Sinners at the Altar

by Olivia Cunning

  “Did you find something?” Eric asked, thumbing through a rack of mobster attire.

  “Bride costume,” Rebekah said, showing him the mass of lace and frills she couldn’t help but gravitate toward again and again.

  “I guess that’s fitting,” he said. “But not terribly creative.”

  She hung the dress back on the rack and tried to find something more creative. If he thought she was going to get married in one of her usual, naughty costumes with her tits and ass more bare than covered, he had another think coming. Her mother would be at the ceremony as Rebekah’s witness. And for once Rebekah didn’t want to stir things up with the woman.

  Rebekah slid hangers down the rack one at a time as she looked at flapper dresses and regency gowns, ballerina tutus and army fatigues. She started when a large hand splayed over her lower back. The tattoo she’d recently had inked there was still a bit sensitive to the touch. Eric thrust the frilly white wedding dress into her arms.

  “I think you should wear this.”

  “But it’s not terribly creative,” she reminded him.

  “I don’t mind. As long as you promise to wear it to bed tonight,” he said. “The thought of you in a wedding gown has me in a state that would make those Robin Hood or Romeo tights several inches too short, if you catch my drift.”

  She laughed and gave him a hearty squeeze. The man was gifted at making her feel good about herself, and he could get his dick hard more times in a day than three average men combined.

  “Then maybe you should wear the wedding dress to hide your perpetual hard-on,” she said, “and I should be the one to wear the tights because I’m super short.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Would it turn you on if I said yes to the dress?”

  “Uh, no. Not at all.”

  “Then forget it.”

  She laughed at the thought of him dressed in a wedding gown. If she lied and told him that cross-dressers made her horny, she had no doubt that her eager groom would say his eternal vows to her in a frilly white wedding gown. She wouldn’t do that to him though. Even if it would be hilarious.

  “So I’ll wear the bridal gown and you wear this,” she said, hurrying to a nearby rack and jerking out a tuxedo—007 version, very smooth and cool—that looked like it might fit him.

  “Honey, do you want to wait? Maybe you’d like to get married in a cathedral with the dress and the twelve bridesmaids and the cake and the—”

  She kissed him to shut him up. She knew he wanted to give her the world, and he had. He was her world, so as long as he stayed by her side, she had everything she could possibly want.

  “I don’t want the bridesmaids or the cake or the cathedral,” she said. “I do want the vows and the kiss and even though I didn’t expect to, I apparently want the stupid dress.”

  “Personally, I’m most looking forward to the kiss,” he said. “I think I need to practice it a couple dozen times to gauge the appropriate amount of tongue to give you. What do you say?”

  She swatted his shoulder. “No more kissing until you say I do, or we’re going to end up screwing in the dressing room again and miss our own wedding.”

  “Fine,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I’ll just fantasize about kissing you while you go try on that dress. And then we’ll head to the courthouse.”

  She held the gown up and examined it closely. It was horribly outdated, the enormous lace collar was yellowed from age and stained with what appeared to be fake blood—probably from some bride of Dracula from a past Halloween.

  “It’s not a very pretty gown,” she said.

  “If you want, we could go to a real wedding shop and buy you a better dress,” Eric said.

  “Off the rack? That’s kind of tacky.”

  “There isn’t anything tacky about your rack, babe.” He caught a finger in the top of her T-shirt and tugged down to give himself a nice view of her cleavage.

  She slapped a hand over her chest. “I don’t think we have time to go shopping somewhere else anyway,” she said.

  “We have some time,” he said. “I do want you to be legally mine as soon as possible, but your happiness is my number one priority. At the moment, your cleavage is a close second.”

  He made a grab for her boob, and she smacked his wrist.

  “I’d be happy marrying you dressed just like this,” she said, sweeping a hand down the front of her pink T-shirt and faded jeans. She even wiggled her toes, clearly visible in her cheap flip-flops. “Coming here to pick out costumes was your idea, remember?”

  “Are you sure?” he said. “That doesn’t sound like some lame idea I’d come up with.”

  She said nothing, just lifted her eyebrows at him in challenge.

  “We could get married naked,” he said. “There’s an option.”

  Grinning, she shook her head at him in disgrace. “Now that’s really a lame idea. My mother was just starting to like you. I don’t think she wants to get to know your balls on a more personal level.”

  Eric’s face paled visibly. “You’re right. I don’t want to say my vows while sporting wood in front of your mother.”

  Rebekah giggled. “And why would you be sporting wood?”

  “I always sport wood when you’re naked.”

  She slipped her hand into his and pressed her head against his arm, loving him a little more with each passing vulgar declaration.

  “And half the time when you’re fully clothed,” he added. “And if you’re wearing one of your sexy costumes”—he made a cat sound in the back of his throat—“I’m completely gone. But you already know that.”

  She did know that and used the knowledge to her advantage. Initially she’d been stunned that he’d wanted to dress up for their wedding. It was definitely something they liked to do in the bedroom, but weddings weren’t supposed to be about sex. Wedding nights, on the other hand, were meant for a whole different expression of love. Was it time for their wedding night yet? She glanced at a wall clock and noted that they’d been in the costume shop for well over an hour.

