TEN | Reception for Two | Tinsley
TEN
Reception for Two
Tinsley
“ I have a surprise for you,” Mitt announced after we left the County Clerk’s office and we were back on the road.
Mitt insisted I keep the wedding dress on and kept our destination a secret, except for hinting it was a gift for me before we went back home—back to New York City to reveal we had tied the knot. Mitt would make a statement, and it would be a grand awakening for the press. He was no longer a bachelor and was off the market. His wife was Tinsley Morgan, an event planner he had instantly fallen in love with. At least, that was the story he’d tell. Our fictional love story was far from the truth.
“Where are we going, Mitt?” I asked for the second time, eager for his present. “You’ve got me on the edge of my seat with excitement.”
As exhilarated as I was, I was still anxious about the unknown and tense from our pent-up sexual tension, a pure cluster fuck of raw emotions. I was living on the edge as we rode up a bumpy hill in the mountainside. I was afraid to peer down, with my heart in my throat, for several reasons—my fear of heights, the rocky emotions I was having toward my new husband, and the nagging dread deep in the pit of my stomach. The fear was probably from this hilltop or maybe a bit of everything.
I grabbed Mitt’s hand. “Maybe we should turn back.”
Mitt squeezed my hand. “But this is our first adventure as newlyweds.”
My head spun, beads of sweat coated my forehead, and my eyes hurt. The bottom of the mountainside was a long way down, and I had to force my gaze from the snowy hillside. I shouldn’t stare death straight in the face because it was an icy slope all the way to the bottom.
“Are you sure the driver knows how to get through this mess?” I questioned, focusing on the curving road ahead.
“He’s been doing a good job ever since I gave him a warning.” Mitt answered as he kept his eyes on me and scooted closer. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I replied truthfully.
If we were going to die, I might as well be honest. With the excitement of his wedding day surprise, I struggled to keep my phobia hidden. I didn’t want to ruin his gift with bad news and kept the honesty hidden until I realized I couldn’t anymore. I should’ve expressed my fear sooner and told the driver to turn this car around, but it was too late now.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he turned my chin toward him, and his hazel eyes searched mine after a moment of silence. “Tell me.”
“I’m afraid of heights,” I admitted.
“You know what they say about fears?”
“What?” I asked through parted lips and sped up breaths.
“Face them,” Mitt responded and cupped my face in his hands.
The thought of Mitt eased the terror running through my mind, but the fear wouldn’t shut off. Constant images ran through my head of the limousine tumbling over the side of the cliff or catching a patch of icy road and the vehicle going into a tailspin. It would be a horrific sight, ending in tragedy and making headline news. I could see it word for word typed out in my mind.
Mr. Mitt Morgan meets fateful wedded day doom.
A love story gone wrong and doomed from the time we signed on the dotted line. Our fictional fairy tale would meet a tragic fate in the eyes of thousands. Love was never our destiny; instead, a gruesome end awaited us.
My heart beat erratically and my nostrils flared. It was a hundred degrees in the limousine, and I needed to get out of there. I eyed the door handle, which only brought my attention back toward the window, and I made a huge mistake.
In the blink of an eye, the tail end of the vehicle swerved, and the tires went off the road. We came drastically close to the railing meant to save the car from a deadly dive over the hillside, and I caught sight of the swirling snow at the base of the mountain.
My eyes widened with fright. “Oh, God!”
The tires gripped the salted pavement, forcing the vehicle back onto the road as Mitt tore my eyes away from the doom I had created in my mind and trained my attention back to him. The pads of his thumbs caressed my cheeks until they landed on my lips. My breathing no longer hitched from the phobia, but from him.
“Look at me,” Mitt breathed as his eyes searched mine with a desperation to cure me.
“I don’t think I can do this. I don’t want to do this alone,” I mumbled, a loneliness taking over me.
Mitt’s eyes landed on my trembling lips. “You’re not alone. Do you hear me? I’m here with you. Mitt. Your husband. I’m not going anywhere, angel.”
His nickname for me brought me warmth, a comfort I needed as the vehicle climbed higher, and there was no turning back. Mitt was here. He was by my side, and I wasn’t facing my fear solo.
The never-ending nerves knotted in my belly eased, my head stopped spinning, and my vision cleared. Greens and browns shone brightly back at me as Mitt leaned forward until he was only inches away. Only our breath separated us as our noses touched and my mind grew foggy. A temperature was rising that wasn’t there mixing with the undeniable fear and created an unfamiliar heat I invited inside, letting it consume me.
“I’m not alone,” I whispered repeatedly.
“Yes. That’s right. Focus on me, Wife,” Mitt ordered as his lips brushed mine. “We’ll face your phobia together because it doesn’t own you. I do. You belong to me and not crippled by fear.”
