by Tracy Ellen
I hadn’t forgotten Luke’s words of wisdom during my first lessons of self-defense training. He said a person was more vulnerable when defending, and that it was harder to be on the defense versus the offense. I was never one to make things harder on myself. I was not comfortable being vulnerable, and I definitely was nobody’s victim.
I languidly ran my fingers through Luke’s short hair, massaging his head and strong neck while thinking my offensive thoughts of retribution. I barely noticed when Luke lifted me to kneel on the mattress between his legs. I started paying more attention when his mouth began to press full, lingering kisses at the base of my throat and downward along the front of my dress.
He murmured against me, “I’m sorry our engagement got messed up with the news of Svetlana. You deserved a romantic proposal to remember for a lifetime.”
Luke’s quiet apology brought my full attention back to the man I was cuddling in my sister’s bedroom. I looked down into his unsmiling face and saw the sincere regret that I could be disappointed. Forgetting Svettie for the moment, I fell a little harder for the boyfriend that I already completely adored.
“Oh, Torquemada, please don’t think for a microsecond that I won’t cherish your proposal forever.” My smile spread, as I watched my finger follow the arc of a sleek brow, wander down the length of a bold nose, and linger to stroke the full bottom lip of that cruel, sensual mouth. “I’ll never forget it, that’s for sure. It was wonderful and terrible in so many ways, how couldn’t it be perfect the proposal for me, for us?”
The tension in Luke’s muscular shoulders melted. “You’re perfect for me.”
I melted, too, but my tension rose when he kissed my finger, drawing the tip into his mouth and sucking slightly. On my knees, I stared down through my lowered lashes into green eyes gone dark with desire. I was captured by the heat of Luke’s gaze as his tongue swirled lazily. Lean cheeks hollowed slightly from the pulling, sucking motion of his lips. I felt that suction not only on my finger in his mouth, but in the throbbing slowly building between my thighs. Just when things were getting interesting, Luke stopped and pulled back.
The flash of his crooked grin was a mixture of boyish delight and male arrogance. “I hoped you’d love the cheese of it all, Princess.”
Similar to images in the mirrors of a carnival Funhouse, I recalled everyone circling around us with big eyes and avid, questioning faces while they waited for my answer to Luke’s marriage proposal, and then the interruption of Mac’s high-pitched dolphin scream at the TV news bulletin.
Laughing a little, I confessed, “My gorgeous, half-Greek god of a drama king, mere words cannot describe how much I loved the cheese of your proposal, and to hell with Svettie.”
It wasn’t every day a private, tough man like Luke got down on one knee and proposed in front of a crowd of screaming, tipsy women. Even my war-god had to be emotionally drained after that performance.
I started to get weak-kneed myself when Luke’s arms tightened around my hips and he lifted me up. Nuzzling kisses against my stomach descended lower with more purpose.
One of the aspects of the male personality that I most enjoyed was their natural propensity to turn romantic, mushy moments into hot, pounding sexual encounters. I agreed with their left brain logic that there was no reason to waste all those feel-good emotions on happy tears and a couple of measly hugs. Show me the love by slamming me against the nearest wall any day.
If a hard slam dunk wasn’t possible, I was also okay with hands formerly on my hips gliding up the back of my thighs and underneath my dress.
A faint voice in the background I did my best to ignore warned Luke’s roving mouth and stabbing tongue could leave stubborn wet spot stains on the front of my party dress.
‘Hello--its dry clean only silk fabric!’ the mean mommy’s voice burst through in alarm.
I told Luke that I wasn’t letting that thought bother me, though. He could carry on and I would practice situational awareness by focusing on a more important wet spot. Luke’s hands squeezed my ass, but he didn’t look up when he murmured his pleased approval with my priority setting.
Luke also didn’t look up when he said between nuzzles, “I’d better stop. We have to go out there to tell people that there’s no engagement before they leave and spread the word.”
