12. Lemon #4
Gaelle is tiny, barely five feet, with brunette hair that’s styled into a pixie cut that suits her perfectly.
She’s wearing a black tank with a gauzy oversized white button-down over it and wide-leg jeans with sneakers.
But despite her size, the hug she pulls me into is shockingly strong, and I feel my back crack a little as she squeezes me. “It’s so wonderful to meet you, Lemon.”
After she releases me, she hugs Marcus, who looks even more surprised than me.
“Hi, Lemon. That dress is absolutely gorgeous. I’m Holly, by the way, if you didn’t already guess.
” Holly is tall, at least five feet eight, or maybe taller.
She’s willowy, like a model or a ballet dancer, and wearing a bright pink fitted dress that clings to her perfect breasts and the round beach ball baby bump the tight dress is accentuating.
When she hugs me, it’s much gentler than her wife’s, but I still feel encompassed by her.
Releasing me, she hugs Marcus next while Atticus steps toward me, pulling me into his side, his arm hanging possessively over my shoulder. “Are we all hungry?” he asks.
“Starving, constantly for the last seven months,” Holly says, eyeing the table full of food appreciatively.
“Then take a seat and dig in,” Atticus says, pulling a chair out for me and waiting while I sit down.
For the first few minutes, the conversation is filled with drink requests and compliments on the food until Gaelle turns to me. “So, Lemon, that’s a beautiful necklace,” she says, talking to me but flashing questioning eyes to Atticus beside me.
Huffing, he runs his fingers over the collar. “Don’t worry, I explained it to her.”
Gaelle’s grin is pure mischief. “And you’re still wearing it?” she asks me.
I nod. “I’m still wearing it,” I agree.
“Good,” she says simply, reaching over and mimicking Atticus’s motions by touching a necklace I hadn’t noticed around Holly’s neck.
“Oh, you have one too,” I blurt, immediately regretting my words.
Giggling, Holly reaches to her throat. “Yep, collared, married, and pregnant,” she says, resting her hand on her belly.
“How long did you guys know each other before…” I point to my necklace.
“Unofficially, the night we met. Officially, about a year later.”
“Officially?” Marcus questions, looking curious.
“Gaelle is my Domme as well as my wife. We met at a club, and I goaded her into doing a scene with me. I basically claimed her that night. I pretty much followed her home and refused to leave. When she officially collared me, we had a ceremony and a party with our lifestyle friends, then a wedding with dresses and a celebrant with our non-kinky people.”
“That’s not quite how it happened,” Gaelle says, rolling her eyes playfully at her wife. “I took you home because you dropped hard, and I was worried about you.”
“And how many times did I sleep at my place after that?” Holly says, her tone taunting.
“You were definitely persistent,” Gaelle admits, smiling widely.
“Atticus put this on me the day we met,” I admit.
“And he didn’t tell you it was anything but a pretty necklace,” Gaelle says.
“No, not really.”
“When you know, you know,” Holly says, staring at her wife with a dreamy expression in her eyes.
“I wish it worked that easy the other way too,” Marcus says. “That when it’s all wrong, it was as easy to spot.”
“I kissed a lot of princes before I found my frog,” Holly tells him, reaching out to cover Marcus’s hand with hers.
“What?” he questions, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Oh, before Gaelle, I was pretty much one hundred percent into men. I was curious about women, but I’d never had sex or been in a relationship with one until Gaelle.”
“Oh, that’s beautiful,” I say softly.
“Now I’m convinced that when you find your one, there’s no point fighting it,” Holly says.
“Did Atticus tell you that I’m a jewelry designer and that I made your collar for him?” Gaelle asks after the last of the plates have been loaded into the dishwasher.
“No, he didn’t. You really made this?” I question, touching the tiny rose gold bow hanging from the collar at my throat.
“I did. When he asked for rose gold, I wondered if it was the best choice, but it looks perfect against your skin tone.”
“She designed some other things for me, but until I spoke to her yesterday, I had no idea they’d even gotten past being a drawing on paper. But I’m glad they have, because now I don’t have to wait to do this,” Atticus says.
Pulling me to my feet, he drops to one knee, reaches for me and slides something onto the ring finger on my left hand.
“You’ve got six weeks to make that dress, Princess, because that’s as long as I’m willing to wait to marry you.
You’re mine, Lemon, and I’m yours, and with my collar at your throat and my ring on your finger, all that’s left to do is to give you my last name. So tell me you’ll marry me. Say yes.”
It’s not a traditional proposal. He’s not asking me. He’s telling me, and oddly, that somehow makes it easier. If he’d asked, I might have said no. It’s too soon, too impulsive, too crazy. But he’s not asking me. He’s simply telling me to say yes. So I do.
“Yes.”