I tune her out again as I step over to look, pointing at a couple that I like. The clerk pulls them out, once again talking about jewelry terms and financing and I don’t really care what else.
Brendan leans in close, examining the two choices before us. “Which one do you like best?”
I stroke my chin, making him laugh and the clerk stop mid-sentence. I look up and actually acknowledge her for the first time since we walked in. I probably seem like an entitled bitch, but the reality is I’m just too overwhelmed to process all that’s going on, only able to handle bite-sized chunks. “Can I try one on?”
“Of course!” She smiles widely, looking at me over the top of her red-rimmed glasses.
The first one won’t make it past my knuckle, but the second set slides right on, like Cinderella’s glass slipper.
For some reason that seems like a sign. As crazy as this admittedly is, picking out rings and heading to a Vegas wedding chapel, the ring slipping right on and fitting perfectly makes me think that this is, as Brendan claims, right. It all feels right. Crazy, mind blowing, batshit right.
I meet his hazel eyes. “It fits,” I whisper.
His lips curve, and he plucks the man’s ring from its velvet-cushioned slot. I hold my breath as he slides it on. “It fits,” he breathes, his eyes meeting mine.
“It fits?” I can hardly believe it. What are the odds that we’d find a matching set where both rings fit. That clinches it, and shuts up the voice in my head protesting that this is all too much, too soon once and for all.
He nods, his hand grabbing mine as he looks up at the clerk. “We’ll take the set.”
“Wonderful.” She clasps her hands together and holds them to her chest in an almost grandmotherly gesture. “The best part of my job is witnessing young love like yours. I hope you’ll be very happy together forever.”
I swallow hard at her words, forever echoing in my head. Brendan squeezes my fingers, and I look up at him. He gives me a smile, his eyes warm and confident, and I feel settled again.
We’re actually doing this. But we’ll be doing it together. And somehow, that makes it seem possible.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brendan
The farther into this we get, the more Lauren seems to relax. To say she was apprehensive at first is putting it mildly.
Honestly, I expected to have to do more convincing. I guess my declarations at the bar and dropping down on one knee were enough to clinch it.
Thank god. Because my backup plan was just to kiss her until she gave in. And I don’t know if that would’ve worked.
When we get back to the wedding chapel after getting the rings and a marriage license, I stop her outside the door and kiss her. “Are you sure? You can still change your mind if you don’t want to do this.” Even though I’ve said I love her at least twice, she hasn’t said it back. And that little detail has been niggling at me since we left the bar and went crazy going ring shopping. “Or if you want, we can wait. We can be engaged and plan a real wedding and invite people like a normal couple.”
She looks up at me, the neon lights of the wedding chapel glinting off the moisture in her eyes. Sniffing, she looks down at the solitaire on her ring finger. The ring boxes for the wedding bands are in my pocket, but she wore the engagement ring out of the store. If we go through with this, it will probably be the shortest engagement in history. Unless …
But she shakes her head and meets my eyes, giving me a wide smile. She places her hands in mine and squeezes. “I love you too, Brendan. I want”—she pauses, sucking in a deep breath and looking around before meeting my eyes again—“I want you. Us. Guaranteed. Forever.” Her voice cracks on the last word, but her grip and her gaze remain steady. “Let’s do this. Now. Like you said, impulsivity is kind of our thing.” She gives me a crooked smile, and that more than anything reassures me. That plus the I love you part. That makes me feel a lot better about rushing into this.
She’s on board. This isn’t all me.
We can make this work.
I squeeze her hands back. “Okay.” A quick kiss. “Let’s do it.”
And I turn and open the door to our future.
I fidget at the front of the tiny chapel. An older man in shorts, a T-shirt, and a sport coat stands next to me holding a tiny book.
The doors at the other end open, and my breath stutters to a stop. Lauren stands there as the traditional wedding march swells over the tinny speakers, a small bouquet of red roses in her hand, and a short veil covering her hair. She’s pinned the sides back, but the ends trail over her shoulders, covering the thin straps of her dress. It’s not white. Nothing about this is traditional. They offered me a jacket to wear like the officiant’s, but I declined.
I don’t care about what we’re wearing. Lauren looks beautiful no matter what.
She gives me a smile that starts out hesitant, but when I return it, her wobbly smile firms and grows wider. With a deep breath, she slowly walks toward me. From that point on, all I’m aware of is her. The words of the nonreligious ceremony sound like a dull buzz in the background, and I only clue in to what he’s saying when it’s time for us to exchange vows, repeating the words, “I, Brendan William Brasher, do take thee, Lauren Elizabeth Powell, to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.”
Her lips part on the last words, and she sucks in a deep breath as I place the ring on her finger. And then it’s her turn. Her eyes flicker to the side, glancing at the old man performing the ceremony before returning to mine. Her breathing is stilted, but her voice is firm as she repeats the vows, her hands tremor free as she slides the ring on my finger.
