by Lexi Whitlow
Still holding Skye’s hand, I gesture to my brother, Finn. “Get her a drink,” I mouth to him, gesturing to Rhiannon. “And keep her happy.”
The last thing I need is that redheaded girl to remind me that this wedding is the last thing she wants for her friend. I get it—I do. And I respect a person who’s loyal like that.
But the truth is, I’m not planning on hurting this woman. Not today—unless she wants it. I look down at Skye. Her curves fill out that sweet little dress perfectly. She looks sweet and innocent, while still giving off that vibe. The one that makes me know for sure that she wants me—and she wants me badly.
But she’ll have to wait longer.
As we head into the heart of the hall, we’re greeted by our families, staring at us. A great whoop of cheering and yells comes from my relatives and the few friends who could make it on short notice. I look to Skye’s parents and the conservative girls who roomed with her at Columbia University. Two of them are wearing white cardigans, and three others look like they might die of embarrassment from being in the same room as my boisterous, tattooed brothers and cousins.
I watch as my brother Malachy walks over to them, balancing four drinks on his massive arms, carrying a fifth in his mouth. He’s got his eyes on at least two of them—the man likes a challenge, just like me.
“This is weird,” Skye whispers. “I didn’t think we’d actually go through with it.”
I shrug. “We’re married. It’s no big deal. Not with the contract we signed.”
“That’s not exactly what I need to hear right now, Liam.” She croaks the words out, like the very thought of it all terrifies her.
“Hey, no.” I take her hands and lead her over to get a drink. The crowd parts for us. “Give the bride here a drink, man. Something strong. She needs a bit of loosening up.”
The bartender obliges, and I lead Skye around to the members of my family, while she clutches her drink and tries to take graceful sips occasionally. As the drink starts to disappear, I feel her grip grow lighter. She wobbles slightly on her heels, and I catch her by the waist, letting my hand roam a little lower and cup her juicy ass. I don’t feel any panty lines, and I look to her with a raised eyebrow as I lead her on the dance floor.
“It’s time for the bride and groom to share their first dance,” my cousin Josh shouts to the audience, and I gesture for Skye to finish the rest of her drink.
“This wasn’t part of the plan,” she hisses at me. She’s trying to sound angry, but I can tell that she’s nervous instead. “We didn’t practice a dance. We didn’t have time.”
Her voice is panicked, but I take her into my arms and feel her calm. The lights go down, and the music begins.
“We use the same wedding song for every Dougherty first dance. It’s tradition. No big deal.”
Etta James’ rich voice comes to life, filling the dance hall. Skye’s drink has worked enough on her that I’m able to pull her from her motionless stance into something that resembles dancing.
At last, my love has come along. The notes float through the dance hall. I might be the only Dougherty brother to ever get married. And this might not last. But with the beer I had earlier, I have the thought that it might not be all bad if it did last.
I look down at her. She’s a good half a foot shorter than I am, even in heels. Her eyes are dark and searching in the dim light.
“It’s easy to dance to,” I whisper. “Just move your body with mine. Like you’re going to do later.” I lean in closer, my voice even lower when I speak. “When I fuck you for the first time.”
Skye cracks a smile for the first time since she saw me at the altar. “Thought you’d forgotten about that with all the excitement around here.”
“Not a chance in hell I’d forget.” I tangle my fingers in her hair and kiss her hard again, like I did in front of everyone in the church. When my lips meet hers, it’s like there’s no one else in the room. The cheers of everyone around us, the sultry love song in the background—it all fades out. There’s nothing but the sweet taste of her, the soft touch of her fingertips at the back of my neck, the swell of my cock pressing against her thigh. I break away and speak low into her ear. “You’re not wearing panties, are you? I’ll be disappointed if you are. When I grabbed that fine ass before, I didn’t think I felt anything underneath.”
She blushes deep red, contrasting against her wedding dress. Like a rose against snow. A rose that I’m about to pluck.
“No, there’s nothing under there. Just the garter.”
I twirl her out and back into my arms. It comes naturally, like we’ve been practicing this for weeks—like we meant every word of the ceremony. Like this reception celebrates something true. For now, maybe it does.
The song ends. The dance is done—the dance that our relatives can witness is, anyway.
We stand in the middle of the floor, fingertips linked together, touching. There’s a low hum of anticipation in my body, but it’s not just the idea of finally knowing Skye’s body fully. It’s something else altogether, and I don’t know if I could put a name on it. There’s something blocking it, deep inside. I push it down and let Skye’s fingertips go. She’s immediately surrounded by a group of her friends and a few of my cousins, all chatting about her dress and her hair, and why exactly the wedding was on such short notice. Skye is a champ, and doesn’t mention a thing about the hearing. Instead, she gives our story about a secret courtship and true love that sprang up after only a couple of months.
More like two weeks. Or has it been three? I’ve lost track of the time.
