by Jay McLean
"Holy shit," Lucas says when we open the door to the suite. Dad wanted it to be a surprise, so we had no idea he was renting out the Kingpin Suite at the Palms. "I'm gonna get married ten times over if this is what Dad provides," he jokes.
Cam grabs my bag out of my hands and links our fingers. "See you guys in two days," he rushes, and then he drags me away.
I watch as he drops our bags just inside the master suite and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "Hello, wife."
I try to suppress my grin as I walk over to him. His hands on my waist are soft when he pulls me between his legs.
"Say it again," I ask him, settling my arms on his shoulders.
"What?"
"Call me your wife."
His smile matches mine. "You looked beautiful today, wife."
I take a seat on his lap with my legs wrapped around him.
"Did you have a good day?" he asks, his mouth on my shoulder.
"It was everything I dreamed it would be and more. It was perfect, babe."
He raises his head, his eyes searching mine. "You deserve it."
"What about you? Was it your dream wedding?"
He nods slowly. "You were my bride, so yeah. It went exactly the way I've always imagined. But... I miss you. I had to share you with everyone today and you know I don't like sharing."
I chuckle against his neck as his arms grip me tighter. "I'm going to shower and wash the crap out of my hair, and then we can lie in bed and you can have me all to yourself."
-CAMERON-
I unpack our bags while she's in the shower. There's a box in hers, still wrapped, and a card from Micky and Amanda telling her to open it when we get to our room. I have no idea what it is, but I'm too scared to attempt to find out. I love Lucy, don't get me wrong, but when those three get together, shit happens. I don't want to be the cause of shit on our honeymoon.
At the bottom of her bag is an envelope. This time, I don't think twice about snooping, because it's addressed to Our Future Hope, from Mom and Dad.
I sit on the edge of the bed and flip it over in my hands. The first page is a copy of my sketch; the one I made of her future room in our future house—the first one... with the huge armchair and all the little ones around it. There are stained splotches marring the otherwise perfect scene, most likely her blood from when the frame shattered.
I swallow the lump in my throat and take a deep breath, preparing myself for what's to come.
*****
Dear Mom,
I know it's been a while since I've written to you. Six years and one month, almost to the day. The thing is, I haven't found a need to write because I found someone else to share my secrets with.
Remember when I wrote last? About a boy I'd fallen in love with—and he had no idea I noticed him? Well... tomorrow, I'll stand before him, in front of all our loved ones, and we'll become husband and wife.
Did you know?
When you passed away, did you know he would be there? I think you did, Mom. I think you put two people in front of each other and you let fate play it's magic.
I hope that one day, I can do that for my daughters. I hope that I can keep them safe, protect them from all the bad, and help them see all the right in the world.
I hope one day they'll find someone just like Cameron. Someone to be their strength, their calm, their HOPE.
I love you,
Lucy Gordon.
-LUCY-
"You just wanna lie in bed for the rest of the night?"
We're in bed, lying on our sides, our faces almost touching. He nods once before kissing my chin. "Yup. I just want to hold you and love you."
"Good," I tell him, my fingers twisting his hair. "This is my favorite thing in the entire world."
"Me too," he mumbles. "And blow jobs."
My head throws back in laughter.
"And your laugh," he says, his eyes on mine. He pushes my shoulder until I'm on my back. Leaning on his elbow and resting his head in his hand, he adds, "Your laugh makes my world stop, Luce. I remember the first time I heard it, when you were at school, and you were reading. It was two days after our first kiss. I remember thinking that I'd give up all other senses if it meant I could hear you laugh again."
I raise my hand to move his hair away from his eyes.
"It was like a reward for me," he continues. "Like all those physically exhausting days of being with you and the boys and trying to be your calm, it was all worth it. Just for that one sound. That one emotion I pulled out of you. And all of it lead to this—to you being my wife."
I can't help the smile that forms. I love hearing it—the way he calls me his wife. "Say it again."