And then he says the magic words. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
I pull her to me, my hand cupping the back of her head, and kiss her, holding back my desire to devour her, keeping it soft and sweet like she deserves for her wedding kiss. When I look up, the woman from the lobby is taking pictures with a digital SLR and beaming at us. “You make such a lovely couple. I’ll send the photographs to the email address you provided. Congratulations.”
The traditional recessional starts playing, and I offer Lauren my arm. She smiles up at me as she hooks her hand into my elbow, and we walk back down the aisle, heading to the lobby to collect whatever paperwork we need. But the woman waves us off, giving us her congratulations again and telling us they’ll file the paperwork with the County Clerk the next day.
In a daze, we head back to the hotel, and I can’t take my eyes off Lauren.
My wife.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lauren
I just got married.
Holy shit.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
The panicky part of my brain is starting to claw its way to the surface again, but just as I’m about to lose it, we arrive back at the hotel room. Brendan pulls me inside and pins my body to his as the door closes loudly behind me. Then his mouth is devouring mine, and my arms wrap around his neck. The panicky voice shuts up, pushed aside by the part of me that’s thrilled to be with Brendan.
It’s my wedding night.
To the sexiest man I’ve ever known.
Hell yeah.
This is epic.
He comes up for air, breathing hard. “I’m going to call room service. Order champagne. Some kind of cake. We have to feed each other cake. We just got married.”
With one last fierce kiss, he leaves me in the entryway, hand on my lips, reeling from everything that’s just happened.
His low voice cuts through the silence, ordering champagne and cake from room service. “Chocolate?” he asks, raising his face to me in question.
Nothing else about our wedding has been conventional—last minute, no white dress, no bridesmaids or groomsmen, no planning, nothing except the rings and the vows, why not have chocolate cake? Hell, I might’ve asked for chocolate cake eve
n if I’d planned it ahead of time. “Yes. Chocolate sounds perfect.”
His lips curl in a sweet smile. “Chocolate,” he repeats.
I slowly make my way to the bed while he finishes up his call, sitting down and holding up my hand to examine my rings. They’re simple, not too ostentatious—a sparkling solitaire that the jewelry store assured us was an excellent quality diamond, high clarity and almost a full carat, cut to accentuate its brilliance. The matching band has three princess-cut diamond chips along its top, flush with the surface, easy to miss until they catch the light. Brendan’s matches, but the band is thicker.
The plastic clicks as he quietly sets the phone back in its cradle, then steps in front of me, sinking down to his knees. He wraps his arms around my hips and pulls me to him, and I bend my head to meet his kiss.
But I don’t let it turn into anything more. Not yet. Room service is coming, even though it’ll probably be a little while before they get here. We have things to discuss, though. Even if my panic has—mostly—subsided, there are still practical considerations we need to think about.
Cupping his face, I press one more kiss to his lips before pulling back and looking down into his eyes. He studies my face, his brow wrinkling. “What’s wrong?”
I suck in a breath, and his arms tighten around me. Lifting my left hand from his face, I look at my rings again. “How is this going to work?” The question is barely more than a whisper, but somehow that expresses all my doubts more eloquently than if I’d given it full voice.
Brendan’s jaw firms. He sits back on his knees, his hands dragging down my thighs, then lifting to thread his fingers through mine. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re full of determination. “We’ll figure it out. What matters is that we’re both committed to figuring it out. That’s what this is. We’re married now. Can’t get more committed than that, right?”
“But … I still have school. And you’re working in California. How are we supposed to be married and live in two different states?”
He squeezes my hands. “We’ll figure it out,” he repeats. “I promise. It’ll probably suck for a while, but we’ll figure it out together.” His serious face gives way to a private smile, and his voice turns sexy. “Right now, though, we have more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Oh?” I feign ignorance. “What might that be?”
He releases my hands and rises to his feet, planting his fists on either side of my hips and leaning over me. “My first order of business”—he nips the skin of my neck, his voice a low rasp as he continues—“is to make my wife scream my name as she comes.” I shiver in response, goosebumps rippling down my chest. His breath is warm as he chuckles against my skin. And his mouth is scorching when he places wet, open-mouth kisses down my neck.
Even though his statement that we’ll figure it out doesn’t answer the question of how, his kisses are too distracting for me to keep worrying about it right now. And somehow, just like every other crazy thing we’ve done, his confidence that we can pull it off is reassuring enough. For now, at least.
His fingers reach the neckline of my dress, pulling the straps down my arms so he can nip and suck and lick at my collarbone and my shoulders. Wriggling, I pull the straps down far enough that I can pull my arms free, shoving the fabric out of the way. He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra. I toss it aside, leaning back on the bed, presenting my breasts for his mouth.
He doesn’t hesitate for even a second, giving me what I’m asking for, his hands plumping my breasts, holding them in place for his tongue’s delicious assault on my tight nipples. With a soft groan, he releases my nipples and stops to examine the results of his work—my nipples red and hard, wet with his saliva, still reaching out for him, begging for more.
“Damn,” he says softly, still staring at my tits. “There’s never enough time with you to do all the things I want.”
