The Cowboy's City Girl - An Enemies To Lovers Romance

by Emerson Rose

  “Not exactly.”

  “Nausea?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I will go make you some tea.” He untangles himself from behind me and I instantly miss the comfort and warmth of his body when he’s gone. Today is going to suck. I wanted so much to do right by Maria but saying goodbye is never easy, and I’m still worried about Marcus’s state of mind. I stretch out on my back, lengthening my achy muscles. Mistake; being on my back intensifies the nausea and I roll back to my side and curl up into a ball where I’d be perfectly happy to stay for the next few weeks until this feeling passes.

  My strangely optimistic husband strolls through the door a few minutes later with a tray in his hands. Without a word, he places it on the dresser. I watch as he approaches the bed with his navy blue pajamas hanging low on his trim hips and the muscles of his six, no, make that eight-pack of abdominal muscles, flexing with every step. He is absolutely mouth-watering, and even though I’m suffering morning sickness, he is irresistible. He knows the effect he has on me and from the looks of “it”, I do the same for him. I smile up at him, but he goes about sitting me up carefully, rearranging the pillows behind my back and tucking the duvet around my hips before he retrieves the tray and places it across my lap.

  Then, and only then does he meet my eyes when he props his hip on the bed next to me. “I wish there were an adequate way to show you how intensely I love you, how you have nurtured my heart to grow to be ten times its original size, how… different I am inside because of you.” I was reaching for the ginger tea on my tray but I slowly lower my hand and blink several times to try and lift the haze of his loving words from around me, but it’s no use, he’s cast his spell and I’m hopelessly trapped inside of it. He kisses two fingers and leans across to press them against my lips before he heads down to the pool. Just like that, he blasts me with a love tornado and I’m left limp against my pillows wondering what the hell just happened.

  Something is going on with him and I need to figure it out, but for now I return to my breakfast of bland and boring, yet soothing food and notice he’s written something on my napkin. ‘Today I love you more than yesterday and tomorrow twice more. Stay with me always. You go, I go. E.’

  Shit, that’s it, the water works are on. I grab the box of tissue from the night table and let it all go. The sadness of the day, my husband’s love and tenderness but, most of all, I cry for his deep loss. I know now, though, that he is grieving in his own way, silently, privately, distantly, and this is his way of letting me in.

  When I’ve decided my breakfast isn’t going to make an encore, I shower, and while I’m fussing with my makeup and hair, Marcus strides in with a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water sliding in rivulets over his chiseled body. I freeze when I catch his reflection in the mirror, mascara wand halfway to my eye. I’m seriously at risk of blinding myself if I don’t snap out of it.

  “Cat got your tongue, baby,” he snickers, and I take the opportunity to play hard to get. Why? I have no fucking idea.

  I return to applying the black ink to my lashes and casually answer his question with a question. “That reminds me, where are the kitties?” I finish the lashes I’m working on and look up, our eyes meeting in the mirror. He knows my game and calls checkmate when he drops his towel revealing the rest of his unmatched magnificence. I’m nearly ready to get dressed but the switch has been hit and time stops, capturing us in our alternate universe.

  Knowing when I’m beat, I close the mascara and turn leaning against the sink to watch him stalk me like the prey that I am. His cock leads the way, standing rigid and thick while my brain turns to mush.

  “Try something different for me today.” His words surprise me, they aren’t a question; they are a statement, a command. My heart pounds in anticipation and my thoughts suddenly race in an attempt to figure out what he has in mind. He comes to stand so close I feel his energy radiating from his body but he doesn’t touch me, so I push off of the counter and lean in, only to have him step away. I cock my head in question and he answers without words, reaching for my hand and placing it around his solid cock. This I understand, this I know. I stroke him up and down, reaching back every other time to cup his balls, but he stops me after a particularly deep growl emanates from his throat.