I watch Skye for a second. She’s absorbed into the small crowd of women. I can’t help wishing it were just the two of us, right here. Right now. But we promised everyone here a wedding—or a scandal—whatever they think this is.
I turn and scan the crowd for Brie. She’s standing stiffly at Marta’s side, holding onto her skirt, but when she sees me looking at her, she comes running across the floor. She does it before Marta can catch her and hold her back. That woman is always pulling that shit, keeping Brie from hugging me. From seeing me. Making excuses for her not to come on her supervised visits. Sick days, dentist appointments. All for control, or revenge, or some sick possessiveness that I don’t even understand. When I see them interact, it’s like she doesn’t even like Brie.
And when my little girl comes rushing into my arms, there’s no way I can imagine a person treating her that way.
Don’t worry baby girl. Daddy’s going to make everything okay.
I lift her into my arms and spin her around the dance floor when another song comes on. Marta scowls at us, but my brothers come in and join us, and we dance together until the song is done. Maybe it will make up for Marta not letting Brie be in the wedding because it was ‘too soon,’ and she ‘didn’t know Skye well enough.’
“Hey Princess,” I say to Brie. “What do you think about all of this?”
“I like Skye,” she says simply. “She’s got a really pretty dress. And she’s nice to me when I see her. She got me a donut after we went to the park. She’s nicer than Marta.”
I laugh. “Are you calling her Marta now? That’s not respectful.” I walk Brie to the other side of the dance floor, away from her grandmother, who is probably itching to take her home. If her lawyer hadn’t told her to be here, I doubt she would have even come.
“She sucks.” Brie looks up at me with her wide, sweet eyes.
I try to stifle my laughter, but it comes anyway. I kneel to her level. “Let’s not use that word, okay?”
“Okay.” Brie shuffles her feet and looks afraid for a second, but when she sees my face, it’s like she remembers it’s me.
“But between you and me, she absolutely sucks.”
“Can I come live with you?” Tears form in her eyes as she speaks, and it’s like there’s a dagger going through my heart. “I think I’d be a really good part of your new family. Marta says—” She stops.
I balk at that. It sounds
like Marta has gotten in her head. “Skye and I got that place in Queens so that you could be there with us. Did Marta tell you something different?”
She nods. “She said you were getting married so you could start a new family without me.” She takes my hand. “But I didn’t believe her. Skye was nice to me, and she gave me a hug when she saw me today. And you’ve always said I’m number one.”
“You are, baby. And yes, Skye and I—we’re trying our hardest to make sure everything is in place so that the judge will let you come stay with us. And then maybe live with us, too.” I realize I’m saying ‘us’ when I talk about Skye. Like that’s the natural way to think of her. She’s a part of me, a part of ‘us.’
“Why can’t a judge make it happen right away? You’re my dad. I’ve been waiting forever.”
“It’s only been a year since the judge said you had to live with Marta. Since then, I’ve been saving all sorts of money and planning so that I can be the best dad possible.” I try to remind myself not to insult the courts or the judges or even Marta. Rise above. That’s what my lawyer tells me. “They were just giving me some time. Making sure I could do all those things. And Skye is helping me even more.”
“And she’ll be with us forever? I think I’d like that.”
I pause for a second. Always be honest. “I don’t know, Brie. I know she’s with us right now, and she wants me to be with you.”
“Because it makes her happy?”
I cock my head to the side and look at my daughter. She’s so much taller than she was when she was five, and she seems so much more like a big kid. “What do you mean by that?”
“Teacher Andrea said at school that when you love someone, you want them to be happy. So, if she loves you, she wants you to be happy. And you’ve always said that I’m the thing that makes you happy, even when everything else sucks.”
I crack another smile. “When did you get so smart?” I kiss her on the head, tamping down that same feeling that sparked inside of me before, after the dance with Skye. “And don’t say ‘sucks,’ please. I don’t care if Marta doesn’t like it, but Ma isn’t going to like it. Best to get out of the habit, especially around Gramma.”
“Okay,” she says, giving me a kiss on my nose.
I pull her up onto my hip and take her over to Skye, acting more on instinct than anything else. “I thought you might want to see Skye again tonight.”
Shy, Brie buries her face against my neck, but then she looks at Skye. “I think your dress looks pretty.”
“Thank you. You look beautiful too. Like the princess in Beauty and the Beast. What’s her name again?” Skye’s eyes sparkle when she speaks, and she runs her fingers through Brie’s hair.
“Belle.” Brie smiles big, and I put her down between the two of us. Skye kneels, taking off her heels in the process, and I watch as the two of them talk together. I have the sudden sensation of deja vu, like I’ve seen all of this before, witnessed it happening. But that’s insane—it’s probably the chill in the room, or the feeling of the song that’s playing now.