“Really?” I laugh. “We’ve barely left the room since we got here.”
His eyes drag their way up to mine, lingering on my kiss-swollen lips for a beat. “You think a few days in a hotel room is enough for me?” He makes a derisive noise in his throat to show what he thinks of that notion. “Not even close, baby. Not. Even. Close.” He rises up on his knees between my legs and starts tugging at the neckline of my dress. Good thing it’s a stretchy dress with a wide V neck, because otherwise I don’t think it would make it over my ass. But it does, with little trouble, leaving me in a barely there thong that doesn’t last longer than a breath after my dress hits the floor.
I push myself back up to sitting, reaching for Brendan’s shirt. “Your turn.”
But he catches my hands and shakes his head. “Not yet. Your turn first.” Then he slides down my body, pressing my thighs wide and drags his tongue up the inside of one, following it with a cool gust of air from his pursed lips. He does the same on the other side, then thumbs me open, staring down at my soaked center for long enough that I want to close my thighs.
I resist the urge, though, and watch him examine me. Then he meets my eyes and lowers his head, giving one long, slow lick right up the middle.
He moans in appreciation, licking again. That second lick seems to be what breaks him and his resolve to drag this out. Because he’s spearing his tongue into me like he’s trying to lick out the cream filling on his favorite dessert, wanting to savor every last drop. He drags his pointed tongue up to circle my clit, then spears it back inside me. He repeats this circuit over and over again until I’m writhing and begging.
Two fingers sink inside me, stretching me a little, his tongue now focused on my clit, circling, scrubbing, his lips sucking. My orgasm slams into me like a freight train, a scream tearing up my throat from the intensity.
Brendan slows down his fingers, licking me a few last times to bring me down the other side, caressing my splayed thigh with his free hand to ground me back in the present.
I twitch again as he withdraws his fingers, sitting up and meeting my eyes while he sucks my juices off them one at a time, smirking at the look on my face—which is some combination of satisfaction and holy shit that’s so fucking hot I’m almost ready to come again.
He’s still fully clothed. I lift a hand weakly, wanting to magic away his shirt and shorts. “Get naked.”
He just shakes his head. “I have to answer the door when room service comes.”
Marshaling my reserves, I push myself up to sitting and raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to answer the door like that?” I direct a meaningful glance at his zipper, which looks like a battering ram is trying to break through. “You’re sure you don’t want me to take care of it before they get here?”
With a soft laugh and a hard kiss, he stands from the bed, reaching down to adjust himself. “They’ll be here any minute. I can wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Brendan
“I can wait,” I repeat. For you, I’ll wait for however long I need. But I don’t give voice to that thought. Not now. No need to ruin the moment. She’s already brought up the issue of what happens next, and I’ve managed to distract her with an orgasm. I want her to be here, right now, with me. Not worrying about tomorrow. All that will do is overshadow what’s left of our time together. Our wedding night. And I’m not having that.
She looks like she’s about to protest again when there’s a knock on the door. With a squeak, she burrows under the covers, and I can’t stifle my grin as I head to the door. All I want to do is smile and laugh all the fucking time when I’m with her. My serious, aloof persona is destroyed when she’s anywhere near me. And I fucking love it.
I love her.
I hand the room service attendant a tip and retrieve the perfect little chocolate cake on its chilled plate in one hand and the bottle of champagne with the other, quickly setting them on the console table by the door before grabbing the glasses. “Thanks, man.”
“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Brasher,” he says before pulling his cart out of the doorway and heading down the hall
.
I find Lauren on her knees in the bed when I come back in, champagne and glasses in hand. “Where’s the cake?”
Laughing, I peel off the foil and work on opening the champagne. “Patience. I left it on the table by the door. I only have two hands.”
She scoffs and scrambles out of bed, distracting me with the way her boobs bounce as she moves. Her narrow-eyed glare as she returns with the cake in front of her is offset by her tight-lipped smile. “You’re supposed to be pouring the champagne.”
Tearing my eyes away, I focus on the delicate glasses, filling them both equally before setting down the bottle and passing one to Lauren.
She deposits the cake and forks on the desk and steps closer to accept her glass. Holding up the glass in front of her luscious mouth, she wrinkles her nose. “Do we have to do that weird thing where we hook our arms together and drink our champagne?”
Reaching up, I smooth my finger down her nose and shake my head, my ever-present grin growing wider at how cute she is. “No. Unless you want to?”
She makes a face and shakes her head. “No, thanks.”
With a laugh, I tink my glass against hers. “Then let’s just drink to us.”
“To us,” she repeats, and takes a sip from her glass while I do the same, the sharp bite of the alcohol contrasting with the bubbly sweetness.
Setting my glass down, I move to the cake. It’s round, about six inches across and six inches high, chocolate frosting covered with frilly decorations, including shaved chocolate curls on top.
“It’s so pretty.” Lauren’s voice is pitched barely above a whisper. “It seems wrong to ruin it.”
“But then we won’t get to eat it,” I counter.
Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7) Page 13
