Page 68 of One Hotlanta Night
Michael’s shoulders relax, and he murmurs something that sounds like, “Gracias a Dios.” With another fierce kiss, he swiftly repositions us, settling me on the chair as he drops to his knees before me. Running his hands up and down my legs, his touch is both arousing and comforting as he looks up at my face.
“I knew you were meant to be mine from the moment I saw you. I love you so damn much, Vivian. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you exactly how much.” He reaches under my skirt, slowly dragging my panties down my thighs before tucking them into his back pocket. Spreading me open, he leans forward directly in my center and inhales deeply, pure feral need on his face. His possessive tone brooks no argument as he says, “But right now, I can’t wait. I need to taste you, mi amor.”
My hands tangle in his hair as he lowers his head. “I need you too, my fiancé.”
“My wife,” he growls against me as he dives in.
Michael
Waking up this morning with Vivian feels different this time. Even making love last night was different. I didn’t think our bond could grow any stronger, be any more intense. But I was wrong. We connected on a soul-deep level, reaching unfathomable heights of ecstasy. A satisfied grin steals across my face at the memory of the way she cried out my name and begged me for more again and again. And I gave her what she wanted, over and over. Who am I to deny the love of my life?
Mi esposa. My wife.
Damn, that sounds just as good as when she calls me baby.
Now that I’ve finally spoken my heart to her and heard her express those magic words in return, all of the pieces have fallen into place.
I quietly push hangers to the side in my closet, careful not to wake her. She’ll need room to hang her business attire. I clear out a couple dresser drawers next. Can’t wait to have her silkypanties nestled next to my boxers. Her stuff mingled with mine, mixing our things together. Ourlivestogether.
Padding softly to the adjoining bathroom, I shift things around in the bathroom cabinet. She’s already got a toothbrush here, but I want her to have space for her girly shit so she doesn’t need to keep toting around a duffel bag. She’s here most nights anyway, and I berate myself for not thinking of it earlier.
Realizing that I still haven’t unpacked from our trip to Charlotte, I return to the walk-in closet and start to sort things out. A small, thick box falls out from a pile of clothing and drops heavily on my big toe. Biting back a curse, I rub my foot as I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. Huh. The faded black velvet looks familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Unless… No. No way. Not even bothering to open it, I race downstairs so I can make a phone call without waking my love.
My dad picks up on the second ring. “Hello?” he says gruffly, his voice still rough from lack of sleep. Shit, he must’ve just gotten off shift. I forgot how early it was.
“Sorry to wake you, Dad.”
He clears his throat, his voice brightening. “‘S’okay, son, I’m glad to hear your voice.”
“Dad, did you put something in my bag before we left last week?”
He chuckles softly. “Took you damn long enough. I was wondering when you’d call.”
Smoothing my fingers over the worn velvet, I ask him, “Is this what I think it is?”
“I saw the way you looked at her, son. Figured you’d be needing it sooner than later.” He sighs. “My mom wanted you to have it, you know. Even though she died before you were born, she knew your mom and I wanted kids. Told me to pass it down to my son when the time came. And I’d say that’s probably about now, right?”
“You’re right,” I tell him.
See? Everything’s falling into place.
Now to make coffee for Vivian just the way she likes it. And get her added to my bank account. And a house key.
Vivian
the same day
Walking into The Pork Belly this morning is like walking into the seventh circle of hell. My happy cloud of contentment evaporates the second I open the doors. We’re down a cook, the new guy washing our dishes looks—and acts—like he’s high out of his mind, and the only servers I have on the floor are the newbies. So it’s not like I can pull one off of there to go handle the dish pit which is abysmally backed up.AndI have to get us set up for inventory. It’s something that can’t wait, and I’m internally groaning at what a late night it’s going to be. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to drag myself to Michael’s tonight, and he’s all I want to see after the magic of last night.
Thankfully Sheila has been bartending-slash-managing for us this morning. We’d be lost without her. As a mom of teenage boys, not much fazes her, so she gives me the rundown with a matter-of-fact tone as I walk in. That is, until a note of worry enters her voice, her accent coming out thicker than usual.
“One last thing, Vivian,” she says, and I can’t help the exasperated sigh that leaves me. The lack of sleep was worth it and Michael’s coffee hit the spot, but I can still feel a headache coming on.Stupid tequila.
“Pleasetell me this is the last thing.”
She grimaces, smoothing back the wisps of blonde hair that have escaped her headband, then asks, “‘Member that guy you used to ride around with? Trent?”
“Yeah?” I ask warily.
