137. Prince Tribute Band
PRINCE TRIBUTE BAND
LAYTON
The sun rises slow and lazy on Friday morning, and I feel its mood. I’m spooning my fiancée and listening to the even pace of her breathing. I wedge a knee between Livy’s, lifting her hip and angling mine to enter her from behind.
I rock with slow and shallow thrusts as I kiss the nape of her neck, letting my palm slide up her belly, between her tits, over her collarbone, and finally landing on her throat.
I feel for her pulse there and find it steady and thrumming. As my thrusts go deeper and her pulse quickens, I lift my knee, opening her wider.
There’s no hurry. There’s no reason to rush. This is simply about feeling her and loving her, being connected in the simplest—and most complex—way possible.
She hooks her ankle around mine, giving me even greater access, and I push until I feel the end of her.
“Good morning, Olivia.”
“Good morning, handsome. This is new.”
“Day eight.”
“Huh?”
“Day eight of your rehab text messages. You asked if I like spoon sex. I wanted to show you how I feel about day eight.”
She tips her ass a bit, and I growl, rubbing my stubble against her neck and kissing her there.
“I’m a fan of day eight.” She reaches between us and splits her fingers to feel me glide in and out of her.
“I’m a fan of sex with my soon-to-be wife. I’m warning you. I may never get enough of you.”
Her fingers leave my cock and move to her core. “Have I ever told you I got myself off thinking about you?”
“Tell me now.” It comes out as a growl.
“There’s no way to replicate your size or how you overwhelm my body, but I’d think of your eyes peeking up from my thighs and get wet. I’d think of your strong fingers entering me… everywhere.” A shiver passes through her and ripples over my dick.
“What did my fingers do?”
“They stroked me, pushing deep into me, breaching me, building impossible need that couldn’t be filled. Like your cock is doing right now. It’s building, Layton.”
“What does it feel like?”
“It feels like a volcano before it erupts. The heat and—Oh God, right there. Right there—the lava bubbling, fighting to get out.”
I speed up my thrusts.
“It’s like hunger that can’t be satiated and a need that can’t ever be filled, but the lava pours through, and you know there will be an explosion. I sometimes wonder if my body will shatter from pleasure.”
“Touch your clit and show me what you did.”
She moves her fingers, and her pulse races under my palm. The whimper that leaves her makes me impossibly harder, and I bite the back of her neck, licking where I left a mark.
“Does it feel good, baby? My cock and your fingers?”
She whimpers and fights to close her knees.
I keep her open to me. “Do you want my fingers?”
She nods against my chin, and her breathing becomes ragged.
I leave her neck and move to interlace her fingers with mine between her legs. I guide her hand there and use her fingers the way I would… flicking and rubbing, changing speeds until her clit throbs. “I’m going to come, Layton. I’m going to…”
I already know. The brutal pressure and insane sensual massage on my cock are evidence enough.
She rolls, trying to get relief, and I move with her, hands still connected between her legs. She’s face down on my bed, and I thrust into her three more times from on top of her until that lava pours down my spine and jolts through my cock.
I come and come and finally slow until I’m rocking into her.
“Seems like forever ago and like just yesterday when we were in this exact position.” I kiss the nape of her neck, her shoulder, one lat and then her spine, rubbing my stubbly chin there before making my way back to her ear.
“I told you I loved you.” I stroke a long lazy push and pull through our joined pleasure.
“And you told me you loved me back.” I give another slow thrust into her perfect cunt.
She lifts her ass, allowing me to bottom out.
“I’d never leave your body, baby, but we have company, and I don’t know how long you can be quiet.”
She clenches her pussy around my cock.
“We’ll play later. Think I need to watch your ass as you ride me backward. But later.” I pull out to that perfect whimper that makes me know she doesn’t like me leaving her either.
I kiss down her spine, until I slide off the end of the bed. After opening the door for Kyle, I saunter to the bathroom.
When I return with a wet washcloth, I find Livy, spread eagle and sound asleep. Hair a mess, a bite mark on the nape of her neck, and my cum oozing from her pussy.
I love day eight.
I face the mirror, remembering a day when I didn’t recognize the man staring back at me.
My color is good. The purple circles are gone from under my eyes.
I’m leaner than I’ve ever been, maybe since my freshman year at OU. I don’t eat enough to maintain that kind of muscle mass and can’t lift enough to shred anymore. My body is more similar to Exton’s than to Braxton’s… tall and lean.
I swim every single day. And, sadly for me though probably better for my heart, I eat a lot more veggies.
