Chapter 36
Dominic
The door of the motor home opens, the automatic steps extending. In the distance is a low thrum of music, the melody pierced every few seconds by voices.
Cecily peers up at me. Her cheeks are flushed, like they were in the restaurant. I've seen her flushed before, from anger and from embarrassment. But this? This is different. A pink hue with eyes that soften, corners creasing. Vulnerable. Open.
For me.
My heart lurches. I like Cecily a lot more than I've allowed myself to realize. I can't have her all the way, not fully, not the way I truly want her. But I'll be damned if I won't make this her best experience.
Stepping closer, I grip the bottom curve of her ass and lift.
She follows the movement, wrapping her arms and legs around me.
She snuggles in close as I navigate the metal steps and doorframe of the motor home.
Stopping once I'm inside, Cecily leans around and reaches for the door, slamming it closed. She slides the lock across.
Sitting up, arms casually draped over my shoulders, she licks her bottom lip and asks, "We're alone now. What are you going to do with me?"
In two strides, I have her on the counter of the kitchenette. There's a loaf of bread behind her, a box of powdered donuts.
Her chest, daintily covered by that yellow top, heaves with her heavy breath. Pressing my fists on either side of her thighs, I take a moment to look at her. Let my eyes wander. Her shoulders. Her collarbone. The top swell of her breasts. I'm dying to put my lips on every inch of this woman.
Using my hips, I urge her knees to part. The fabric of her pants swishes around us, and I step between her thighs, briefly meeting her eyes before I press a kiss to the pulse fluttering in her neck.
"My wife told me she needs my assistance." My tongue drags over her throat, and she whimpers. "I took a vow to care for her, and that's what I will do."
"Your wife is a lucky woman," Cecily says, and I feel the way she swallows.
My hand slides up her neck, gently gathering her hair. I pull, guiding her to look up. "My wife's pleasure is a priority."
Cecily breathes a tiny groan as my lips meet her jawline, feathering kisses over the delicate ridge. She reaches for me, wrapping her arms around my back. Her nails drag lazily over my shirt.
She turns her mouth, capturing mine. Once I'm there, it's electric.
My whole body zings, the attraction something that doesn't feel like it's safe to exist. It should be contained somewhere, buried a mile underground.
How are we supposed to successfully walk through daily life when there is this much chemistry between us?
Cecily arches into me, her head pressing into the cabinets.
Her chest grazes mine as our tongues tangle, her flavor a fruity apple, mixing with the thick bitterness of the stout.
She lets go of me, and when the kiss breaks, I see the thin straps of her top dangle off her shoulders.
"More," I demand, and she eagerly complies, probably for the first time since I met her.
She pushes down her top, no bra, and her breasts spill out. Full, heavy, and so fucking perfect.
My head dips, and I take a hardened peak in my mouth. Cecily's nails drag through my hair. "Dom," she says, drawing out the m. The same sound she would make if she were eating something delicious.
I give her other nipple a pinch with my finger before dragging my touch down the center line of her body. Stepping back, I give myself room to work.
"We probably don't have time," Cecily protests throatily when she sees my fingers flip open the top button on her pants. "I'm sure my family is wondering where we went."
"There is time, Cecily." Her zipper slides down smoothly, revealing a line of light pink silk underwear. "There is always time to make my wife come."
My gaze snags on hers. Hair a little wild, eyes borderline frenzied. Will she regain her composure? Change her mind about us?
I see in her eyes the way she's fighting herself. How hard she is working against whatever it is she's feeling for me. So, I give her an out.
"This doesn't have to mean anything, Menace. Look at it as me doing you a favor." Her hips thrust the tiniest bit, and maybe she didn't consciously do it, but I take it as the invitation I know it is. My fingers slip under the pink fabric. "Doing us all a favor, really."
Her eyes darken, and my touch finds its way south.
Eyelashes fluttering, she says, "As soon as this is over, I will go back to loathing you."
It's a stilted response. She wants me so desperately she can barely get the words out.
It makes me hungrier, mad for this woman. The pad of my finger finds the jackpot. Slips inside. She groans. Loudly.
"You can loathe me right now for all I care.
It won't stop me from doing what I intend to do.
" I lean forward to her chest, fill my mouth with her rounded flesh.
Suck hard. Her nails scratch over the back of my neck.