When I turn around, the sensation breaks. Marta is standing in front of me, and she’s looking at the three of us with her permanent expression—a nasty sneer. “The girl and I have to leave. She’s going to get confused about where she belongs if she stays too much longer.”
I look at the time, and it is Brie’s bed time. Rise above, I think. I can’t help but get one solid dig in. “The only one confused about where Brie belongs is you. Wait until the twenty-eighth. We’ll make sure Brie is with us from then on.”
“I’ll be interested to see you try.” She steps closer to me and whispers harshly. “This whole fucking thing is a total sham. It’s as scammy and trashy as you are.” She makes a scoffing sound, looking over at Skye. “And what girl would marry you? Certainly no one fit enough to raise my grandchild. Like she’ll stay, anyway. You using your savings to pay her off?”
“Those savings are for Brie. And you won’t get your hands on any of it,” I say. I try not to snarl in front of my child, but it’s hard to prevent when it comes to Marta.
“Come on. We’re going,” Marta says, snatching at Brie’s hand.
“Do we have to go?” Brie looks up at us.
“Yes, child. We’ll be going shortly.” Marta snatches Brie’s hand. Before she goes, she gives me one last look. “I’ll find out what it is—whatever you’re hiding. Whatever ridiculous history you have with this girl. And where you’ve got that damn money. And I’ll have evidence of it by the time we go to court.”
The old bitch has plenty of cash to hire private investigators and get everyone in Queens on her side. But she wants my hard earned cash too. Just so I don’t have it. And somehow, she’s gotten everyone to believe this frail old lady act.
Brie pulls away to hug me one last time, and she rushes over to Skye and embraces her like she’s a life raft in the midst of a stormy sea. “I’ll see you soon,” Skye says, smoothing Brie’s hair again.
Marta pulls her away, traipsing through the small crowd of people like she owns the place. I crack my knuckles in anger. Skye stands up next to me, holding her heels in her hand. When I look down, her red toenails glint in the light.
I want to growl, to scream. To tear this whole place down. But when she touches me, the feeling starts to fade. I turn to her, and I have that feeling again. The feeling like I’ve been here before, or like I imagined this a long time ago.
Maybe we could be a family. Maybe.
I kiss her lightly on the lips and look at the shoes in her hand. For an instant, I think of her bare feet, wrapped around my back as I thrust inside of her. When I look at her, taking her all in, it feels like years that I’ve been waiting. She’s still pure, still a sweet virgin. And with all the pent-up rage and frustration circling through my body, wild and ominous, I’ll take her this night and make her mine.
I grab my wife and dance with her again, speaking to our guests, reassuring every third person that this isn’t a shotgun wedding. I tell an uncle that she didn’t blackmail me into it, and I’m not sure he believes me. With each movement, each step, her body presses against mine. Now, her hip. Next, a soft brush of her breast. The faint outline of a stiffened nipple beneath her dress. My cock throbs. Her mouth, her pussy. Her sweet ass.
As people start to file out of the hall, I’m met with the overwhelming urge to make this woman come. On my cock, on my tongue. However I can, all fucking night long.
There are only a few people left, and they’re all drunk.
I catch her hand and pull her to the side.
“You’re coming with me, now,” I growl. “I need you, now.”
She looks at me, eyes wide. “But the wedding’s not over.”
“Close enough, my little librarian. And our apartment is just a block away. We could sneak off without anyone knowing.”
“It’s our apartment now, is it?” She gives me a coquettish look.
I put my hand around her waist and start moving her towards the door. “It is. And I’m taking my wife there.” I pull her by the hand and she laughs. We start running before anyone else can catch us and make us listen to their wedding stories or their questions about Brie’s school. We’re sprinting by the time we hit the street.
A light spring rain has started by the time we reach the door, and I hold Skye by the waist and kiss her as the rain drizzles over us, wetting our skin. I pick Skye up off the ground and throw her over my shoulder.
“Oh, my God! What are you doing?”
“Carrying you over the threshold,” I say, balancing her over one shoulder as I shove my way in the door. “And then I’m going to fuck you. All night long.”
I pull her into my arms and carry her over the threshold like a proper bride.
It might have all been a fake, but this part sure as fuck feels real.
Skye
The rain falls heavy now against the windows. The cherry blossoms have just started to bloom in New York, and the petals are everyw
here, including the front courtyard of this tiny townhouse in Queens. I look over my shoulder and see that some of the crushed petals are clinging to the window outside.
It’s everything I had imagined for a wedding day—and yet, none of it was how it should be. It wasn’t real. It’s not like I cling to scripture or the Bible or any of that anymore, but I’d imagined true love. And I’d wondered what it would feel like to walk down the aisle with someone who wanted to be with me forever, someone who would put me first above everything.
But I look into Liam’s changeable eyes and realize that maybe this is better. Lust. Aching, sweet desire pooling in my sex, my mouth watering for his cock. My body desperate and hungry for his touch.
