Chapter 26
Layla
Paul steadies me, taking the brunt of my weight when I find it too hard to keep my composure long enough to walk on my own in my high heels. I hold my eyes open wide behind my paper-thin veil so I won’t cry, though tears blur my vision as I move down the aisle toward my future.
Russell’s hand trembles as he reaches for me after I pass my bouquet to Violet, and he helps me onto the platform while Sheriff takes his position in a fine suit as our officiant.
“Russell,” I whisper with a whimper, swaying closer as the rising hot breeze licks my skin when he lifts my veil, flipping it over the ivory pearl headband holding my hair back from my face.
“Darlin’.” In the middle of Sheriff’s welcome remarks, as if he’s not in control of himself, Russell bends to kiss me, one large, rough palm cradling my face as if I’m the most precious jewel, gentle but possessive. “I love you. God, I love you so much.”
Clutching his side, I slide a hand over his beard, staring up at the man who has loved me beyond what I ever could have imagined for myself, his skin crinkling at the corners of his startling blue eyes as tears slip from them. I’ve never seen him truly cry, and it’s so special to me, this gift of naked vulnerability when I’m usually the most vulnerable one.
Russell gets choked up when he says, “I do,” after Sheriff asks if he will take me, Ladyanalayla Samarthaleigh Dorsey, to be his lawful wedded wife.
His chest heaves and he draws me closer when Sheriff asks if I will take Russell Lee Berenson to be my lawful wedded husband, and I raise my voice for all to hear when I proudly and emphatically vow, “I do.”
“I’ve wanted to hear those two words for so long. So long.” Russell doesn’t wait until we’re given permission to do so, dipping me backward as he did at the dance hall to slant his lips over mine as soon as we exchange wedding bands, sealing our lifetime commitment to each other with the kind of kiss that could bring me back to life if only to feel his lips on mine one more time.
* * *
Russell
Trace raises his glass, clinking mine before taking a sip of his vodka as the folk band singer belts out a boot-stomping original song. Couples crowd the dance hall that Violet converted into a gorgeous venue, each moving in a circle, doing the Texas Two Step to varying degrees of success.
A besotted smile splits Trace’s face while we watch Cora, cradling Gauge, dancing with Goldie, holding Lily, off to the side. Little William tugs on Goldie’s dress until she bends low enough for the toddler to place a slobbery kiss on Lily’s cheek that Goldie has to wipe off.
Davis scowls at Wyatt, who scoops up his son and carries him away after William topples over, trying to take Lily out of her mother’s arms. We laugh when William tries to wrestle out of his father’s hold, mean-mugging Wyatt when he’s set down with Wyatt’s huge mitt on William’s shoulder to keep him from running back to Baby Red , as he calls her.
Trace bumps my shoulder. “That was a beautiful ceremony, Dad. Really touching.”
I cough out my bourbon, yanking Elliott’s bandana from the inside pocket of my suit jacket to wipe my mouth and beard. “I am not your dad,” I say through a scratchy throat on fire from the alcohol.
Trace pounds my back unhelpfully. “Aw, come on. You’re going to be my father-in-law soon enough since I plan on popping the question next weekend. I’d do it today, but I don’t want to steal your thunder.”
“Unless you’re talking about proposing to Paul and not Cora, that wouldn’t make me your father-in-law.”
“Sure it does.”
Seriously questioning if Trace’s brain is firing on all cylinders, I check his pupils for drug-induced dilation. Finding none, I ask, “How?”
“Gauge is Layla’s nephew, which makes Cora her sister, which makes Layla my sister, and she calls you ‘Daddy’. Super kinky, by the way. Didn’t know you had it in you. Cora called me ‘Daddy’ once when we were getting freaky in Little T, but then she gagged really hard—which, by the way, felt awesome. You and Layla should try it. ”
“For F’s sake.” I set my glass on a nearby table and move away, searching the crowd for my wife.
Catching up to me, Trace continues his bizarre rambling with, “Escargot, you’re my dad. Or would you prefer ‘Pops’ or ‘Papa’?” Trace screws up his face and scratches his head over his fancy occasion bucket hat. “I’m not calling you ‘Daddy’ unless you really, really want me to, but only so I don’t get fired.”
