by Anna Martin
“Shit,” he said, his voice low and husky when we broke apart. He laughed, dropping his forehead to rest against mine. “God. I love you.”
“Love you too. Thank you for tonight.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured. We were quiet for long moments as he tugged my hair. “It’s sometimes a bit overwhelming to think how far we’ve come,” Will said, apropos of nothing.
“Hmm? Yeah, I suppose so.”
“I can remember the first time I brought you up here.”
“Are you getting sentimental on me?” I asked, teasing. I got a poke in the ribs for that.
“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. I’m just very lucky to have you.”
“Yes, you are. Come on.” I heaved myself out of the beanbag, then pulled him up after me. “I’ll let you be little spoon tonight. I don’t think I can take any pressure on my back.”
“Let me be little spoon?”
“Yeah,” I said, linking our fingers as we walked out of the playroom. “It’ll take a lot for me to give up my little spoon privileges permanently.”
He laughed at that. “Okay. For tonight.”
Will squeezed my fingers.
I squeezed back.
IN THE New Year, when the January blues settled in for both of us, we sat down in front of our open fire with coffee and planners and figured out when would be the best time to get married. Will had kept his promise and not asked again. I occasionally referred to him as my fiancé, which made him smile his secretly pleased smile.
It became shockingly clear very quickly that neither of us had any idea how to plan a wedding. No idea at all. I panicked at first, determined to look up on Emily Post what was the “proper” way of inviting someone to a same-sex wedding, what the seating arrangements should be, who got walked down the aisle (and by whom). It took Will asking me, very seriously, if I wanted to go dress shopping at the mall to snap me out of it.
His attitude was predictably blasé. “We’ll do whatever the fuck we like,” he said, gently prying the iPad out of my hands and closing the stack of windows I had open. “I don’t give a fuck about Emily Post, and no one is walking anyone down an aisle. Got it?”
“Yessir.”
“Good. Don’t make me dish out punishment.”
But he was smiling.
As soon as I got the stick out of my ass about planning, everything got easy. Easier. There was still something of a logistical nightmare, figuring out when the best time was to get my family to fly up and who they were going to stay with.
Winter melted into spring, and the Big Day loomed ever closer.
The morning of the wedding, we woke up to rain.
There was no rush to get out of bed; I got up to use the bathroom, then opened the curtains before crawling back into bed with him.
“Good morning,” he mumbled like he did every morning, and I curved my body around his.
For a while we lay there together, watching the rain, Will holding my arm against his chest to keep me close. It was nice, soothing, quiet… ours.
Jennifer and Trent were staying with Will’s sister, Leanne, and her husband, and my dad was staying with Will’s parents. We had blended into one family over the past year, and I liked that our parents got on so well with each other. It helped that my family had lived in Seattle for a time. We had moved with my dad’s job when I was ten, and Dad, Mama, and Jennifer had stayed until Jen graduated from high school, so they were familiar with the area. When they moved back down South, I’d stayed in the city that had become my home.
For a bachelor party of sorts, Will and me and our dads had gone to a football game and spent a very cold afternoon watching the Seahawks get trashed.
That morning, I could have stayed in bed for hours, not doing anything, just dozing and talking and quietly touching each other. I sort of expected my phone to ring. Jennifer was acting as our wedding planner, and she had vowed to get us both out of bed.
It was later than I expected when she finally called.
“Are you awake?” she demanded.
“I am now,” I grouched. It was a lie. I’d been awake for ages.
“Good. You know the schedule. Stick to it. I’ll see you soon.”
We were already behind schedule. By quite a bit.
I got up to put the cinnamon rolls in the oven for breakfast while my husband-to-very-shortly-be made coffee. We ate in bed wearing underwear and little else, making a point of talking about anything apart from the rest of the day.
I wasn’t nervous. Of course not.
Will had enough suits to last him a lifetime but wanted to buy something new for the wedding, and despite my derision for matching suits, we found a charcoal gray set to wear with forest green bow ties and white shirts. The bow ties matched my sister’s dress and the sashes on the white, fluffy outfits worn by our flower girls. Carrigan and Sawyer were our closest friend’s daughters and our not-goddaughters (Laura wasn’t religious and hadn’t gotten them christened), so we wanted them in the wedding.
“I need to talk to you about something,” I said, shuffling round on the bed so I was facing him. It was a last-minute thing, something I should have spoken to him about weeks ago. Life had gotten a little out of hand, and I needed to do this before we got dressed.
“Yeah? Go on.”
I fiddled nervously with the braided collar around my wrist. “I want to take this off for the wedding,” I said in a rush.
He looked down to where I was rhythmically twisting the thread, pulling it tight against my skin.
“Okay…,” he said slowly.
“I mean—I want to get married to you, not as your sub, but as your partner.”
“Do you still want to be my sub at all?”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “Of course.”
“Oh, thank God,” he said with a sigh and worried eyes. “I thought you wanted me to release you from your contract.”
“No, no.” I leaned in and kissed him hard, resting my hand securely on his cheek. “No. Well, yes, but just for today. I think things are going to need to change after this, and it should probably mean we renegotiate to a certain extent. I just don’t want to be a sub today.”
“Yeah,” Will said slowly. “I understand.”
“I promise I’m coming back to you. I promise. I just need this today.”
“I can give you that,” he murmured, the edge of a smile gracing the corners of his lips.
He worried the edge of my collar between his fingers, then reached over to his nightstand and fumbled for a pair of scissors. I guessed he kept them there for the few times we played in the bedroom. Safety first, after all.
After giving me another quick kiss, he decisively snipped through the thread and ran his thumb over my bare wrist.
“Better?”
“For now,” I agreed.
“For now,” he echoed.
By the time he’d pinned the collar in the box I’d bought him for his birthday, next to my other old collars, we were running very behind schedule and shared a shower in an attempt to save time. Even if we’d wanted to there, was no time for any sexy fun, and I had to rush to dry my hair enough to be able to style it.
“Are you ready?” Jennifer called, knocking on our bedroom door. We had given her keys so she could come in and set up the last few things in the morning without disturbing us. And it meant she could let everyone in, and the first time our family would see us would be when we walked down the aisle. Together.
For now, though, Will was still fussing with his hair.
“Yeah,” I called back, lying.
I gently pulled him away from the mirror with assurances of his beauty and laced our fingers together.
“Are you ready?” I repeated.
He nodded. “Yes.”
My heart was thumping so hard in my chest I thought it might burst out.
“Me too,” I said.
Wanting the last thing I did as a single man to mean something, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss
to his bottom lip.
“I’m ready,” Will said decisively.
I smiled at him and reached for the door.
About the Author
ANNA MARTIN is from a picturesque seaside village in the south-west of England and now lives in the slightly arty, slightly quirky city of Bristol. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.
Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theatre (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), going to visit friends in other countries, baking weird and wonderful sweets, learning to play the ukulele, and Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.
Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, pre-reading, and creative ass kicking provided by her best friend, Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept responsibility for anything Anna has written.
2nd place winner of the 2012 Goodreads M/M Romance Member’s Choice Award “Best Musician/Rockstars” for Tattoos & Teacups.
Website: http://annamartin-fiction.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/missannamartin
Tumblr: http://annamartinwrites.tumblr.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annamartinfiction
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/
5251288.Anna_Martin
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