  How had they wasted so much time already? At that rate, they’d never get out of the place and would miss their opportunity to get married today. She was starting to think he was trying to stall her. Maybe he secretly wanted the courthouse to be closed by the time they got there. If he had cold feet and honestly wanted to delay the wedding, she just wished he’d tell her instead of goofing off all afternoon in this dusty old store.

  The loud rumble of an engine outside caused Eric to glance out the window, his shoulders high with eagerness. When it continued past the shop, his shoulders dropped again.

  He was up to something, she just knew it.

  “Are you going to try it on?” he asked when he caught her trying to read his mind.

  She probably shouldn’t. Wearing an ugly costume wedding dress kind of defeated the entire purpose of their exercise in spontaneity. “Maybe I should go for something else. That Victorian gown is really pretty,” she said, gazing across the store at the beautiful blue gown on a mannequin in the window, “but is definitely not my size. I hate being short.”

  “You look beautiful just the way you are.”

  She highly doubted that. It had been an exhausting morning at the oncologist. She was mentally drained and was sure it showed outwardly. Thinking that her uterine cancer might have metastasized when they’d found a suspicious spot in her MRI had shoved her head first under the oppressive boulder that dwelled at rock bottom. She’d been there before, knew that place all too well. Cancer had already fucked her out of her chance to have babies; she couldn’t believe it would be so cruel as to fuck her out of her chance at happiness as Eric’s wife. Even when she’d been near death on chemotherapy a couple of years ago, she had never felt as utterly defeated as she had that morning.

  Then hours later, she’d been handed a clean bill of health and her mood had elevated her back to the land of the living—she’d let herself hope for a future again. A future for herself. A future w
ith Eric. Eric’s insistence that they get married immediately had sent her soaring with happiness. Yet the up, down, down, so far down, up, up, way up of her emotional roller coaster had taken its toll. Her bottom lip trembled as she thought about how much she stood to lose if she got sick again. Even though Eric had assured her that he would stand by her if her cancer returned, she wanted their times together to be filled with joy and love, not sorrow and pain.

  “What’s the matter?” Eric asked.

  She forced her emotions back inside, struggling to keep them out of her expression. He didn’t need to know how upset she still was. She was supposed to be letting that fear go—not allow it to continue to churn inside her—but that was more easily imagined than accomplished.

  She rubbed her face with one hand. “I’m just a little tired; it’s already been a long day. And I could stand a little rest. When are we supposed to be at the courthouse?”

  “I was told we should get there no later than five.”

  According to the wall clock, it was already almost four.

  “Then we’d better make a decision on these costumes and fast. We’re almost out of time.”

  “I’m sure they’ll wait for us if we’re a bit late.”

  Rebekah chuckled. “A government office? I highly doubt that.”

  He glanced at the time again. “No rush,” he said.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” she said. “You’re stalling for time, aren’t you?”

  “What? No, of course not.” He shoved the wedding gown in her arms and turned her toward a dressing room.

  He’d never lied to her about anything important before. She hoped he wasn’t starting now.

  She glanced over her shoulder and caught him sneaking a peek at his cellphone.

  She bit her lip, more than a little annoyed that he was focused on something besides her on their wedding day.

  He glanced up, slid his phone back in his pocket, and pushed her in the back again. “Go try it on. Then we’ll decide.”

  “Only if you try on the James Bond getup.”

  He grabbed the spy wear off the rack. “Will do.”

  She sighed, not satisfied with the dress in the least, and went to the dressing room at the back of the shop with Eric on her heels. She closed the door in his face when he tried to follow her inside. She wasn’t going to fall for that again. They’d definitely be late if he joined her in the dressing room a second time.

  Rebekah shimmied out of her jeans and shirt before she slipped the dress on over her head. She almost cried when she saw her reflection and not the good kind of emotional oh-my-God-this-dress-was-meant-just-for-me cry. She was not marrying the love of her life in this travesty of a garment.

  “I hate it,” she called.

  When he didn’t answer, she cocked her head toward the door, listening intently. Eric was whispering loudly to someone, apparently on his cellphone.

  “What is taking you so long? I can’t stall her much longer,” Eric said in a poor attempt at a whisper.

  Ah, so she’d been right. He was trying to keep her here as long as possible. But why? She hoped it wasn’t because he’d changed his mind. She opened the door, and his eyes widened as she caught him on his phone.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked.

  “That dress is hideous on you, babe.”

  He wasn’t lying, but her emotional rollercoaster had taken one dip too many, and the tears started falling before she could stop them.

  “Oh God,” he said. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s just Jace.” He thrust his phone in her direction. “Here, you talk to him.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him. I’m not crying because you’re talking to Jace! You said I look hideous.”

  His face fell. “No, I didn’t. I said that dress is hideous.”

  “Same difference.” She rushed into the dressing room, slammed the door and locked it.

  “Reb,” Eric said, knocking on the door. “Let me in. You don’t look hideous at all.” Not to her—to Jace presumably—he growled, “Just hurry the fuck up, will you?”