“Jesus effing—one, that’s still not how it works. Two, the word you’re looking for is ‘ergo’, not ‘escargot’. And three, if you ever, ever call me ‘Daddy’, I’ll take you out to Elliott’s property and—”
Trace holds his hands up between us. “Chill, chill. Your face is getting scary red. Have you been to the doc recently? Might want to get checked out, Papa.”
Fearing for my heart health when my blood pressure rises, I begrudgingly give up. “‘Dad’ is fine.”
“Awesome.” I’m about to roll my eyes and walk away when Trace says with a watery smile, “I always wanted a dad.”
“Christ, kid. Come here.” I yank Trace into a hug, uncomfortable but trying not to show it when he wraps his skinny arms around my back and drops his forehead on my shoulder. After a minute or so, when Trace sniffles, I let my shoulders relax and even start humming with the band. I’d hope someone would be this kind to Paul if Francisco and I weren’t around.
Trace thumbs his nose when he finally pulls away, ducking his head so I can’t see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. “Thanks for that. I’m, uh…” He hikes his thumb over his shoulder toward Cora. “Gonna go dance with Princess. See you at home after your honeymoon, Dad.” He flashes me a qu ick smile, this one a touch stronger. “‘Sup, Uncle Elliott,” he says, passing by my brother leaning against a post, talking to Jared.
“The hell?” Elliott raises a brow at me, pointing to the kid.
“That was really sweet, Daddy,” Layla says, sliding her arms around me from behind.
I turn and gather her in my arms. “I think he might’ve ruined the whole ‘Daddy’ thing for me, darlin’.” I get a little sour in the gut just thinking about it.
“Oh, really?” Layla pulls out of my hold and slides her hand down to mine, lacing our fingers together. “Hmmm, maybe I can fix that for you.”
She practically skips past the bar, leading me to the end of the dance hall and through a side door to the room backstage. It’s dark and stuffy, the bass rattling our bones through the floor, louder in here than it is out front, and wholly perfect for what I’m about to do to my new wife.
I push Layla’s back against the door, drop to my knees, and flip the bottom of her wedding dress over my head. I behaved myself in the limousine on the way to the hall after the ceremony, only getting her off with my fingers over her silky thong since the drive was shorter than I’d liked, but now I can take my time. Nipping the waistband of Layla’s thong with my teeth, I tug it down and help her step one foot out, then drape her leg over my shoulder.
Layla presses on my head when I bury my nose in her, swiping my tongue through the seam of her pussy lips to find her clit, already slipping a finger inside her. “Two fingers, more tongue, Daddy,” she begs, voice raised to be heard over the music, precariously balanced on one sexy heel.
I oblige, scooting closer on my knees while I palm an inner thigh to spread her wider so I can push my middle and index finger into her as deep as I can go, then surprise her with a third.
“Oh god, Daddy, yes,” she moans, rocking her hips into me and almost losing her footing.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say, gasping for air after ducking out from beneath her dress since I couldn’t get enough beneath it.
“What?”
Raising my voice, I repeat, “I said this isn’t going to work.”
“It was working just fine,” she insists with a pout.
I chuckle, then lie flat on the floor, motioning for her to step over me. “Lift your dress so it doesn’t get dirty and sit on Daddy’s face.”
“Oh.” Layla’s heels tap along the floor as she takes position. We shuffle until we’ve got it just right, with Layla’s knees on either side of my head, holding her dress up with one hand while bracing the other flat against the door.
“Sit,” I demand when she hovers, and lordy , does she listen, spreading her knees so her pussy sits directly on top of my waiting mouth.
“Oh, oh god, yes.” Layla rolls her hips, angling her body so she can grind her clit against my tongue while I thrust two fingers inside her pussy already dripping wet with arousal. “It’s even better now. Don’t stop, Daddy. Don’t stop until I cum.”
As if I was ever planning to stop.
I’m so turned on by the way my darlin’ rides my face that I rush to unbuckle my belt with one hand, then lift my hips to shove my pants down far enough to pull my cock out, jacking it so hard and fast that I’m in danger of cumming all over my suit. I moan into Layla’s pussy, breathing hard, wanting desperately for her to cum quickly so I can lift and drop her onto my dick.
