Page 22 of Rekindling Desire

“Like a motherfucker.”

“Good.” She turned back around, swaying her behind and giving me the view I wanted.

Gabriella

I wasn’t sure how Damien did it, but he did. At three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, sitting on the sofa in our hotel suite and staring into the camera atop Damien’s laptop, we met with a Hillsborough county clerk. As if our middle-of-the-night ceremony wasn’t obscure enough, we were meeting with the county official via Zoom.

It seemed that even the county clerk would make exceptions to rules. Our license was postdated to last Friday. I had no doubt that his wallet was a bit thicker for his flexibility.

By the clerk’s image, he was seated in front of a green screen that looked like a quintessential courtroom. In reality, I would guess he was at his pool or in his lanai on a Sunday afternoon. There were probably swim trunks below the shirt and tie.

After uploading our Indiana driver’s licenses, paying the nominal fee, and answering a few questions, the license was issued.

“Thank you again for your time,” Damien said. His dark-blond mane was no longer messy. His toned abs and muscular shoulders, as well as his earlier erection, were now covered, hidden beneath a layer of clothing. Dark blue jeans covered his long legs and a white button-down shirt with rolled sleeves finished his attire.

We’d secured a first-aid kit from the hotel. Damien’s hand was coated with antibacterial ointment and was wrapped in white bandages.

“Your license should arrive to your email in a matter of minutes. Remember to have the officiant sign. Once that signed license is returned to our office, you will receive your completed license via mail.”

“We appreciate your help,” I added as a knock came to our hotel door.

Damien squeezed my knee. “That should be Pastor Abrams now.”

As Damien said goodbye to the clerk, I went to the door.

“Mrs. Sinclair,” Pastor Abrams said with a smile.

“Getting closer to making that legal by the minute.” I gestured into the suite. “Please come in.”

Damien stood and greeted Pastor Abrams. “Thank you for coming on a Sunday afternoon.”

“You were able to get the license…I didn’t want to be the cause of a delay.” She tilted her head. “How is your father?”

“He’s a fighter.”

The pastor looked at Damien’s bandaged hand and to me. “Like father, like son.”

A grin lifted my cheeks. “When a Sinclair wants something done, it most usually happens.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Damien said. “I need to go to the business center to have the license printed. I’ll be right back.”

After brushing my cheek with a kiss, Damien disappeared into the hotel hallway.

“May I get you something?” I asked. “A water bottle? I’m afraid we don’t have much of a selection.”

“I’m good. Thank you.” She went to the sofa and took a seat. “While we have a moment, I wanted to talk to you about something, if you don’t mind.”

If she wanted to talk about our marriage, I was more confident in our decision than I was last night. After a good night’s sleep and a few orgasms, I was ready to defend our choice.

Smoothing the skirt of the cream-colored sundress Damien had delivered while I was showering, I sat in a nearby chair. “What do you want to discuss?”

“The couple that entered the chapel at the beginning of your ceremony…?”

That wasn’t what I expected.

I sat taller. “What about them?”

“I had the sense that there is animosity between that man and Mr. Sinclair.”

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