"Wife." He shifts so he's sitting on my waist and our hands are linked. "You know what that means, babe?" he says with a slight grimace. "It means you're going to have to learn to cook, maybe even clean."
I scrunch my nose and shake my head. "Nope."
"Yeah," he jokes, nodding as he does. "I'm sorry, it kind of comes with the title."
"Nooooo," I whisper yell. "But all that stuff takes away from valuable reading time!"
"Fine!" He rolls his eyes. "I'll learn how to do it. But you have to promise to read at least two smutty books a week."
"Deal."
"Deal," he responds, a smirk forming. "Shall we blow job on it?"
***
We don't blow job on it, in fact, we don't even have sex. We do what we wanted, we hold each other, and we talk, and we fall even more in love.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
-LUCY-
"Heidi left," Dylan deadpans from his seat next to me at the dining table.
"What?" I load up Cameron's plate with the room service breakfast we all ordered and look at Dylan. "What do you mean she left?"
He shrugs. "Ask her about it," is all he says, but his tone says what his words don't.
I pick up my phone and check for any messages or missed calls. There are none. "When did she leave?"
"Last night," Lucas answers.
My eyebrows bunch as I watch Dylan. The muscles in his jaw work back and forth while he pretends to read the paper. I look to everyone else, but they're not paying attention. "I'm glad you're here, Dylan," I tell him. "There's no way it would have been the same without you. I missed you a lot while you were gone."
He looks up, his features relaxing as he does. "You guys are my best friends, I should have kept in contact. I'm sorry I missed out on so much of it, Luce." He holds my hand resting on the table. "I should've been a better friend to you while you were going through so much."
I can't help but laugh. "Dylan, you were fighting a war."
He shrugs and looks away, releasing my hand. "I think maybe we all were."
And that's the cue that he's done talking.
"LUCY," Micky shouts. "DID YOU OPEN YOUR PRESENT?"
"Babe," Jake says. "You're shouting again."
"Oh." She looks down at the table.
Jake adds, "Kayla thought it'd be good times to jump in the pool last night, both her ears are water-logged and she can't fix it."
"OH MY GOD!" she shouts again. "I LOVE THAT BOOK!"
"What!" Cam matches her volume. "What the hell did you just hear?"
Her brows bunch and she looks to Jake and then down to her plate. "IT'S JUST BACON AND PANCAKES, CAM."
That gets a round of laughs.
"Seriously, Luce," Amanda pipes up. "Have you opened it?"
"Not yet, I didn't know if I should open it in front of Cameron or not."
"Oh." Her eyes go huge. "It's for both of you," she laughs. "Actually, it's more for Cam."
Then Micky shouts, "CAM, I AM. I DO NOT LIKE GREEN EGGS AND HAM!"
***
"What is it?" Cam asks, bouncing on his feet.
I slowly rip open the wrapping paper from Micky and Amanda's present. And then my eyes bug out of my head. "Wait here," I tell him, holding it behind my back.
"What is it?"
"Wait here!" I repeat. "I'm
going to shower, and then I'll show you." I start to go to the bathroom but then spin on my heels to face him. "Tell the guys we'll see them tonight and lock the door."
His grin is instant. "YO! Nobody bother us for the next two days!"
Everyone laughs, everyone but Lucas and Micky.
"That's my sister," Lucas shouts.
"THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS GREEN EGGS!" Micky yells.
***
Cam opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Nothing.
"What are you thinking, husband?"
I twirl the white fluffy handcuffs with my finger. It matches the lingerie set that Micky and Amanda gave me. And the whip that came with it.
He chews his lip, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. "What are they—do—where..." He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "Huh." He stands up and takes the steps to get to me, his hard-on already tenting his pants. "What did you have in mind?" he asks, his mouth on my neck and his hand in my panties.
"Whatever you want."