“No, no, wait!” Layla tumbles sideways, crawling on her hands and knees to switch positions. She knocks the breath out of my lungs when she straddles and sits on my face again with her heels against the door, then swallows my cock, hollowing her cheeks while tugging on my balls.
“Oh f—that’s it, darlin’. Suck Daddy nice and deep.” I pump up into her mouth in time with my fingers in her pussy, making the most obscene, sloppy wet noises. My hand and beard are soaked when I make her cry out with her orgasm, the head of my cock strangled by her constricting throat muscles, the same way her pussy strangles my fingers.
It’s an awesome experience all on its own to cum directly down her throat instead of on her tongue, my darlin’ coughing when she abruptly sits up, dang near breaking my fingers in half at the unexpected repositioning. I give her a little lick between her cheeks to remind her she’s suffocating me, and Layla makes a high-pitched yelp of surprise at the contact before crawling off of me.
“Sorry,” she shouts, panting as she tucks my cock inside my pants, then lays flat atop me so her dress won’t get dirty.
The band finishes a song and announces they’re taking a break, so I’m able to speak at a normal volume when I tell her, “Never apologize for almost killing me with your sweet little pussy.”
She giggles, laying her head on my chest while I caress the soft, naked skin of her upper back. “I’m going to ask Faye to iron that onto a pillow above ‘Russell’s famous last words’ or something. ”
“I can do that,” a small voice says from the far corner.
Layla squeaks, turning on her side, both of us lifting our heads to search the dark, finding Harold facing away from us. Faye’s ankles are locked around his lower back, his forehead pressed to the wall over her shoulder, both of them naked as the day they were born.
“Why didn’t you make some kind of noise?” Layla asks. “We would have stopped if we knew you were in here.”
Harold sounds like he’s a hair’s breadth away from dying of a heart attack when he says, “We did. You couldn’t hear us.”
I help Layla onto her feet, shielding her as she pulls her thong back up and resituates her dress. Tucking my top back into my pants and buckling my belt with my ears about to melt off my head with as hot as they burn, I ask, “Then why didn’t you leave?” I jab a hand toward the second exit door nearer them, none too pleased with the idea that we had an audience.
“Y’all were kinda having sex on our clothes, so we thought it was best to wait it out so we wouldn’t get arrested for public indecency,” Faye answers.
Layla and I search the floor. Harold’s pants and Faye’s dress are a flattened heap where I had been lying. Layla bends to pick up the clothing, shaking them out, and steps forward as if to hand the clothes directly to them.
“No, that’s ok,” Faye says quickly. “You can leave them there. We’re not quite finished.”
“Oh, sure.” Layla looks around for something to drape them over, but it’s mostly just cords and a few small amps back here with all the instruments on stage. “Oh!” she exclaims, her eyes widening further in the dark. “You’re not finished.” She drops the clothes and turns her back. “You’re literally having sex right now? Like, now, now? ”
“Mmhmm,” Faye confirms while Harold’s knees buckle with a mortified groan. “So if y’all could hurry up and leave, that would be great.”
When I whip open the door to usher Layla out ahead of me, I have to catch her around the waist and yank her out of harm’s way to avoid being flattened like Faye and Harold’s clothing when Wyatt falls backward into the room, catching Dolly in the air before she can land on top of him.
Popping my head out into the hallway, I’m met with Sheriff and his wife, Sheila, making out like teenagers. They spin on a heel when they spot me grinning just before they get to the door.
“Guess everyone had the same idea,” Dolly says with a giggle, wiping away a smudge of lipstick on her chin while Wyatt rolls to get up, zipping up his pants and adjusting his dick.
“Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, but please, we really, really need y’all to leave.”
“Is that Faye?” Dolly asks, peering deeper into the room.
“Please, please,” Faye starts, but then she moans, her tone changing when she repeats, “Please, please, yes!”
Dolly grabs Layla’s hand as they leave the room, and Wyatt practically slams the door closed behind us.
Wyatt and I are twisting about, trying to dust our suits off, when Layla says in a strained whisper ahead, “Russell. Russell!”
I look up, freezing when I see that we’ve captured at least half of our guests’ unwavering attention.