  “Turn around.” I shudder and obey without hesitation, gripping the edge of the counter, watching his hand reach around me to one of the drawers in the vanity. A tube of lubricant is in his hand when he closes the drawer, and even though I trust him and know he would never put our babies at risk, I shrink away from him and press my belly against the cold granite. My head snaps up to meet his eyes again in the mirror, and they are met with disappointment.

  “Trust me,” he says and my body listens while my mind is numb. His hand circles my waist, pulling me against him while my hands remain on the counter.

  “Relax…” He drags out the word so seductively that I have no choice but to do as he says. My body is a bundle of millions of tiny electrical outbursts all fighting for control and all losing. I drop my head forward, chin to my chest, as he pulls the tie holding the silk robe that covers my trembling body. It pools at my feet and I sway with desire.

  His voice is in my ear, but I can’t put meaning to the words he speaks. I allow him to lead and I blindly follow as he bends me further forward and kisses a trail down my back to the top of my ass. He spreads my legs with a nudge of his foot before kneeling behind me. I pant wildly and turn my head to lay my cheek against the cool stone for stability, draping my arms on either side of my head.

  His mouth returns to the path he was on until he pauses at the pucker of my ass. Oh, dear God, this is the ‘something different.’ When his tongue makes contact with his forbidden target, I whimper with a combination of want and fear. I had given up on associating pleasure with sex before Marcus, and this particular act had been scratched so hard off the list of possibilities it left a hole on the page. My body is so responsive to him I couldn’t hold back now if I wanted to; there is no saying no to Marcus. His fingers glide forward, barely skimming the slick moisture at the outer surface of my core, and he works it over my clit before dragging it back to where his focus is. I open my eyes and see his hand working the cap off of the tube with one hand and skillfully squeezing a large amount into that same hand before discarding the container onto the tile. I inhale a shuddering breath when that hand disappears behind me, and I feel the gel that’s been warmed by his hot hand smear down the length of my crack.

  “Ahhh, God, Marcus, please…,” I moan. I don’t recognize my own voice; it’s so thick and full of need. He smooths his hands over my ass and stands quickly to glide a finger inside of me. I gasp again, this time in an attempt to catch my breath. He’s relentless as he continues to penetrate with two fingers, stretching and testing until I’m ready to explode.

  When I’m sure I can’t take anymore, he gives me it all, sliding his cock slowly and carefully where his fingers have been paving the way to previously uncharted territory. I tense and he slows, gripping the flesh of my hips with a restraint not many men possess. When he senses that I’ve relaxed, he resumes a slow, steady, shallow pace, never causing me pain, only bringing me pleasure. He moans with every gentle thrust, knowing he has to be careful and gentle with every movement until we are both as fragile as thin glass about to shatter into a million shards of that glass. His hands stray from their original gripping point and he now lays his body flush with mine. He wraps his arms around to cup one breast and work the overflow of lube over my clit. I swear I’m going to die and the coroner will be forced to scrawl death by ecstasy on the line identifying the reason for my expiration.

  “Fuck, Imani, are you OK? Are you ready?” His cheek is smashed against my back as he pants the question, one hand abandoning my breast to grip the counter along with both of mine.

  “Yesss,” I whimper at the exact moment I come with a force I’ve never known before. My legs are no longer controlled by my mind, every
part of me spasms, and I come so hard every cell in my body individually screams ‘fuck, yes!’ Marcus slips out and finishes off with his hand on my back, sparing my body the trauma and possibly another episode of bleeding. I melt onto the floor when my legs give way. His arms guide me down and then cradle me once we are safely resting together with his back against the vanity.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper still a little in shock from the whole experience but Marcus automatically thinks something is wrong when nothing, abso-fucking-lutely nothing, is wrong.

  He sits up to look me over, “Are you alright? Holy shit, what?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. Holy shit, that was… amazing.”

  He relaxes again and kisses my temple. “Stick with me, kid; this is going to be a very creative pregnancy.”

  “Yeah, like I said… holy shit.”