“I belong to you,” I murmured as he softly kissed my lips, and I fell into him.
“Yes,” Mitt breathed. His tongue parted my mouth. “You’re mine.”
My husband’s mouth captured mine in a greedy kiss. The nerves, panic, and passion whirled into one—a fiery concoction, making me forget who I was and where I was. Everything I knew was Mitt. All I breathed was him. All I wanted was him.
The car had swerved again, throwing our bodies up against the seat where Mitt hovered over me and shielded me from the outside world. He protected me from everything I feared and groaned above me, reminding me of life rather than terror on top of a mountainside. There was pure, undeniable passion as our tongues explored each other further than we ever had before. Our teeth nibbled paths they had never grazed, and our hands ventured to places they hadn’t before. His fingers trailed up my dress until his hand squeezed my thigh. Mine entered the inside of his shirt, loosening several buttons, and my hands met his chiseled pecks. My nails dug into his skin as his hand trailed higher up my thigh, and my mouth broke from his, gasping for air.
“Oh, Mitt, I—” an animalistic moan tore from me when he claimed my mouth again and his tongue swirled inside.
Mitt didn’t stop his seductive tactics as his hand came right up below my panty line and his thumb trailed on the edge of glory. I wanted him to take me, rip my panties right off, and fuck me. To get my husband to reveal his worst. I couldn’t wait any longer. I desired him more than I had ever wanted a man in my entire life.
Until there was a knock on the glass.
Startled, I jumped at the unexpected sound. Mitt’s mouth left mine as his lips ventured down the side of my collarbone and trailed over my neckline. His mouth toyed with my cleavage and sucked on the skin.
My train of thought teetered on the edge just like the vehicle had been only seconds ago—or minutes, but I couldn’t be sure. I had lost track of time with Mitt’s skilled mouth on my body. His hand groping places they hadn’t yet, and I enjoyed every second. My fast-racing heartbeat could attest to it.
“Ignore it,” Mitt groaned as he nipped my lower lip before he took my mouth again.
The kiss was brief with the sound of a second knock interrupting us, and Mitt exhaled an irritated huff. The puff of air hit my cheek, and the realization sunk in that we had stopped. We no longer climbed up the mountainside in the limousine.
Mitt was with me, and we had conquered this fear together. My phobia hadn’t won. We had. Our locked lips had got us right to the peak.
A third knock sounded.
“Persistent fuck,” Mitt grumbled as he backed away and fastened the buttons I had loosened.
My cheeks burned from the memory, but I questioned, “I think we’re here?”
“Yes...” Mitt hissed the S, rolled down the window and glared at the chauffeur. “We’ll be out in a minute.”
He didn’t wait for the driver’s response and slid the window back up. Mitt’s eyes lingered hungrily on my exposed thigh, and my hands worked to cover the skin up with my dress. His eyes left me as he sat in the seat beside me, his hand resting on the door handle.
I slouched down in the seat and couldn’t see outside. Whatever he had planned was on the other side of that door, and I had to pull myself together. I wanted nothing more than to tell Mitt to call off the surprise and let us carry on where we had left off, but Mitt only peered out the window.
The moment we had shared was long gone. It was foolish of me to think we’d get lost in each other’s arms this soon into our marriage. We should be on our honeymoon, but this wasn’t any typical wedding day. We were only hours past tying the knot in our rushed nuptials, and we still had a lifetime together to explore. A heated make-out session in the back of a limousine was a step in the right direction. Intimacy would come with time and so would our love story.
I sat up in my seat and cleared my throat. “I’m feeling better.”
“Good,” Mitt said but turned to me with unreadable eyes. “Ready for your gift?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
Mitt held out his hand with a smile. “Follow me.”
The door opened, and my eyes gazed past the chauffeur up toward a massive white tent stacked on the ground. Snowy hilltops for as far as the eye could see granted me a beautiful scenery I had never known. Mother Nature in all her glory with snowflakes falling and a gentle breeze in the mountains somewhere in Colorado.
“Mitt... this is beautiful,” I breathed in awe.
“Beauty deserves something beautiful,” Mitt said simply.
His words held meaning as he tenderly kissed my knuckles, and I got swept away in him like the windblown snowflakes sweeping into his tousled hair. Mitt’s handsome features left me speechless. I wasn’t only shocked by the lengths he’d go to for me, but by his handsome presence that was all mine.
“Come on, beautiful. We have our reception to attend.”
I followed Mitt as we walked hand in hand over an elegant carpet rolled out on top of the snow. Someone placed heated lanterns on either side of the carpet, which was set out as a runway leading underneath the tent. The warmth from them bit away at the chilled breeze and warmed my thundering heart.
