck, he’d missed her.

  Lia gasped and wriggled against him as Batson began to move. The air stirred, slightly, and he couldn’t stop the smirk as he picked up an intense, hard rhythm. She didn’t usually use her powers when they were intimate. Whether she was doing it on purpose or unconsciously, he took it as a compliment.

  Batson dug his fingers into her hips and drove himself deep into her body. Over and over. Eventually, he dragged one hand up, leaning forward enough to palm her boob again through her dress. The angle was wrong for tugging it free and playing with it properly, but he wanted to feel the weight of the soft, malleable flesh. She jerked her ass sharply against him and he figured she liked it, too. He molded the breast, working her nipple through the suspiciously thin bra, until he knew he was about to come.

  She made a strangled sort of unhappy moan when he let go of her chest, but he ignored it and moved his hand down until he found her clit. For a split second, her pitch rose. She wasn’t prepared, and he didn’t give enough of a shit to stop. She clapped a hand over her mouth while he worked on her clit and thrust hard into her dripping pussy. He pressed down as he sank his cock inside her one last time and clamped his teeth around his tongue in an effort to silence himself as the orgasm crashed into him. Her body jerked, her walls clamping around him, and a barely muffled moan whispered up from her as she came with him.

  Batson locked his legs to keep steady as his breathing stilled. Seconds passed before he eased out of her and slipped her skewed thong back into place.

  “Purse,” Lia said weakly. “Tissues.” The wind kicked up, breezing past them and gathering tight around the purse she’d dropped haphazardly to the ground. He hadn’t even seen her holding it earlier.

  Batson snatched the small handbag from the air and placed his palm on her back. “Hold still,” he said. It only took a moment to find the tissues she kept in a side pocket and he dutifully wiped her thighs and carefully between her legs. He wiped himself, waded the tissues up in a pocket, and curled an arm around her waist to help her straighten.