I whipped out my phone. Propping my elbows on Luke’s wide shoulders, I held out the phone and texted my fake godmother, Jamie Wade. I tossed the cell onto the bed and rubbed enticingly against his hard chest. “Consider it done for the majority of Rice County.”
Luke’s chuckle was wicked while through my dress, he nibbled at the little button decoration at the top center of my panties. I kissed his bent head and squirmed in anticipation of another button soon getting the same treatment.
Underneath my dress, his fingers teased the edges of the tiny scrap of lace. Sometimes those artistic fingers forgot to stay within my panties’ lines, but I breathlessly assured Luke that I wouldn’t take off any points if his tracing fingers dipped a little inside or outside the box.
Shoulders shaking, he gravely thanked me for my magnanimous gesture. “But we still have to stop and inform our family. They’re waiting out there.” His mouth moved lower and I felt his tongue though my dress again. My answer turned into a soft moan when his hands pulled the panties tight against where I had begun to throb again. Luke said sternly, “Remember, Anabel, no mention of Svettie, since they don’t know about our involvement with Dickie.” Luke’s tongue curled and swirled. The sexy, low growl in his throat excited me almost as much as the sensuous kiss and strong hands gripping and squeezing my butt. “Our priority is to make our reason for not getting engaged good and believable.”
Since my boyfriend seemed to be the one that had his priorities mixed up, I grabbed him by the ears and pressed his face firmly to the area that needed his immediate attention.
Luke’s laughter was muffled by my stranglehold when he whirled me around to take his place sitting on the bed. He was on his knees and between my thighs, the ideal spot for a satyr on a late Sunday afternoon.
“Is there something you want from me, little girl?”
“Yes.” I lifted my dress up and draped it over his head. “Make it good, make it believable, and please, please, make it fast.”
My almost-fiancé hadn’t wasted a second under my dress, but pulled out the extra pair of clever hands he kept hidden for emergency situations that I’ve never actually seen, but would swear in a court of law I’ve felt numerous times.
I fell back on the bed, biting on Mac’s decorative throw pillow to stop my mounting need to scream while I stared unseeingly at the embroidered words “Always Kiss Me Goodnight”.
‘If Diego kissed Mac goodnight like this every night, my vote is yes, Yes, YES to the marriage bed!’ howled the sex kitten voice, writhing in ecstasy as cats will do when stroked and petted.
That’s when Jazy’s sarcastic voice spoke up from the doorway. “Why am I so not surprised to see him cowering under your skirts, Bel, when a murdering maniac he introduced to our family is running loose out there?”
You may think that was where reality left off and the reoccurring nightmare began that I’d mentioned earlier, but you’d be wrong.
Yes, it was a little embarrassing to be caught in that compromising position by my little sister. However, Jazy was the one person who understood instantly when I used emphatic hand motions and mouthed the words, “We aren’t getting married. I’m getting one for the road, now get lost!”
Jazy’s brows had risen high, but she grinned and shot me the A-Okay signal as she backed out and closed the bedroom door.
No, in my nightmare, Luke didn’t groan loudly on a laugh at Jazy’s interruption, finish me off first like the gentleman he was raised to be, and then politely hold a hand over my mouth while he proceeded to slam dunk me quite satisfactorily to get his own for the road.
Instead, the last six nights in a row, he jumped up from between my legs and point
ed a damning finger in my face.
“You are the mother of my children!” He yelled down at me in my dream, face twisted with disgusted repulsion. “I can’t be eating at the Y anymore and you can’t be giving me hummers!”
I cannot be held responsible for the irreverent way guys often talked of the sexual acts of cunnilingus and fellatio, as I was only reporting what Luke said in my reoccurring nightmare. Nor, when I was fully awake, did my logical mind believe what Luke shouted, especially the no more hummers part. Any wife would agree that a man would sooner put a disguising bag over their spouse’s head before giving up the occasional good blow job.