She mewls, legs lifting like she wants to brace them against something, but she finds no purchase.
Gently I ease her off the counter, turning her over. I reach around, filling my hand with her breast again, nibbling at the juncture between her shoulder and her neck. It's just like it was two days ago during our kiss, with the addition of my hand between her legs.
She groans so loudly a passerby would think she's receiving the real thing. Cecily needed this. Wanted it, as badly as I did.
The real thing is currently furious and painfully engorged.
I drop my hand from her breast and direct it around the front of her, using it to flick over her while my other hand keeps up the task. Voices come from somewhere outside the RV. People walking past.
"Dom," she whimpers. "Are we making"—a pause to convulse, and I know she's close—"a bad decision?"
"Shh," I tell her, bringing her to the edge. Her legs begin to stiffen, center contracting. "You better be quiet while we're making bad decisions."
The hand she's using to brace herself against the cabinet moves, fingers splayed and knuckles white. She's not quiet. Not at all. She comes like it's been a long fucking time, yelling my name.
My name. With that long m sound.
Keeping one hand wrapped around Cecily's hip, I pull myself from my pants before I make a mess of my clothing. "Bend over," I command, and she listens without hesitation.
What a picture she makes, ass up, dark hair spilling across her back. She reaches back, nails scoring my thigh.
Two quick seconds and I'm finishing, too.
I was closer to ruining these shorts than I realized.
Cecily's back moves with her heavy breath, still coming down from her own high.
"Don't move," I tell her. The last thing I want is my spend on the countertop her family makes sandwiches on.
We could sanitize it, but it would never really be clean again.
I tuck myself back into my pants and reach out for a paper towel.
"It's almost a shame to clean you up," I tell her, admiring the mess I've made of this woman who loves to drive me crazy. She looks back at me over her shoulder. "You look like every fantasy I've ever had."
"I'm sure that's not true," she argues.
It is, though. It is. Because anything I dreamed of before Cecily has ceased to exist. Erased from my memory. I don't want to imagine a time when it won't be Cecily I'm talking to, trying to make her smile, laugh. Cecily I'm endeavoring to win.
Am I trying to win her? I don't know. At this point, all I'm trying to do is not lose her.
I finish cleaning her up, carefully folding the paper towel into a second, clean paper towel, which I deposit into my pocket to get rid of in a different trash can.
Cecily turns around. She looks like herself again, but different. Slightly drugged, maybe. Relaxed. Calm.
She zips up her pants, threads the top button. When she goes to fix her top, I push her hands aside. "Allow me."
She smirks, but she lets me get one last nuzzle of each before I tuck them into her top and replace the straps on her shoulders.
"You seem to have a preference for my breasts."
"Nope," I tell her, placing my hands on her cheeks. "I have a preference for you."
Her eyes search my face. Emotion roams through her gaze. "I don't think I loathe you anymore."
I chuckle. I can't help it. "I know."
"How do you know?"
"In the last few days I realized you lacked conviction." Before she can argue, I kiss her. Lightly. "I loathe you stopped sounding like you meant it."
She wraps a hand around my wrist. "What does it sound like?"
"I'm not sure. I only know you don't mean it."
She nods slowly. "We should go. The food is probably at our table by now. There's no way we can hide this from my family, we were gone far too long."
"That's the beauty of being recently wed," I tell her as we lock up the motor home and walk away. The sky is darker now, burnt orange in the west and navy blue in the east. "They'll blame it on newlywed bliss."
She grins as we round the corner back onto the dusty main street. "You're telling me we can do"—she points back at the parking lot—"that over and over and have it be excused?"
"I suppose," I answer, more thrilled about the idea than I should be. "It would be a true test of our self-control." My hand finds her lower back, staying there as we navigate the wood plank sidewalk.
"It's only two and a half more weeks," Cecily reasons. "We could do it, don't you think?" She looks up at me with the most innocent expression, a juxtaposition to the subject matter.
"You're telling me you want to fool around, but not consummate the marriage?"
"No," she answers matter-of-factly. "What I want to do is fuck like bunnies and still be able to get an annulment. But that's frowned upon."
I'm shaking my head at her audacious mouth as we push into Big Nose Kate's Saloon. In our absence, a fiddler has replaced the harmonica player. She wears a corset and skirt, and a small hat with netting that swoops over her eyes.
