38. Chapter 38
TWO MONTHS LATER
W arm, calloused fingers trail between my breasts, travelling down my body. Rough hands on soft skin. Goosebumps erupt across my flesh at the sensations as Creed’s hand glides down my stomach and slips into my silk sleep shorts.
I let out a soft breath as his fingers fall between my legs, finding me already wet.
“What were you dreaming about?” Creed asks, his voice raspy from sleep. He sinks two fingers into me, pumping in and out lazily with that slight curve in his stroke to drive me insane.
“You,” I breathe, arching into him, my ass rubbing against his erection. “Always you.”
“Good,” he whispers, his lips grazing the top of my shoulder. His fingers move faster, making me dizzy with pleasure as his thumb works precise circles over my clit.
I clutch his forearm as Creed drives my pleasure higher, my body pulsing around him, heat building low, ready to ignite.
“Give it to me,” Creed growls, then sinks his teeth into my shoulder.
The sharp pain of his teeth pushes me into an eye-rolling orgasm I feel in every fibre of my being.
Creed unlatches from my shoulder and kisses his marks sweetly. “Good morning, princess.”
“Morning,” I mumble, my voice hitching as he pulls out of me, my legs trembling at the sensitivity. I turn in his arms, hook my leg over his hip, and press him into the mattress so I’m now laying on top of him.
“Maybe I should wake you up like this every day,” Creed comments, smirking.
I return his smirk. “You have almost every day for two months.”
When the man said we had some catching up to do after my first tattoo session two months ago, he was very serious. “You’ve basically made me a morning person with orgasms.”
Creed’s grin deepens, his dimples joining the party. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Preferably not,” I say, then kiss him.
The kiss goes from sweet to dirty very quickly. Creed grips my hips and grinds me along his hardness, soaking my sleep shorts with my arousal.
I pull back panting. “What time is it?”
Creed reaches over and taps his phone screen. “Six.”
I squeeze my legs around his hips. “We have an hour, then I have to go to Del’s place.”
I yelp as Creed bucks, rolls us, and presses me into the mattress. “I better ensure you’re fully awake, then.”
A little over an hour later, I turn into Del’s street and park my car in front of the Herrington mansion. My cheeks burn with heat as my legs still shake when I climb out of the car. Damn Creed and his sinful morning wake-up calls.
Using my key to the mansion, I walk in with my bags and make my way to the kitchen.
Stacey, Dahlia, and their teams, along with hair and make-up, and a three-person photography and video crew have turned the open kitchen and dining space into wedding headquarters as the lighting from the courtyard is the best, and there’s plenty of space for the clothes racks and equipment and people.
Two chefs in the kitchen are preparing light canapes, fresh juices and coffee as a glamour army huddles around Stacey and Dahlia, going over different things for today’s events.
The photographer and his team are documenting everything, including my mum, who’s sitting in one of the high make-up chairs getting her long box braids styled into her signature high, twisted bun and the finishing touches of her make-up.
“Scarlett, darling,” she says, spotting me at the door.
“Hey,” I say, looking around the room, frowning. The most important person today is missing.
Stacey steps to my side and takes my bag. “Hello, thank you for being on time.”
“Where’s Del?” I ask her.
She flinches.
“I’ve got it,” I say, that expression enough to know that Del’s somewhere fretting.
I turn and walk back through the mansion, checking every downstairs room before climbing the stairs and heading toward Del’s room.
I expect to find her in bed, but she’s in the empty soaking tub in her bathroom. She’s dressed in the black silk robe I got her for her bridal shower with ‘D.H.’ embroidered into the left side.
Her head hangs over the ledge, her black and dark purple tresses already pinned back in a low bun with the pieces that frame her face set in curlers, her face bare as she looks at the ceiling blankly.
I sink down to the floor next to the tub and lean over the edge. “Hi, babe.”
Del makes an unintelligible sound as she continues to stare at the ceiling listlessly.
“Why are you in the tub?” I ask.
“Didn’t want to ruin my hair,” she mumbles.
“But why are you in the tub?” I ask again.
She lets out a breath and shrugs.
When I realise that’s the only response I’m going to get, I get off the floor and tell her I’ll be back. I race downstairs to Enzo’s office, get what I need, then return to Del.
“Move your legs,” I instruct.