  She yanked the dress off over her head and threw it over the top of the dressing room door, satisfied by the sounds of Eric trying to disentangle himself from the yards of taffeta and lace and satin and ugly.

  “I promise everything will be fine as soon as Jace gets here,” Eric said.

  That was a weird thing to promise. Rebekah wiped the stupid tears from her face with the back of her hand. She couldn’t believe he’d asked Jace to come there in the first place. What? Did she need two guys to tell her she looked hideous in that fucking dress?

  “Rebekah? Are you okay?”

  “Give me a minute,” she said breathlessly, still trying to get a handle on her emotions. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a soft bed and a hard body to cuddle against.

  “I love you,” he said at the door crack.

  Well, that little sentiment didn’t help her get her emotions under control in the least. She stared at the ceiling, blinking her eyes, willing them to stop leaking like a pair of broken faucets.

  “Rebekah?”

  “I love y-you too,” she said, cringing when her voice cracked.

  “Are you crying in there?”

  She sniffed loudly. “N-no.”

  “Baby, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Let me in.”

  “That’s not why I’m crying,” she said.

  “Then why? Let me fix it.”

  She laughed half-heartedly. “I don’t know why. I’m just… I’m a complete mess all of a sudden.” She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and took several deep breaths. “It has nothing to do with you.” And yet it had everything to do with him. She feared she’d loved him too fast, too hard, and now she feared burning out, running out of time, of life, too soon—like those tragic couples they’d spoken of earlier. But he wasn’t at fault for those fears. He was just the reason she cared so much that she lived. Really lived. Beside him.

  “Let me in,” he said calmly.

  She wiped at the residual tears, took a deep steadying breath, and unlocked the door. He entered the dressing room, closing the door behind him, and looked her over from bottom to top. She stood in the bright room in her bra and panties, but didn’t feel self-conscious about it. He’d seen her in much less twenty minutes before.

  “I have just the thing for those tears,” he said.

  With Eric, there was no telling what he thought would cure tears. She looked up at him skeptically.

  He patted his chest. “You. Right here. Right now.”

  She collided with his chest, and he wrapped her in a tight embrace. She clung to him, her arms stealing around his waist to draw him closer. In his arms she felt safe and loved. Complete. None of those things made her feel like crying. They made her feel like smiling. If she spent a month, a year, a decade, or a century in his arms, she’d cherish every moment. No one knew how much time they had to live. She had to let the fear go and make the most of the time she did have, no matter how long that happened to be. Rebekah relaxed against him, the corners of her mouth already drawing upward. He kissed the top of her head.

  “Better?” he asked after a moment.

  She nodded. “Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.”

  “It isn’t?”

  She grinned and tilted her head back to stare up into his pretty blue eyes. “Not yet, but it’s getting better.” She reached up and captured the long purple lock of his hair and gave it a tug. “Thank you for knowing that I needed you to hold me.”

  “You did?” he said, blinking at her. “I just wanted to see you in your underwear again.”

  “Then we’re both happy.” She patted his butt, knowing his greatest defense mechanism was inappropriate humor. He used it unabashedly when he was feeling his most vulnerable. She supposed they were both on the emotionally raw side today.

  She got lost in his gaze until he lowered his head to kiss her, and her eyel
ids fluttered shut. His affectionate embrace turned a bit more passionate as his hands slid down her back and over her bottom. She melted into him, wanting his bare skin against hers, wanting him buried deep inside her, wanting to be one with him. It didn’t matter that she’d just had all those things half an hour ago. She wanted them again already.

  “Do you know what I think?” he whispered against her lips.

  “That you should press me up against that wall and fuck my brains out?”

  “Uh, no, that wasn’t what I was thinking. For once.”

  “Were you thinking I should drop down to my knees, yank your pants down, and suck you off while you watch in the mirror?”

  He groaned. “Lord, woman, you do know how my mind works, don’t you? But no, that’s not what I was thinking either.”

  “Then what?” she asked, sliding her hand down his belly to cup the growing bulge between his legs. She gave his always attentive cock an appreciative squeeze.

  “I think Jace got lost.”

  She gasped in exasperation. “Why are you so fixated on Jace?”

  An unmistakable low rumble grew louder as Jace’s Harley came up the street and drew to a halt in front of the store.

  “There he is. Finally.” Eric pecked her on the lips and drew out of her arms. “You stay here,” he instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Eric, what’s going on?”

  He grinned, boyish charm seeping from every pore. “It’s a surprise.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Liar.” He let himself out of the dressing room, and she peeked out around the door to watch him stride toward the entrance. He had to unlock the front door to let Jace in. The bell over the door jangled.

  “Welcome to Malachi’s Costume Empori…” The gravelly voice that came from behind the counter ended in a pronounced snore.

  Rebekah giggled. She was surprised the old man hadn’t been robbed blind by now.

  Dressed in leather and denim, Jace entered the store carrying an enormous white box and looking more out of sorts than usual. “You owe me one,” he said to Eric in greeting.

  “I owe you ten. Whatever.” He pounded Jace enthusiastically on the back, sending him careening into a rack of adorable fruit and vegetable costumes for babies and toddlers.