Page 43 of A Wedding in a Week

Tonight? I don’t want this week to come to an end. Fuck it, I want so much longer, but I’ve reached my verbal quota and have to settle for nodding.

It’s dark between these buildings, no way for the last rays of the sunset to reach us.

Marc’s smile is still blinding.

15

Marc still smiles as he gets into the Land Rover. I catch a flash of his teeth after the interior light shuts off and wish I could see him better. But if we’d parked somewhere well lit, it’s possible Marc wouldn’t risk what he does next.

He straddles me the same way as he did beside the barn before John interrupted, only now we’re alone and almost hidden, so Marc gets busy unfastening my shirt buttons.

He’s in a hurry.

One of them pings off.

I don’t know where it lands or why that strikes me as funny, not after what feels like another life-or-death near miss this evening. Because that’s how seeing Hayden recognise Marc had felt—another near miss, and I have no idea whether me puffing my chest in a too-tight shirt made a difference, but I send up silent thanks to Lukas. I also let out a relieved breath at getting this second chance in a million with Marc, and I have to kiss him.

His mouth curves under mine, still smiling as the last of my shirt buttons releases, and I breathe freely for what feels like the first time.

Marc also inhales, only his sounds sharp instead of like my long and drawn-out version. His hands span my chest, and he must have seen me with my shirt off at least a hundred times in daylight, but here, where we’re both in shadow, he says, “Fuck me, you’re perfect.”

I don’t know if he means he likes the swell of my pecs or the feel of my chest hair. I don’t have the brain function to wonder, or to return the compliment about how good he feels to me. Speaking will have to take a backseat because the need to kiss him again takes over, and in that, Marc and I are mutual.

His mouth opens for me, and I love the sensation as our tongues touch. Will it always be this electric? I hope sparks glitter behind his eyelids in brilliant flashes like they do for me, and yes, it’s too dim to see those other sparks I love when he pulls back, but I wish I had the words to tell him that he’s the one who’s perfect.

He’s all that and more in my arms. On my lap too, even though I could do with more room to show him what he does to me. Given a chance, I’d lay him down and get him naked—touch him like he still touches my chest with hands that aren’t exactly rough. They aren’t smooth either, hard like mine through manual labour, not soft, and I guess that’s why he suits me so well—why he doesn’t only fit me, like now. He also fits my work, helping me plough in a new direction.

Marc lets out a low affirmation, and maybe I don’t need to speak for Marc to understand me. Then he rocks against me, letting out a noise that’s so much louder, and I have to kiss him again to muffle what would surely sound hungry to anyone passing.

I’m hungry too. So hungry. I don’t mean for food. Not when he tastes sweet, like that dessert he shared with me. I’ve starved, I realise now, or my soul has. Marc fills what three years of fighting fear has left empty—what three years of missing him has felt like, and I don’t know why that Marc-shaped void made me keep trying. But that’s what it did, even when he was absent.

Each time those letters came from the bank, I didn’t only try to keep the farm for Mum or Lukas. Every loan declined by a computer instead of a human meant trying a new angle. I had to when, even subconsciously, I wanted Marc to have somewhere to come home to.

To me.

It’s instinctive, wired into me the same as the farming seasons, and I don’t know when or how it started, but I also don’t fight it. Instead, I kiss him harder, which only encourages him to let out more of those greedy noises, and I stop caring that anyone might hear him—hear us—hear both of us together.

I hold him tight and push up each time he grinds down instead, and we’re back in that feedback loop of pleasure. Both of us are hard. I can feel him under the heel of my palm, and I hope to God he also feels how much I want him.

I want to do more than dry hump him in these close confines this time, and I’m almost certain Lukas would have something to say about what I want to do with his best friend, but what he doesn’t know yet won’t stop his heart from ticking.

My heart does at a rap of knuckles against the window.

It’s sharp and sudden. So is Marc’s reaction—he shifts sideways, but not to put distance between us.

He puts his back to the window, doing his best to shield me, and I don’t know why that pulls at my chest like he also pulls at my shirtfront. All I know is that it feels protective, which is my role, surely, not his?

I like it, though. I also like how he only moves to the driver’s seat when my bare chest is mostly covered.

That doesn’t stop whoever rapped on the window from laughing.

I wind down the window, knowing who it is even while they’re in deep shadow. I sigh out a resigned, “Hello,” to the only other pixie in our family.

“Hi,” Mum says brightly, and I can hear she’s grinning. I see it too when Marc flicks on the interior light. “I must have just missed you two at the pub.” She surges in like a tide to shove at my shoulder, one I’ve unconsciously turned, I now realise, mirroring Marc’s protective gesture. It’s equally useless. There’s no shielding Marc from her.

She leans around me. “Evening, love! Didn’t you get enough to eat at dinner? Certainly looked as if you’re still hungry.”

Can you see where Lukas gets it? Only Mum’s teasing is so much worse than his, and she’s brought the whole village with her as witness.

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