Old Freddy sticks his hands out to the sides, palms up, and Pete and Mickey slap some cash down. “Easy money, my friends. Easy money. ”
“No way! Now? Are you sure?” Jared jumps up and down with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on a man’s face before sweeping Violet into a hug and smothering her with a kiss. The bar swings their attention to the couple and goes wild when Jared shouts, “She’s in labor! We’re having a baby!”
Trace looks back and forth between us and the overjoyed couple making their way toward the exit a few times, checking to see if we’re upset by Violet and Jared stealing our thunder before he announces loudly, “Well, in that case…” Trace takes Gauge and passes him to Paul, drags Cora into the middle of the dance floor, kneels, and produces a pink diamond ring so large that I can see it sparkle from halfway across the room. “Cora, Princess, Little Mama, will you do me the honor of being my passenger princess for life and filling our trucks—I’ll buy you one to match—and hearts with more babies and more love and more happiness and more…everything?”
“Wow, he really has a way with words,” Layla whispers, trying not to laugh, even as she wipes a tear trailing down her cheek.
Cora, on the other hand, is at a complete loss for words, nodding furiously while trying not to bawl as Trace slides the ring onto her finger and kisses it, gazing up at her with complete and utter devotion. A second later, he jumps up and locks lips with Cora, the two clawing at each other’s clothes as they stumble toward the backstage area just as Faye and Harold are leaving with their clothes dusty and wrinkled to hell and back.
Pete carefully climbs onto the stage with a chuckle, standing at the edge with his notebook and pencil. “Alright,” he says into the standing microphone. “Place your bets now.” Our older guests surge toward him as fast as they can, waving cash in the air.
Mickey yells, “Ten on Joel!”
“He’s been married going on twenty years, Mick,” Pete says, crossing something out in his notebook. “Seriously, go to the doctor.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Freddy says, jogging up the stage steps. He grabs the microphone and puts a hand over his eyes, squinting at the crowd. “Now, who all is still single?”
While many of my employees scatter, Elliott remains where he is, his brows drawn as he and Freddy make eye contact for a solid minute. When Freddy’s brows lift with a growing mischievous smile, Elliott suddenly casts his gaze down, and he trails back into the darkest corner without a word.
A good number of my younger employees boldly step forward, lining up like contestants in some kind of pageant. Surprise gets the best of me when Paul joins the line last, still holding Gauge, his face turned to the side with a hungry expression aimed at none other than Cora’s co-worker and new best friend, Mckinley, her hair recently dyed a bright, vibrant blue.
Biting her lower lip, Mckinley straightens to her impressive height, especially in her platform heels, and juts her rounded hip out while making a come here motion with a curled finger. Paul grins before breaking from the line of men and jogging toward her.
“Called it the minute they met,” Layla says with a laugh, referring to the day Mckinley came over after everything settled down to go swimming with Cora while Paul was still in town. “Pete owes me twenty bucks.”
“This is the weirdest wedding I’ve been to,” Cooke says, sipping from her glass of champagne when she joins us, as uncomfortable as Elliott now that she’s out of uniform and wearing a dress with her short blonde hair loose for once. She narrows her eyes with irritation when Green slowly approaches.
Layla slides my billfold from my back pocket, waving it in the air high above her head, walking backward toward the stage. “I’ve got fifty on Zoey and Joshua!”
Cooke nearly spits her drink out, shaking her head. “No way, nu uh.”
“Got it,” Pete shouts, writing Layla’s bet down in his notebook.
“I’m out of here.” Cooke shoves her nearly empty glass in my hands and takes off toward the patio, her high heels slowing her down.
“I told you!” Green yells, running after her. “There’s no point in resisting fate!”
Cooke zigs. “Get away from me! You’re too young!”
Green zags. “Age is just a number, cookie!”
“Ew, don’t call me that!”
Green catches her when her ankle rolls after she jumps over the wooden fence like a track star, and he swings her up in his arms. “Got you now, and I’m hungry for a sweet treat,” he says, nipping her jaw and carrying her toward his decked-out 4 Runner.
“Nothing but trouble.” Sheriff plops down on a chair instead of intercepting Green kidnapping Cooke, slinging back his shot glass with a heavy sigh.
“Best kind of trouble there is,” I say, setting my eyes on my little darlin’ wife.