Page 14 of On the Rocks
Tears burn my eyes, and all I can do is nod to keep them from trickling out. But they break free when she embraces me. Spilling hot and fast on my blazing cheeks from her consuming grip. No words could be more welcoming. Or terrifying. So close to being real I’m terrified to blink, or I’ll lose sight of this sanctuary that I pray is more than just a mirage.
“What the fuck? Why the hell is she crying?”
The rumble of Drake’s voice thunders next to me. Strong and fierce just like his mom. Who I can’t let him be angry with.
“They’re happy tears. I promise.”
Regardless of my assertion, he pulls me out of her arms and into his, swiping at the wetness on my lifted cheeks. Smiling at him yet failing to reassure him as his gaze scans over me looking for the reasons behind my distress.
“Patrice, what have you done to this poor girl?”
Much more jovial than Drake’s expression, his father Edward epitomizes restraint and an indulgence of his wife’s buoyant personality. His hand slides around her waist, drawing her closer. Still protective and loving after all these years.
A quick kiss brushes Edward’s cheek before she wags her finger at her son. “I was just telling her how furious I still am with you. You run off and have some tacky Elvis impersonator wedding without telling anyone, and I think I only get to meet her now because I’m throwing you this party. Were you planning on hiding her from us forever?”
Although I know she’s teasing, I have to defend Drake. He’s never been anything but wonderful to me, and she has to know how good her son really is. “It wasn’t like that I promise. We had a beautiful chapel with lots of flowers, and the minister was normal and really sweet.”
“I still say you deserve better.” She taps Drake’s forearm. Giving him a deep frown that reflects the true depth of her hurt feelings. “And you know better.”
“I’m sorry Mom.”
“I forgive you, but I’m going to make sure you feel guilty about it for the rest of your life.”
I laugh while he rolls his eyes, seemingly unsurprised. She must have a penchant for holding grudges.
“Come on Edward, I need some champagne.”
His Dad’s eyebrows fly up, wiggling at us in exaggerated fear. Alcohol is probably the last thing she needs with her agitation, but he doesn’t argue. Instead he nods to us and wraps his arm around hers, escorting her toward the expansive bar decorated with sparkling lights, cranberry calla lilies, and trays of pillar candles to match the rest of the ballroom. Already waving to another couple striding in their direction.
“You want to freshen up?”
Not a question. Need pounds in Drake’s voice stronger than my racing heartbeat from his lips on my ear. His body brushing mine in his craving to be closer. "Yes, please."
He tucks me against him. His possessive hand so tight on my waist pain radiates up my rib cage as we wind between the round tables and into the empty corridor. Reminding me this is my favorite place. With him. Alone.
We pass an endless line of closed doors in the main hallway of this historic resort. Finally stopping at a small cubby carved out of the corner. Providing privacy for personal calls. Coiled wires still visible from long gone wall phones.
He jerks the door shut behind him, shaking the window in its frame from the force, and lifts me to sit on the shelf. So overcome to watch this man, my husband, manic in his urgency to unbuckle his belt and slide down his zipper. Mesmerized by his hands disappearing under my dress. Wetness pools in my thong from his fingers driving up my thighs, spreading my legs apart for him. My panties rip off in one quick jerk, and he yanks me to him. Filling me up so fast and completely I almost explode, arching from the pleasurable invasion.
Yet, he stills. His broad shoulders droop under my hands. A deep breath rustling against my throat. Relief seeming to wash over him now that he’s inside me. His green eyes meeting mine with a worry he doesn’t have to bear.
"I'm sorry I didn't give you a dream wedding."
"A wedding isn’t my dream." His face falls, not understanding my meaning. I've hurt him. Which hurts me even more. The last thing I would ever do. "You are."
No more words. Just his mouth on my lips. His tongue in my throat. His hands in my hair. Kissing me hard and deep as he thrusts into me. I grip his jacket, holding on tight to withstand the force of his apology. My heart and my body soaring from his ferocious touch.
People can probably see what we’re doing. Figure out we’re making love behind the prismed glass. But I don’t care. Not about dignity. Or morals. Or class.
Just him. I have to give him what he needs. What I need. Assure him that I'm okay. We're okay. We’re together, and no one can separate us.
* * *
Somethingabout her tears fucks me up. None of my usual irritation with women and their indulgent and overwrought hysterics. Because this – she – is real.
She deserves so much more than being fucked against a wall. But I couldn’t make it to our suite. Would never have lasted the elevator ride. Because when I’m inside her is when I know she’s mine. Exposed and defenseless. With all the bullshit falling away. It’s just me and her. With nothing getting in the way.
Petite fingers move from my waist to my cheeks. Cupping my face, watching me while I plunge into her. Heavy lids fighting against closing to keep the connection between us. Plump pink lips parting with sharp breaths encouraging me to drive harder and deeper. To bury myself in the only place I love. The only woman I’ve ever loved.