She finally looks at me, and then scoots up, drawing her legs in. I climb into the deep tub, lean against the opposite side, and crack open the fresh bottle of tequila in my hand.
“What—” Del starts, but I silence her by shoving the bottle in her hands, careful not to spill. Our stare-off is short-lived as Del accepts the bottle and takes a healthy swig, then cringes.
“Disgusting,” she comments, passing me the tequila.
“You just have weak tastebuds,” I jibe back, take my own swig and capping the bottle. “This is the good shit, too.”
“Still taste like pepper and bad decisions,” Del grumbles.
I grin. “Spicy and reckless. Sums up the both of us.”
That was supposed to pull a smile from Del, and she looks worried .
I reach over and grab her hand. “What’s wrong?”
“ Am I being reckless?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m marrying a fucking Herrington ,” she stresses. “ The Herrington. Who the fuck do I think I am, marrying someone like that?”
“Del—”
“ And he’s a crime kingpin. Seriously, what the fuck am I doing ? I’m not—”
“Delphine Evelyn Blaire,” I bark. Getting full-named holds her attention. “You say one more bad thing about yourself, and I will slap you.”
Her mouth opens to say some more bullshit, but she sees my earnest expression and she closes it.
I put the tequila on the window ledge and climb over Del’s legs, straddling her lap, and cup her face in both of my hands, forcing her to look at me.
“You are the most incredible human I know. You deserve to be happy, and Enzo makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”
She tries to shake her head. “But—”
“You also make him happy,” I continue. “ You . No one else. The man doesn’t look anywhere else when you’re in the room.”
Del lets out a long breath, eyes fluttering closed.
I kiss her nose, release her face, and sit back. “Besides, a man like Enzo doesn’t just marry anyone . He wants a queen, and you, my love, are an empress.”
She finally smiles and opens her eyes. “Are you on your ancient civilisations documentary kick again?”
I grin deviously. “I’m converting Creed too.”
Del snorts and shakes her head incredulously as she sits up, making me slide further down her lap. “We better go before Claudine or Stacey come looking for us and scold us for getting drunk in the bathtub.”
“Wait,” I say and pull out my phone. “We need to memorialise this.”
I wrap my arm around Del’s shoulders, she wraps hers around my waist, and I aim the phone’s camera from high to show that we’re sitting in the tub. I kiss Del’s cheek and take a photo.
We erupt in giggles, take a few more photos together on both our phones, then climb out when a message comes through from Mum on both our phones telling us to hustle.
“Don’t you dare cry, Mum,” I warn as she walks back into the kitchen area.
“Oh,” she chokes out, looking over me with eyes already watering.
She’s now dressed in a boldly patterned dark gold and black fitted dress with a matching headscarf wrapped around her head. She’s also added gold rings and jewels to the braids in her bun.
“You look amazing,” I comment.
“Look at you ,” she gushes, her lip trembling.
“If you cry, I’ll cry,” I say, already feeling the sting in my eyes. “Stacey will be pissed if we mess up our make-up.”
Mum sniffs hard and nods, blinking rapidly.
I turn back to the floor-length mirror to do one final check. The dress is strapless with an asymmetrical neckline and its custom fit to my body like a second skin. The precise folds and pleating of the fabric, along with the interior boning and structure, accentuates my small waist and the curve of my hips before the fabric flows to the floor.
We went with a deep plum purple which matches Del’s hair and the wedding colours, and Dahlia had the brilliant idea to use a soft velvet instead of the typical satin for a dress like this, which gives it more structure and a beautiful sheen. Plus, it feels delightful.
The fabric is one of my favourite things about this dress, but the best part is the split in the skirt. It comes high up my thigh, high enough to highlight my finished thigh tattoo.
I’ve seen Ink three times in the last two months to get it done in time for the wedding.
It’s an explosion of colourful flowers and songbirds surrounding a black and grey skull in the centre, the Savage Wings skull, and the final piece, ‘I lean, you lean’ curving in the design at the bottom in Creed’s handwriting.
I smile at the thought of the absolute mission it was to get him to write those words anywhere. I got Heartbreaker to help me and in the end I brought multiple scraps of paper to Ink from notes Creed had made about motorbikes or cars when he worked on them at the Savage Wings mechanic shop.
But it worked, and I love it so much. So does Creed.