During the daylight hours, I could rationalize away those dreams as stupid and nonsensical, but the unsightly bags under my eyes from lack of sleep kept growing.
I’ve done as I was taught to do. I applied self-scrutiny to understand the crux of my nightmare. It didn’t take me long to see the bad dream stemmed from anxiety that Mr. Tricky didn’t take me seriously when I said I never wanted children.
Continued self-examination also brought forth the idea that maybe I hadn’t taken Luke seriously enough when he said he did want a large family.
I said ‘Yes’ when Luke proposed because I had already concluded it was just a matter of time until we lived together anyway.
Who hasn’t heard the quote, “Familiarity breeds contempt”?
Not so deep down, I still believed living together was the first step towards the end of love, not the beginning. Married or not, it was the concept of living together and seeing each other on a daily basis that was at the root of my beliefs, not the act of marriage itself.
If familiarity was generally the first step towards the breakdown of love as a couple, then having kids turned the love into a steaming compost. Once munchkins arrived in the picture, the couple that used to be wild about each other still lived together on a daily basis, yet they lived almost completely separate lives.
For the next twenty years, they sailed along and raised the little darlings of their love. Indeed, in their attempt to be good parents, they would become two ships that passed in the daylight--in the kitchen for a meal, on their way to a ball game, a music recital, or a teacher’s conference, but less and less would they bump their hulls at night in the bedroom.
Of course, there were always the exceptions to any rules, even mine. Having gobs of money for a nanny and housekeeper helped ease the pressure boiler of life from exploding. But if that description of marriage with children sounded depressing, that was because below the façade of “Aren’t we the happy family?” portrayed by most couples as necessary to not slit their own throats, the average personal relationship for most couples with children was damn depressing.
Relationships all come down to science, which was probably another factor why I couldn’t get rid of not only my nightmare, but a slight headache. Fight it as we would, bottom line, the human race was created biologically to procreate like a virus. Last I heard, man had yet to cure a virus.
I didn’t share my deep down viewpoints about marriage and children much. As you could imagine, it pissed most people off. Even if they begged me for an opinion, nobody in love wanted to hear that kind of advice. Even if they believed it to be true, it was other couples that would have those problems, never them.
Much to my disgust, upon self-examination, it turned out I was no different. A risk taker at heart, I thought Luke and I would be different from other couples. I was willing to devote the time to our relationship that it would need to keep it fresh and alive. I believed my war-god would do his part, too. Part of my reasoning was that Luke also has a life and interests of his own to keep him challenged, and to keep me interested. He was a mature, experienced man not under any illusions I would meet his every need, nor he mine.
Despite every romance book and Disney movie to the contrary, that was one of the most despicable modern myths ever taught to young women. No one man should ever be a girl’s only reason for existing. How boring and burdensome for our Prince Charmings, not to mention impossible. I’ve been taught that a woman’s self-confidence in their own physical bodies, brains, and abilities created a zest for life and were the keys to personal long term happiness. And happily enough, those attributes in a woman were an incredibly sexy turn on to others--ask any smart, self-secure man.
If the gamble paid off, Luke’s and my love would flourish miraculously against all the odds in the daily rut of life. Under those circumstances, I’d marry Luke eventually, but only if it was important to his happiness, since it would never be a requirement of mine.
However, the babies were a deal-breaker.
Upon further reflection, I concluded the entire subject was currently at a stalemate. Marriage was off the table for the present. Taking no chance, yesterday morning I’d ix-nayed the MacKenzie Fertile Myrtle curse in the bud. I ducked into my gyno and got treated with a Depo shot before NanaBel treated all her granddaughters to holiday mani-pedis, and oddly enough at Stella’s request, spray tans.
Now my French manicured fingernails were amazingly all one long length at the same time, I had a golden tan worthy of a two-week tropical vacation at a nudie beach, and the mucus walls guarding my old eggs in their ovaries were rapidly thickening to repel any warrior sperms Luke shot their way. I had no reason to stress over imaginary kids foretold in some distant future, and life was good.