“What are you laughing at?” the woman in question asks.
“I’m wondering how I managed to fall in love with a vegan.” I offer an exaggerated eye roll.
“Well, I’m spicy in bed, and I let you look at my ass.”
“That doesn’t hurt.”
She leaves the bathroom before popping back in. “George just got here. Don’t lose your time with him to talk to yourself in the mirror. Your ego can handle one day without the extra fluffing.”
“You’re getting spanked for that comment tonight.”
“Promises, promises,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
When I get into the living room, everyone has arrived. My two nephews are here with the rest of my family. Nephews who are here, not just ones I can picture in my home. My home, not a colorless condo with sharp metal edges.
A home.
Sarah and her wife, Ivy, are here. “You look good. We won’t talk shop the whole time, but how are you feeling?”
“A little like high school football. Like growing pains and muscle soreness, but like I’m strong enough to tackle it. But I don’t want to be tackled.”
“I’m proud of you. I’ve known you a long time, and you always do the work. The mental game is always harder than the physical. You’re exactly the right person to lead this new venture.”
“Keep those compliments coming, and I’ll offer you a raise.” To Ivy, I add, “Keep her. She’s a gem.”
“Eighteen years and counting. I don’t plan on letting her go. Besides, someone has to keep her in line.”
“Then you need a raise, because I’m not sure that’s even possible with this one.”
“Hey,” Sarah says.
“What? You know it’s true.”
“I do, actually.” Sarah looks at Ivy, a warm smile on her mouth, and back to me. “Wishing you the same happiness, Layton.”
“Thanks. Ask me in eighteen years if I’ve been able to keep her in line.”
“Oh, bless your heart, Layton,” Ivy starts. “We’ll be asking her, not you.”
I usher everyone out to the back patio and open the French doors to the house. It’s a perfect sixty-eight-degree day with a soft breeze off the lake.
“Grab a drink.”
I lift my seltzer water and clear my throat. “We invited you here today because we have exciting news. Livy and I”—I look to the woman who will be my forever, standing with her best friend near the doors—“have, after much deliberation, decided to invest in and build a rehabilitation center.”
“Our primary focus will be on athletic injuries and veteran rehabilitation. We’ve bought a piece of property and expect within a year to be able to house and rehab at least two dozen patients.
Cynthia’s team will lead full counseling services.
” I lift my water to the woman who kept me sane at Natomas Hills.
“Cynthia has also agreed to partner with us for anyone who needs more specific or acute care for substance issues, either inpatient or out.”
“We’ll have two staff DPTs with Sarah and Livy.” I lift my can to Sarah and smile at Livy as she slips into the house. “They’ll develop and administer the treatment plans.”
“We’ll have a gym, a sauna, a yoga studio… all the tools we need to bring people back to health, whatever that looks like. Free memberships if your last name is Ranger or Finchley.” I smile at Eli.
“Sabine has agreed to move to Texas—though this is no hardship, let’s be clear—to lead our team of nutritionists.
She also has an idea for a macro-specific to-go meal prep once we can secure licensure for a commercial kitchen.
” I lift my chin to her. “Thank you. For everything. So excited you’ll be here with us on this adventure. ”
“And George.” I look around the faces of my favorite people on the planet. “This man brokered a deal with Excel to have all the athletic wear we’ll need for our therapists and trainers to be able to see range of motion. And to have our clients have one less thing on their minds.”
“I know we’ve taken on a massive endeavor. I expect there will be days I wonder why I didn’t choose something else.”
“Like a news anchor?” Willa asks.
“I could do that. That’s probably way easier too. But this is something worth doing.” I turn to Braxton’s fiancée. “Emberleigh, I hope you’re willing to take on a client who will need your expertise badly. God willing, we won’t need any crisis management, but the rest?” I nod.
“I’d be honored.”
Pop huddles around me and gives me a hug. “I’m so proud of you. Emilia would be too. She’d tell you not to give up because it’s hard. Those are the days you rely on your training. There’s always another tackle to break.”
“Thanks, Pop.”
“This is so perfect for you and Livy. A marriage of strengths and passions.” Braxton claps me on the shoulder. “Lucky bastard.”
“I’ll take that.”
“Where is Livy anyway?” Brighton asks.
I look around and don’t see her. I slide my phone from my pocket and dial her. “Livy, you good? Well, come on then.”
I hang up, swipe to my music app, and press play on Ray LaMontagne’s ‘I Was Born to Love You’ as Livy steps through the doors in a knee-length white dress. One shoulder is bare, the other starts a flowy sheer train behind her.