“Mr. and Mrs. Morgan,” a man welcomed us, dressed in a tuxedo, as he tugged a rope and the tent opened up.
I couldn’t believe the sight in front of me. Everything was incredible. Unbelievable. Unlike anything I had ever imagined experiencing. Mitt had done this reception all for me.
“This is too much,” I whispered as I took everything in.
There were bouquets of flowers, a table for two right by a dance floor, and a wedding cake. The bride and groom sat on top of a massive five-layer cake. There was a clear view of the sky overhead. White lights hung on strands from the ceiling of the tent and gave a nice soft glow to the inside against the cloudy skies from above.
This reception was perfect. Intimate. A masterpiece.
“No. This isn’t enough,” Mitt answered as he led me toward the table and pulled out my chair, his warm breath fanned over my shoulder. “You deserve so much more.”
Mitt left a gentle kiss on my skin and goosebumps came alive. I took my seat as my husband snapped his fingers and servers came rushing with food. Turkey, stuffing, gravy, roasted potatoes, butternut squash, brussels sprouts, and warm buns. The ideal Christmas meal for a festive wedding.
“This is incredible.”
Everything looked delicious, and my mouth watered. I could not hold back—I was starving after such an ordeal. Everything was happening so quickly that I had forgotten to eat, and my stomach grumbled at the sight of all the appetizing food. Not to mention our gigantic wedding cake for dessert.
Mitt took his seat. “Dig in. You look famished, Wife.”
Wife .
The way the word rolled off his tongue made me glance up at Mitt. His eyes were hooded from the low lighting, but I could sense his stare on me. His hazel hued eyes pierced me as he watched me reach for the food and place servings on my plate. The way he watched me pick up my fork and eat some turkey with gravy on top. Goodness. The meat was divine to the point I almost moaned, but I closed my eyes and devoured some more. Salty, sweet, and spicy mixed all together. All the flavors were warm on my taste buds, and a shiver ran down my spine. My eyes opened, only to find my husband still peering at me like I was his newest obsession.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked with food in my mouth.
Very unladylike of me, but Mitt’s plate was empty. He hadn’t moved a muscle since I last glanced at him. All he did was observe my every move as I shoveled food in my face because I had worked up an appetite. God. He’d think I was a damn pig!
Mitt answered, “No.”
“You’ve got to be starving,” I added as I reached for a bun and buttered it with a knife.
“I am. But for something far more addicting.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Not what. Who?”
“Okay. Who?” I questioned as I took a bite of the bread and chewed.
“My wife.”
I choked. Coughed on a goddamn crumb from the bun and Mitt came to my aid. He was at my side in a matter of seconds as he knelt beside me and rubbed my back. The circular motion of his large masculine hand would be my undoing, more than choking on bread.
“Are you all right?” Mitt asked with concern.
“Yeah...” I coughed into my hand to clear the obstruction. “Yes. I’m okay.”
“Good,” he said with his warm breath fanning my face, and he took my hand. “Because I was about to ask you to join me for our first dance.”
“Right now?” I asked hesitantly. “I was about to—”
“I can’t stand one more minute of not being able to touch you...” Mitt interrupted as he took a strand of my hair and loosely twirled it around his finger. “Not smelling you...”
Mitt inhaled my scent.
“Not tasting you,” he said as his mouth brushed mine, and he licked my lips. “I want to feel you in my arms before all of this goes away.”
“Goes away?” I questioned as he locked me into his trance, and I let him lead me onto the dance floor.
“We only have so much time before we have to go back to New York and deal with everything. I want to enjoy this time with my wife before it all disappears,” Mitt whispered in my ear as he pulled me close, and I fell into his embrace.
My husband’s hands traveled down my sides until they rested on the small part of my backside. The tips of my fingers dove into the hair at the nape of his neck, and I stared up into his heated gaze. A lingering observation struck my soul and blasted the essence wide open—filled me full of desire, mixed emotions, and something I couldn’t describe.
“This makes logical sense.” I mumbled, lost in my husband.
We slowly danced to Stay by Rihanna. Our song. The one we’d remember for the rest of our lives and listen to when we needed comfort or to confide in each other. Our wedding song was like the lyrics themselves, with us needing to hold on. Both of us wanted to stay present in the moment, lost in one another and clinging to a love we knew could be there, would be there, but all we needed was time. All we had to do was stay.
The rhythm made us sway back and forth, neither one of us breaking a beat. We were joined together as we remained in motion when the song ended and replayed. Our eyes never wavered as the slow beat played on, and the world faded away with mistletoe hanging over our heads. We’d soon have to face the reality of our situation, but that wasn’t until the sun came up.