Issues resolved, you’d think last night I could finally sleep. Instead, I woke up again, gasping in distress while Luke’s shouted denial of our mutual oral sexual pleasuring echoed in my aching skull.
Fed up, I realized there was no getting around it--if I wanted my peaches and cream complexion back, the night terrors caused by the idea of those predestined, four little bastard children required Luke and I have a serious discussion when he arrived back in Northfield.
Chapter III
“I’m Not In Love” by 10cc
Last Sunday, 12/9
5:00 PM
Last Sunday after Anna’s bridal shower and my interrupted proposal, Luke had barely pulled my dress back down before he went to have a private talk with Jack Banner to find out what the police chief knew about the Svettie situation. It wasn’t much. The knife used in Dickie’s murder was found at the scene. Fingerprints had led the police to search for Svettie. Her car was found abandoned in the Red Wing area, a town forty-five minutes northeast of Northfield, although she hadn’t been apprehended.
While Luke was gone, I’d been pacing Mac’s bedroom. I was racking my brain for a way to convince Anna and Damaris there would be no engagement that was believable and didn’t cause them to think I was rejecting Luke’s love.
I explained my dilemma when he returned. “I do not want everybody we care about to think there’s something so wrong with you that I don’t want to get married.”
Luke laughed, but then he stopped and raised a brow when I didn’t smile. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am.” I frowned up at him, wondering why he thought that was so funny.
Luke held me by the shoulders and kissed my forehead. “You are so damn sweet sometimes.” Pulling away, he bent at the knees a little to peer into my face, and grinned widely when I narrowed my eyes. “For someone so smart, you can be incredibly dense sometimes, too.”
His grin was so killer, I almost didn’t take offense, but a girl has to keep to her standards of what she’ll let a man get away with saying to her face. “I am not sweet, take that back.” I slapped his chest for emphasis, and then rubbed the spot over his silky-soft sweater. “How am I being dense? They’re going to think you’re some kind of big dick.”
He negligently shrugged a shoulder. “I am some kind of big dick, so why don’t you let me handle our families?”
I laughed a little. “Okay, since you put it that way…”
Truth be told, I was relieved to pass off the responsibility. That relief made me more nervous because it pointed out in capital letters how much I trusted Luke to be able to han
dle our families and how big a wimp I was becoming to want to hide behind his broad shoulders.
“Hey we’re partners, remember?” Luke tipped my chin up and smiled slightly. “I’m the man. Once every century or so, a man can perform a miracle a woman can’t.”
“So true.” I glanced over at the bed with a sigh of longing. “By the way, have I thanked you for that?”
Luke slowly arched a brow as his smile grew diabolical. “Not nearly enough, but this lippy mouth,” a finger caressed my lips, “can make it up to me.”
“Like this?” I teased and copied his earlier move. I held his hand with both of mine while I drew the length of his long finger slowly into my mouth to suck it hard and then lick it like it was my favorite Pudding Pop dripping on a hot summer day.
He watched my mouth and murmured, “Now you’re talking, baby.”
Luke continued to stare at me straight-faced, which didn’t help me get my giggles under control. I noticed Sparky blinging away and that sobered me up. I slipped the beautiful ring off my left finger, and after a final little kiss, pressed Sparky into Luke’s hand.
He looked at the ring sparkling on his palm for a moment. “Anabel, this was your early birthday present, too.”
I sighed and responded quietly, “It was my best present ever, but people will realize we’re serious if they see I returned your family ring.”
He tucked it into his pocket without comment and we went to confront all the family and our closest friends waiting for us in Mac’s kitchen and family room.
My Miracle Man stepped up and took care of the issue with his usual confident aplomb.
“Hey, everyone.” They stopped talking and all heads turned towards Luke and me standing in the doorway. Luke spread his hands, palms up. “Just forget you ever heard me propose to Anabel.”