***
I'm blindfolded, handcuffed to the bedpost while his mouth works down my chest and his fingers work inside me.
"Anything?" he asks, causing a vibration against my stiff nipple.
"Anything," I breathe.
Body: I want him to eat her pussy.
Brain: You have a filthy mouth.
Body: You made me that way.
He kisses, licks, sucks, past my breasts, onto my stomach, paying special attention to our scar.
Brain: I love it when he does this.
Body: I'd rather he do it to her pussy.
Brain: If she weren't blindfolded, she'd be rolling her eyes at you.
He moves lower, past the scar and between my legs. The warmth of his breath heats my already moist center.
Body: Moist? Really?
Brain: Shit word. I agree.
My hips jerk up when I feel his silky tongue slide between the petals of my inner folds.
Body: She reads too much.
Brain: Yeah, she does!
"Baby..."
Body: Whoa, where is his finger right now?
Brain: Not in her whispering eye! Why did she tell him he could do anything?
"Babe?"
"You said anything," he responds.
Body: Oh no. I don't know that I like this.
Brain: WHY DID SHE SAY ANYTHING?
Body: WHY IS HIS FINGER THERE?
"Cam?"
"If you don't like it, tell me to stop."
Brain: Maybe she should just try it. She's read about it. It turns her on.
Body: I know it turns her on. I'M the one getting turned on.
His finger penetrates deeper. The handcuffs dig into my wrists when I begin to squirm. I don't know if I want him to stop or if I want more. His tongue slides up, his mouth circling my hooded nub.
Brain: Hooded nub? Really?
Body: Fuck this feels good.
"Fuck, baby, that feels so good."
I start to move, my mind picturing him naked, his veiny, throbbing member in his hand, watching me touch my silky folds.
Body: What the hell did she just say?
Brain: It's from those books...
Body: I can't focus on the pleasure if she keeps thinking like that. You control her, make her stop.
Brain: Thinking like what?
"Fuck baby, please don't stop." I feel it building, the dull ache at the pit of my stomach. His finger starts moving slowly, the muscles of my rear clenching around it. My pink walls lather in my juices as I begin to tighten. The image of his silky, pulsating rod bringing me closer to the edge.
Body: THAT! Thinking like that! Pink walls? Pulsating rod? I'm surprised I can even...
"Oh my God, Cam!"
Brain: You have no problem getting off, shut your whore mouth.
Body: Did you just call my mouth a whore?
Brain: Look at you, you're writhing under his touch. You love it. Let Lucy think whatever—
Body: You try not getting turned on when Cam does this shit. Get it, girl. Get that O.
Brain: At least we agree on that! Get that O, girl. Pleasure that clitorusaurus-rex.
"Stop it!" I laugh aloud.
"What?" Cam says, pulling away.
"Not you!" I lift my hips so he can keep going. I need him to keep going.
"But you just said—"
"Shut up!"
Brain: You're mean.
Body: Shut up, Brain. He loves it. I love it. Look at him go.
"Ahhh!"
Body: Oh shit, she's so close.
Brain: Leave her alone now, let her have it.
"Ahhh!"
Body: Fuck. Oh my God. This is—there are no words.
I thrust my hips, my fiery furnace now fucking his face.
Body: Stop with that shit.
"Fuck, Cam! I'm gonna..."
Body: GO! GO! GO!
"I'm gonna..."
Body: FUCK YEAH!
"I'm gonna..."
Body: Holy shit. I've never felt like this... this could be... is it?
"HOLY SHIT. I'm gonna come so hard all over you face."
Body: Shit. This is the biggest orgasm she's ever had.
"I'm gonna..."
Brain: Come. She's gonna come!
"COOOOME!"
My body vibrates while he holds me in place, his mouth never leaving, his finger never stopping, not until the last wave hits and I flop on the bed.
"Fuck me..." I moan in pleasure.
"I plan to," he murmurs.