The other part I love about this tattoo: the scars are completely covered. Sure, they can be seen at the right angle in the right light, and I can feel them, but they aren’t glaring trauma signs on my pale skin anymore.
I adjust the angle of the dress slightly one last time, so the split is sitting perfectly, check my hair’s in place and my make-up isn’t smudged, then shuffle over to a chair and put on my sparkly silver strappy heels.
The photographer takes me and Mum to the courtyard, and we shoot some photos together, his videographer capturing every moment, and then we all return inside.
My mum gasps and stops two steps into the room. I look in the direction that has her attention and stop breathing. The only thing you can hear is the shutter of a camera as Del stands in the centre of the kitchen looking ethereal .
Instead of traditional white, her dress is a pale gold. It has a fitted bodice with off-the-shoulder short sleeves, a slightly plunging neckline and an A-line chiffon skirt that skims over Del’s curves then flows to the floor with a small train.
The filigree pattern, sewn into the bodice in a sparkly golden thread that almost matches the fabric, catches the lights in the most perfect way. It grabs your attention when Del moves, and it complements the subtle sparkles on the chiffon in the skirt.
“Holy shit, Del,” I breathe, stepping up to her side.
“‘Holy shit’ right back at you, Angel Face,” Del says, taking in my outfit. “You look incredible.”
“ No one will be looking at me,” I say, still unable to peel my eyes from Del. Her make-up is expertly done, making her eyes more green, her cheekbones sharp enough to cut someone and her lips look, well, kissable .
“Enzo won’t know what to do with himself,” I state.
Del snorts, but she looks bashful. “Thank you.”
“Perfection,” Dahlia comments, regarding both of us proudly with her team.
“You’re a true fashion genius,” I say.
She dips her head in thanks, then turns on her heels and starts directing her team to pack up.
The photographer directs me, Del, and Mum outside again, and we take photos until Stacey pops out and tells us we need to leave.
We return inside and I take mine and Del’s phones off charge, pack mine into a silver clutch and pass it to my mum along with the keys to my car, as she’s driving it to the church for me.
I pass Del’s to her so she can put it in her secret dress pocket, then grab her hand and we shuffle out of the house together.
Enzo’s henchman, whose name I’ve already forgotten, pulls the black Rolls Royce to the curb around the corner from St. John’s church.
My heartbeats a little faster, my breath catches. This isn’t part of the plan.
Before either Del or I can ask, the henchman asks the photographer in the front passenger side to pass him something, then stretches back and places a black boutique bag on the middle seat between us.
“Mr. Herrington has a gift for both of you he’d like you to accept before the ceremony,” he says.
My anxiety eases slightly as Del and I look at each other and then the henchman. He shrugs and turns to face forward as the photographer shoots away in our direction.
I reach into the back and feel hard velvet. I pull the item out—it’s a flat, square, sizeable jewellery box with ‘Mrs. Herrington’ stamped onto the lid in gold.
“This is for you,” I say to Del, giving her the box, then reach into the bag again and take out another box the same size as Del’s with ‘Miss Sakura’ on it.
We open the boxes simultaneously and my jaw drops. A simple white gold or maybe platinum chain lies on a silk cushion with a singular, huge pear-shape diamond pendant.
“This…this is at least six carats,” I say quietly, my voice hoarse.
“I think I’m going to go blind,” Del comments.
I look over at her box, and my eyes widen further. There’s a tennis necklace made of white and blue diamonds in hers with matching cushion-cut blue diamond stud earrings.
The new pieces match her engagement ring, which makes me think that all the metal work, including mine, is platinum.
“Well, that’s new and blue,” I comment after a silence only filled with the shuttering of the camera.
“Sneaky bastard,” Del chuckles, taking her necklace out of the box with shaky hands and passing it to me.
I fasten it around her neck, the necklace fitting perfectly, then put on my own as Del swaps out the stud earrings she was borrowing from me for her new ones.
Del packs away the boxes and studs into the bag as Enzo’s henchman pulls away from the curb, the photographer still facing us and shooting memories.
I take off the thin white gold chain bracelet I was wearing and fasten it on Del’s wrist. “Something old and borrowed.”
Del grabs both of my hands as we ease to a stop at the base of the entrance stairs to St. John’s.
“Are you ready?” I whisper.
Green eyes shine with unshed tears as Del’s bottom lip trembles. “Yeah.”
I squeeze her hands. “Let’s do this.”