"There you are," Kerrigan yells as we approach the table, hands around her mouth. "How long does it take to buy souvenirs?"
Cecily glances at me before nonchalantly saying, "They have a large selection, and Dom is very particular."
"Mm-hmm." Kerrigan crosses her arms. "So, what did you choose?"
I take my time pulling Cecily's seat out for her, then my own. Even after the forced delay, I can't think of anything better to say than, "I didn't hear you. Can you please repeat yourself?"
Kerrigan's chin lifts. She knows we were up to something. "What souvenirs did you choose for your parents?"
I grab my beer. It's warm now, not at all appetizing, but it gives me something to do after I say, "I couldn't find any."
Kerrigan grins knowingly. "Even with a selection so large?"
Cecily shakes her head. "Nope," she lies even as she beats back a smile. They're on to us, and we both know it.
Duke grumbles and takes twenty dollars from his pocket. Kerrigan extends her flat palm, and he slaps it into her hand. She folds it in thirds and tucks it into her bra. "Nice doing business with you, Big Bro."
Our dinner arrives at the perfect moment, two younger guys placing a pulled pork sandwich in front of each person.
"Everybody got the same thing?" Cecily asks.
Grandma shrugs. "Queenie said it was what they're known for." She picks up a fry, pointing it from me to Cecily. "It's good to see you two finally acting like newlyweds."
Cecily's gaze slides guiltily over to me. I'm half-frozen, pinching my lower lip. I'll be honest, I have no idea how to proceed. Finally, I say, "This is pretty awkward."
"It's not pleasant for the rest of us, either," Duke announces, and Glenn laughs.
Cecily gapes at her dad. From the short time I've been around him, I've noticed Glenn does not laugh, or smile.
But today, he has done both. Maybe Ophelia knew all along that this is what her family needed.
I was certain that at worst they would fail her, and at best they would fake it.
But this banter, this playfulness, these smiles, they seem genuine.
"Get used to it," Grandma says, turning her pointed fry in Duke's direction. "They are leaving Bernice behind in Sierra Grande and joining us on the motor home."
"We've renamed it the Road Kraken," Kerrigan tells us. There's a smear of barbecue sauce on her cheek.
"You have sauce on your cheek," Cecily tells her, and she replies, "I don't care."
Using my napkin on my face in case I'm suffering from a similar affliction and nobody is telling me, I ask, "What's with this family and naming vehicles?"
Duke drains his beer. "I have an idea. Dom, you should name Cecily's Jeep."
Glenn scrunches his nose like he's smelled something unpleasant. "Death trap," he says. "There, I did it for you."
"Wind tunnel," Duke says.
Cecily looks like she's trying not to care what they say, but I see the way she stiffens. A few weeks ago, she probably would have told everybody what they could do with their joke, but she's trying so hard for Ophelia's sake.
Last I checked, my last name isn't Hampton. I am not here to mend fences. I'm here to be Cecily's husband, and that's what I'll be.
Curling a lock of Cecily's hair around my finger, I say, "My wife's Jeep is named Miss Independence."
Game stymied, Glenn and Duke fall quiet. Neither expected my response, but I'm not done. "Cecily worked hard to buy that car. She saved up her money, and bought it outright." Casually, I look at Glenn. "What kind of car do you drive?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "A Mercedes."
"What is your monthly payment?"
"It's a lease."
"So then, you pay monthly."
"I suppose."
"Does your car have a name?"
Glenn shakes his head. No.
"May I?"
Glenn motions with an open palm, giving me the go-ahead.
But then he crosses his arms in front of his chest, a sign of nervousness he's trying to conceal.
He doesn't know what I'm going to say, but he does know that I'm ready to throw down for his daughter.
He should appreciate my willingness, and if he doesn't, it says a lot more about him than it does about me.
"Your car's name is Teenager. It'll only be around awhile longer, it costs a lot of money, and it thinks it's better than everybody else." I wink at him, and smile good-naturedly, just to soften the blow.
The table is utterly silent. Even Kerrigan, who almost always has something to say, is shocked into quiet.
I put a hand on Cecily's knee. Squeeze gently. She covers my hand with her own, running her fingertips over my knuckles.
Marilyn picks up her half-full glass of cider. Lifts it in the air. "To Miss Independence," she says, her eyes directly on Cecily.