Chapter 18 Karl
EIGHTEEN
KARL
“With whipped cream, please,” Nancy asks the server.
“And for you?” she asks, turning to me with her pen poised over her little order pad.
“I’ll have the same but with bacon instead of sausage and a side of home fries, please.” I close my menu and hand it to her, then turn my attention back to my beautiful wife.
My wife.
“What?” Nancy asks when she sees me smiling stupidly at her.
I reach for her left hand and run my finger along the thin gold band on her ring finger.
“You, this place, this,” I lift her hand and kiss the ring.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have our first meal in a nicer place?
” I look around at the interior of the diner.
Aliens and planets adorn the walls, and glowing green panels border the front counter.
Nancy slips her fingers between mine and squeezes. “I don’t care where we eat as long as we’re together and the food is actually edible. Besides, this restaurant makes the story even more ridiculous, but in the best way.”
I go back to looking at her. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a half-up, half-down style. The dress looks like it was tailored for her despite the fact she thrifted it yesterday. Then those shoes. I cannot believe this is the same woman who sneered at me three days ago.
“Are you nervous?” I hear her ask, drawing my attention back to the present.
“About?”
“Telling your family?”
“No, I’m excited. No, that's not entirely true. I am nervous that I won’t be able to tell them in a comprehensive way.”
Her head tips gracefully, and her eyebrow quirks. “What way is that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, like I’ll jump out of the truck, throw you over my shoulder, and go running into the house yelling about how this woman I just met is my wife. Then I’ll continue running all the way to the cottage, and immediately,” I stop abruptly and force my mouth shut.
“Immediately what?” she whispers, a tiny grin pulling at the right side of her mouth.
“Christen every surface in the place. If that’s what you want, of course,” I add quickly.
Her face turns about three shades darker, and I smile, knowing she’s thinking about it.
“Is that what you want, Nancy?” I ask as seductively as I can manage.
“Stack of blueberry pancakes with extra whip, sausage, and scrambled eggs,” the server interrupts, setting down a plate overflowing with food in front of Nancy.
“And blueberry pancakes with extra whip, bacon, scrambled eggs, and a side of home fries.” I look at the plates she sets in front of me quickly, then glance up at Nancy, who’s holding in laughter.
“Can I get anything else for you? A refill?” she asks, pointing at our half-empty mugs.
“That would be fantastic,” I say, keeping my eyes on my wife.
My wife.
“I hope they have doggy bags,” Nancy wonders aloud, taking in the amount of food that’s on the table.
“They must. There is no one alive who could eat all of this food in one sitting.”
An hour later, our plates are nearly clean. A single pancake remains in front of Nancy, and a few overdone home fries sit abandoned on the side plate.
“Do you think,” Nancy leans in, “that a wedding day nap is something we can partake in?”
“Depends,” I say, wiping my mouth and balling up the napkin on my empty plate. “Do I get to hold you while we nap?”
She thinks for a moment. “That would be okay.”
Once the bill is paid, we walk slowly to the truck. I’m pretty sure they could have rolled us out.
“You should have to sign a waiver to consume that much food,” Nancy grumbles as she climbs into the truck and buckles herself in, laying a hand on her stomach once she’s settled.
“I’ve got a food baby.” She laughs, and when I look over, all I can picture is her pregnant with a baby baby.
“Don’t be getting any ideas, Mr. Hore. I want at least a few months of you and me before we even think of reproducing. ”
I drag my eyes to her face. “I’m fine with that,” I say softly, taking her hand in mine as I drive back to the hotel. I cannot wait to have children with this woman, but I also definitely want her all to myself for a while.
“Have you been watching me sleep?” Nancy asks without even opening her eyes.
“Just for a bit,” I reply, stretching to kiss the tip of her nose.
She stretches her arms above her head, fingers spreading as a little shudder travels through her body, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “What time is it?”
“Seven thirty,” I respond, sliding away from her as she jolts upright.
“At night?” She looks toward the window where no daylight is seeping through the bottom of the curtain.
I pull her back down, and she curls around me. “We slept the day away,” I mumble, kissing her jaw and feeling her relax in my arms.
“We won’t be able to sleep tonight,” she yawns, arching into me as my lips trail further down.
She’s only wearing the top half of her pajama set and a pair of underwear, and I begin exploring. “Were you planning to sleep tonight?”
She gasps as my tongue makes contact with a peaked nipple, a breathy little “no” floating between us.
I pull back because I don’t know if that’s a no to what I’m doing or a no to sleeping.
When I look up, she’s staring at me, lips parted and a plea in her bright blue eyes. “Was that a no to my tongue or to sleep?”
Her throat bobs, and I zero in on where her pulse flutters beneath her skin. “No to sleep, yes to your tongue,” she confirms, falling back with a sigh when I go back to work.
I let my hand wander, slipping into her panties again to find her soaking. “Is this for me?”
Her only response is a desperate moan as she spreads her legs further apart. It’s barely anything, but it’s the invitation I had been hoping for.
I pull my hand away, and I’m greeted with that pleading look again. “What do you want, wife? My mouth, fingers, or—” I don’t get the last word out as her lips meet mine in a vicious kiss and her hand shoots out to grasp me through my pants. “Fuck,” I release the word as my body comes alive.
“I want your mouth,” she professes against my lips. “I want your fingers”—she drags her teeth over my bottom lip—“and I want your cock.” She punctuates the word with a squeeze that has me releasing a gasp of my own.
Her hand begins to move, and I fall back onto the bed, not doing a thing to stop myself. Nancy straddles me, her hand never stopping.
“Condoms?” she asks.
“My bag in the”—I suck in air again as she changes her pace—“bathroom,” I breathe out.
Her hand disappears immediately, the bed shifting as she jogs to the bathroom. Her polka-dot panty-clad ass on full display. When she comes back, she’s carrying three of the roughly eight condoms I stuffed in my toiletries bag.
She stops at the side of the bed and sets the condoms down on the side table. Her eyes sweep over me, and a look crosses her face that has me sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “What is it?” I take her hands. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re having second thoughts.”
“What? No, I want to. I’m just”—she shrugs—“trying to slow this down a bit. I don’t want to rush.” When she looks back at me, a nervous squeak sneaks out. “Not like we do anything slow,” she admits, reaching out to run her fingers through my hair.
I close my eyes and let myself live in this moment.
Her lips press against my forehead and then each eyelid before they touch each cheek and then finally my mouth.
It takes an incredible amount of self-control not to drag her into me.
I want to rush everything with her. She’s Christmas morning, and I’m desperate to open my gifts, but when I open my eyes, I let myself take her in.
Her blue eyes and flushed skin. Those pretty pink lips and button nose.
The perfect blush on her cheeks. She’s stunning, this wife of mine, and suddenly, the thought of rushing anything from this point on seems like a disservice to this thing we’re building.
“We can go as slow as you want.” I slide my hands around her waist as I readjust so that my legs are on either side of hers. “You set the pace, okay?”
She nods, and her hands cradle my face, her thumb running over my bottom lip before she kisses me again.
And then she’s sinking lower, and I find myself chasing those lips until she’s out of reach.
I’m frozen in place as she settles on her knees, sucking in a quick breath when her hands go to the top of my pants.
“You don’t have to.”
She looks up, tilting her head, smiling. “I know, but unless you don’t want me to, I’m going to. Do you not want me to?” Her finger trails down my length, and I think I black out for a split second.
I shake my head. “No, I definitely want.” I don’t know how I get the words out because my brain feels like it has been scrambled.