I smile, even though I can't see him. "You, Cameron Aladdin Gordon, are a goddamn stud."
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
-CAMERON-
It was hard, but I did it. I graduated.
Luce got her degree in journalism and joked that she'd probably never use it. It was funny until we had moved back home into the cabin for a few weeks and she realized just how limited journalism jobs were, especially close to home.
I applied at about ten architecture firms, all of which contacted me for an interview. I even got offered a few of them, but it meant moving, or travelling, and none of them offered enough money to do either.
I helped Tom out with a few of his projects for the first couple months. He paid me more than he should, which meant that it was more than enough to float Lucy and I, especially considering we were living rent free.
After weeks of staying home, Lucy started to lose her mind. And then she found a project. The only bookstore in town—the one her and her mom used to spend hours at on the first Sunday of every month—was sinking. It wasn't making enough money to survive and it was going to close down. Lucy, being Lucy, got emotional and used those emotions to fight for it. She spent every day there helping when she could to keep it open. When nothing worked, she started a campaign. She organized an event where some of her favorite authors showed up, signed their books, and spoke to the attendees. She even convinced them to donate their books so that all the money went back into the store. The owner, a tiny old lady who only went by Ma'am, and was way beyond her retirement years was so thankful for Luce's efforts. But it still wasn't enough. She cried when she found out. "It's not about the store," she said that night. I held her to my chest while she sobbed silent tears. "It's about the memories, Cameron."
The next day I worked on site with Tom and told him about the store closing and how upset Lucy was about it. I told him that she spent most of the night telling me stories about her and her mom going there, and how she remembers her mom buying her her own copy of Little Women. She said it was one of the greatest days of her life.
A week later Tom asked us to meet him there. We had no clue what it was about. So when we walked in after hours and saw him sitting next to Ma'am at the tiny reading corner she had set up, we were confused to say the least.
We sat down opposite them and waited.
Ma'am had tears in her eyes, but Tom didn't speak. He just pushed a bunch of papers our direction.
They were ownership papers to the business and the building with our names already printed on them. "All you have to do is sign," Tom said.
Lucy cried.
I had no idea what was happening.
"You bought me a book store?" she wept.
My eyes narrowed before realization set in.
"No," Tom answered. "I invested in a book store." He leaned back in his chair and eyed us both for a moment, gathering his next words. "Actually, I have my own reasons for doing this, but yes, the bookstore is yours, Lucy."
She cried as she signed the papers. I don't even remember signing my name, but I'm sure I did.
After Ma'am said her thanks, she asked me to walk her to her car. "She doesn't know does she?" she asked while I held her door open.
"Know what?"
"That her mom named her after me. My name's Lucille, but no one has called me that since her mother passed."
"No, Ma'am," I replied. "She has no idea."
"Good." She smiled. "You can be the one to tell her."
When I went back into the store, Lucy was on her feet. She was still crying, but it was the good kind. "We can do so much with this space," she announced excitedly. She went behind the counter, found a pencil and notepad and handed them to me. Then she proceeded to walk us through her ideas. Tom and I followed, our smiles almost identical.
"Please draw my vision," she asked me, and so I did.
For two hours we walked around the space while she went through, in detail, what she wanted. I sketched what she described while she looked over my shoulder, telling me what to change and what was perfect. Not much needed changing—seems our visions were similar. Tom walked around with a measuring tape and his own notepad, writing down things that needed to be fixed or built. She wanted to include a little café, one where shoppers could sit down and read for hours and hours. She walked around animated, so lost in her excitement and ideas that I found myself right there with her... just as excited as she was. "I want a reading corner, baby," she whispered when her dad was out of earshot. "One where I can do story time for the kids. I want a huge armchair and they can all sit in front of me while I read to them. Can you design me a sign for above the chair, one that says 'Kathy's Corner'?"
I smiled down at her, watching her eyes fill with tears again. "That sounds like an amazing idea, babe."