  One Hundred Nine

  Stepping out of the Maybach in front of St. John’s Cathedral with my hand in Marcus’s, it feels like a completely different day, a sadder day, a heavier more depressing day. He shelters me from the wind and guides me up the stairs into the vestibule where I have arranged for two people to greet friends and family and take coats. Marcus’s mind is elsewhere, wandering wherever his grief is taking him and I have been trying to keep my mind focused on the details of the service and the gathering that will follow in the basement of the cathedral afterwards. Marcus opens the door for me and when we step inside, the smell of incense brings the sense of peace. The hushed murmurs in the large space transports me back to Italy and the Basilica de San Giacomo.

  The circumstances today are so strikingly opposite that I’m a little embarrassed to even be thinking of what happened in that chapel last year, considering we haven’t set foot in a church since. It’s taken the death of someone we loved very much to bring us here. Marcus takes a deep breath and searches out my hand blindly, his eyes on the altar where Maria’s casket sits horizontal to the aisle leading to the altar.

  It’s a closed casket due to the damage to her body in the blast, and I’m glad for that. I don’t care for viewing the bodies of people after their souls have moved on. The life that we knew and loved has long passed to another place. Personally I’d rather say goodbye imagining them alive and happy, not cold and still in a box.

  As we make our way down the long aisle, I begin to realize just how many people are in attendance. There are a lot, many more than I invited, she must have been known to more people than Marcus imagined, but that doesn’t surprise me, she was lovely, kind and generous. I’m sure she left a piece of herself with everyone she met.

  We move toward the front pew and I nod a hello to my mom and dad, Latoya and Kyle, and my niece and nephew Kimie and Dante who I haven’t seen in months. A pang of guilt hits me in the chest when their faces light up and then suddenly dim when Latoya whispers something to them. It’s a mournful occasion and I miss their smiles. I wish I could tell them Maria would have loved them, she would have wanted them to smile at her funeral, but I’m too far away and Marcus is steering me robotically toward our saved spots next to Elijah and Mr. Black.

  Something about walking down this long aisle makes me wonder what it would have been like to have a big church wedding. We aren’t practicing members of any denomination so it seems hypocritical to just choose a pretty church to have the ceremony in. Another of the many things I’ve crammed in the ‘shit to think about later box’ since I’ve met Marcus. That box is chucked full, bursting at the seams now, in desperate need of attention. I’ve unexpectedly added ‘what faith are we going to raise our children in’ to the long list of issues we need to work through.

  I sit on the hard seat between Elijah and Marcus until three o'clock when the priest appears on the altar to start the service. Everything is beautiful, at least a hundred people are here, more than a few stood to speak about Maria when the priest asked if anyone had a few words to say. I asked Marcus to do her eulogy but he refused, saying he didn’t want to cause a scene by distracting people’s focus away from Maria.

  When photographers get a shred of information, fact or fiction, they relentlessly pursue him, and there were plenty of cameras outside the church snapping pictures on our way in. I’m praying that his security team keeps them all at bay and everyone stays safe… for once. His silent contribution to the entire service and reception speaks volumes to those who matter. We sit, and stand, and sit again a few more times during the hour long service. When it’s over, everyone files past the casket to lay a hand on it and say their last words. Marcus, Elijah, Mr. Black, Kyle, Enrique and my dad have all agreed to be pallbearers and take their positions on either side of the casket, lifting it with ease to carry it to the hearse waiting at the curb. I join Latoya and the kids, my mom, and Elena, hanging back until the men have nearly made it to the exit.

  “Auntie Imani,” Dante pulls on my sleeve, and I smile down patiently at his angelic face.

  “Yeah, buddy?” He slips his chubby hand in mine, pulling me down until I can hear him better.

  “I smell smoke. Do you smell it?” It takes me a second but, yes, I do smell smoke and it’s becoming stronger. I smelled it a few minutes ago but attributed it to the candles on the altar that were blown out, but no, this is more.

  “Elena, smell that?” Both of us are alert looking around now trying to find the source of the smoke smell. Latoya has been listening to our conversation and our anxiety is contagious.