She walks to me in fuck-me heels with a wide smile on her face. She stops in front of me, and I grab her face and kiss her deeply. “Fuck, Pix, you’re stunning.”
“What’s this?” Pop says.
While Emberleigh says, “Are you serious?”
“I told you they were engaged,” Willa says to Exton none too quietly.
George pipes in. “Stop kissing the bride. I haven’t even done anything yet.”
“Better do it fast,” I say and lean in for another kiss, pulling Livy into my body.
“Dearly beloved,” George starts. “We are gathered here today to celebrate—”
“This thing called life,” Eli and Bright say at the same time.
“You didn’t tell me they’d be trouble,” George says, stopping his speech and looking at me expectantly.
“Of course, they’re trouble. They’re my family.”
“Dearly beloved,” George starts.
“We are gathered here today,” Braxton and Emberleigh fake using microphones.
“To celebrate this thing,” Brighton and Eli continue.
“Called life,” Willa and Exton embellish.
“Dude, you can keep trying, but it’s not going to get better,” I say, staring at my almost wife… if George will ever get on with it.
“Fine. They keep messing up the lyrics anyway.” He drops his head as if we’ve stolen his thunder. I think, anyway. He’s in my periphery. All I can see is Livy.
“That matters if you’re putting together a Prince tribute band. If you’re trying to get me hitched, it so does not.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he starts again.
“And Kyle,” Livy says, getting a laugh from Willa.
“And Kyle,” George says as Kyle runs from the house and skids to a stop with his nose near my hip.
“We’re here to celebrate love and the joining of Layton and Livy in marriage. If anyone here can think of any reason these—”
“No one say a word.” I look around my back deck. “Seriously, this has taken too long already.”
“I know the feeling,” Exton says. “Pop wanted to go on and on.”
“I did not,” Pop retorts. “It was short and sweet and—”
I cut off their chatter. “Olivia Morgan, I take you as my wife. In good times, please let there be many. And bad times, let there be few, and all the times in between. I promise to love you and cherish you and tickle you and slap your butt.”
“TMI,” Braxton coughs into his hand.
“I promise to protect you and serve you and our family, whatever that looks like. I promise not to try to trade your tea for coffee any more than two more times. I promise to apologize when I screw up and always honor the strong woman you are.”
“Am I going to get to do anything here?” George asks.
“Almost,” Livy says to him.
Holding my eyes, though, she says, “Layton Ranger, I take you as my husband, to take all the times we have, no matter what they are, because at least I have you. I promise to love you well, cherish you, and honor you, though I can’t say I’ll obey.”
“That’s right,” Brighton mutters under her breath.
“I promise to push you only when it’s in your best interest, to not bring home too many dogs, and to laugh about spilled milk. I promise to apologize when I’m wrong, even though that’s rare, and to honor your kind heart.”
“Do you, Layton, take Livy to be your wife?”
“I thought that part was clear.” I pull a ring from my pocket, this one a duplicate of the first, only in platinum, and slide it onto her finger against the rose gold one. “I do.” I kiss her knuckle.
“Do you, Livy, take Layton to be your husband?”
“I do.” She pulls a wide platinum band from her thumb and slides it onto my ring finger, holding my hand in both of hers.
“I love you,” I whisper to her, and she whispers the same right back to me.
“Then by the power vested in me by the internet, I pronounce you—”
“Wait!” Sabine says. “Wait one moment.”
George harrumphs.
From the French doors, an older couple I’ve never met emerge onto the back patio. Livy squeezes my hand in hers.
“Go on, George,” she says calmly.
“I’m never accepting this gig again,” he starts, but finally—fucking finally—says the words I’ve been waiting to hear. “By the power vested in me by the internet, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride. Again.”
Cheers ring out as I lift my hands to Livy’s face and kiss her deeply, sealing a perfect wedding day.
Later that night, as serendipity would have it, Livy’s phone rings from a Boston area code. It’s not her parents. I met them this evening, but that’s a story for another time.
I answer, having waited for this moment. “Hello?”
“Livy Morgan, please?”
“Baby, someone’s calling for a Livy Morgan. But that’s not your last name, is it?”
“No, husband of mine, it is not. Tell whoever’s calling I’m not interested in whatever they’re selling.” She says it loud enough for Tommy to hear.
“My wife says she’s not interested.”
“Wife?”
“Wife.” I disconnect the call.
Yes. Finally.
My wife.