  “We have to get the kids out of here, Imani. This place is filling up with smoke, something must be on fire!” I look toward the door where the guys are already outside with the casket and the urgency to move somewhere, anywhere is overwhelming. There is no clear path, the aisle is clogged with bodies all going in the same direction that we want to go. Other people are realizing something is wrong and begin to push those in front of them to escape. I turn to see if we might be able to get out through the doors on either side of the altar. Smoke is rolling from both of them. The fire has been set on purpose, blocking us in, trapping us between flames and a mob of frantic people.

  My family stands around me in full panic mode and I know I need to get my shit together and use the survival skills I’ve learned being a nurse.

  “Okay, listen to me. We have to keep calm, get down low where the oxygen is.” I push the kids to the floor. This fucking place is as old as time and burning hot and fast.

  “Watch the kids!” I tell Latoya and my mom.

  “Come with me, Elena.” I grab her hand and start peeling off my sweater and motion for her to do the same. She’s looking at me with question in her eyes but follows along anyway. The smoke is thicker and blacker on the altar but the huge bowl of holy water is off to one side and that’s where I’m headed. We cover our mouths, coughing and choking when we reach the solid granite bowl and I dunk our sweaters into the water, passing her one of the sopping wet garments. I point to the floor and we both get down as close as we can where the air is clear and work our way back to the kids, Latoya and mom.

  “Here, stay close together and hold this against your mouths.” I hand one sweater over to the kids who are crouching down at the end of a pew three or four rows closer to the exit, the crowd is moving, just not fast enough. Each row files out from the sides, congesting the center aisle more. Some younger people have opted to hop over the seats but most are too old. The church is big and the aisle is long and the pews extend all the way to the walls on either side, there’s no way out but down the middle.

  Kimie is crying and my mother is clearly distraught, clawing at Latoya’s arm as she grimaces.

  “Mom, you’re hurting, Latoya. We need to keep calm, people are moving, we’re going to get out of here just fine, don’t worry, just keep low and breathe through a piece of your clothing for a filter if the smoke gets too thick.”

  “Why is your sweater all wet?” Kimie squeaks.

  “To keep you safe if the room gets too hot, but we’re going to be fine, we just have to wait our turn, honey, it's OK.” The words are
barely from my lips when we hear a huge crack overhead and look up in time to see an enormous wooden beam splitting, threatening to fall. It’s clearly been set on fire as nothing else around it is burning.

  “Keep the kids back!” I yell and we all move as a unit, covering the heads of the children with the wet sweaters to protect them from embers that are raining down over us. We crouch together next to the first pew now, closer to the heat and smoke rolling off the altar.

  “Oh, my God! Watch out, Imani!” Elena yells, pulling me toward her, and saving me from being crushed by the beam that’s giving way, crashing down. It’s now a mammoth torch blocking us from the exit. There’s no way out. Scorching hot flames behind us burn the altar and now the beam stretches across the width of the church.

  “IMANI!” I hear Marcus yelling my name and part of me is relieved, but another part knows he would move heaven and earth to get me out of here, including killing himself to do it.

  I say nothing but Elena screams, “HERE! MARCUS, WE’RE OVER HERE!”

  “WE’RE COMING! STAY DOWN LOW AND DON’T MOVE!” he calls back over the roar of the fire. The kids are both sobbing now and I can’t think of a single comforting thing to say to them, this is really looking bad and I’m a terrible liar. The smoke is getting thicker; everyone is coughing and covering their mouths with edges of their clothes. The kids tremble, huddled together under the dripping sweaters with their mother and grandmother’s arms around them. Out of nowhere, I feel someone touch my shoulder. I can’t see through the smoke but I hear her voice.

  “I told you they had bad smoke, you had good smoke but now devils grow inside of you.” Fuck! That psycho Smoke Lady did this, she’s here with us. She set the fucking church on fire!

  I turn to grab at the space where the voice came from but my hands come up empty, she’s gone, if she was ever there in the first place. Am I hallucinating? Did I really just hear that?