Chapter Twenty-Three
The Great Elopement Plan
How will our families react to the news once we go home and spill the beans? I have no idea, and neither does Regan. But I won't worry about that yet. First, we need to tie the knot in a hippie preacher's little chapel near the coast. So that's exactly what we do.
The small white church with its blue-trimmed windows looks like something straight off a postcard.
The aging hippie minister with his salt-and-pepper ponytail and kind eyes welcomes us as if we're old friends rather than spontaneous strangers.
His wife serves as our witness, beaming at us through the whole five-minute ceremony while clutching a bouquet of wildflowers she hastily assembled from their garden.
"By the power vested in me by the State of California," he declares with a warmth that makes this tiny chapel feel sacred, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Hannigan, Mrs. Hannigan, congratulations."
When I kiss Regan, it feels different this time, like we've created something new between us, something solid and real that we'd missed before. Her lips taste as sweet as honey, and I can't wait to get her naked---and alone.
Regan brushes her lips against mine. "We did it, Mike."
"Yeah." I grin like an idiot as I tug her close. "How do you feel, Mrs. Hannigan?"
"Wonderful, Mr. Hannigan. I can't stop staring at our rings."
The hippie preacher and his wife clap softly, looking at us like we're their own kids. He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. "You two remind me of when Moonflower and I eloped back in '73. Sometimes when you know, you just know."
Regan nuzzles my cheek. "I love you so much, Mike."
"Did you want to hyphenate your name? I never thought to ask."
"No, I'll share your name." She taps my lips with one finger. "I'm proud to become a Hannigan. Besides, my parents adore you, so they wouldn't care if I changed my name to Stinkfinger."
"Hmm. That might be a bridge to far for me," I say with grin and a wink.
Moonflower pats my arm. I swear that's really his wife's name. "There's a lovely bed and breakfast right across the street," she explains with a knowing wink. "We've had many newlyweds stay there over the years. The owner's a dear friend of ours."
"That sounds perfect," I reply, unable to take my eyes off Regan.
My wife. Holy shit, I have a wife now.
The preacher---who introduced himself as Rainbowsky but told us to call him Rainbow---hands us a simple marriage certificate. "I'll file the official paperwork tomorrow, but this is your copy to keep. Maybe frame it someday when you tell your grandchildren about the crazy day you eloped."
Regan accepts the certificate, tracing her fingers over our names. "Thank you both. This was exactly what we wanted."
We say our goodbyes to Rainbow and Moonflower, promising to send them a postcard from our first anniversary trip, wherever that might be.
The bed-and-breakfast is a charming Victorian house with gingerbread trim and a wraparound porch.
The owner, Martha, welcomes us with champagne and strawberries when she hears we're newlyweds.
I've never seen a woman squeal with such genuine delight over two complete strangers.
"Oh, you two are just precious!" she exclaims, ushering us into a room with a four-poster bed draped in white linen. "Rainbow sends me the most delightful couples. I've put rose petals on the bed and there's a bottle of bubbly chilling for you."
As soon as the door closes behind her, Regan and I look at each other and burst into laughter.
"Rose petals?" I whisper, gesturing to the bed that looks like a Valentine's Day card exploded on it.
I wrap my arms Regan, holding her so firmly that her tits have mounded up. I can't wait to taste those little buds. "God, you're beautiful. And you're all mine now. Officially."
"I hope you realize what you've gotten yourself into, Hannigan. There's no escape now."
"Wouldn't dream of trying to get away." I sweep her up in my arms, making her squeal in surprise. The rose petals scatter as I deposit her on the bed and crawl on all fours above her. "But I'm not sure Martha would approve of what I'm about to do to her carefully arranged flower display."
"I think Martha knows exactly what happens to those rose petals." Regan drags me down for a kiss that quickly turns from sweet to scorching. She tugs at my shirt impatiently.
We make love slowly, reverently at first, then with an increasing urgency, as if we're trying to imprint this moment on our souls.
I trail kisses down Regan's neck, savoring the little moans that spill from her lips when I find that sensitive spot just below her ear.
Her hands are everywhere---in my hair, down my back, gripping my shoulders like she's afraid I might disappear.
"I can't believe we actually did it, Mike. We got married."
"Best impulsive decision I've ever made." I lick her silky skin, working my way lower to the swell of her breasts. "Though technically, wanting to marry you wasn't impulsive at all."
Regan's her breaths hitch as I replace my thumb with my mouth. "I thought you were just another cocky athlete. God, was I wrong."
I chuckle. "Oh, I'm cocky for sure. But you happen to like that about me."
She tugs my hair, forcing me to look up at her. The playfulness in her eyes has been replaced by something hotter and hungrier. "Less talking, more action, husband."
The word sends a jolt of electricity straight into my cock. Husband. I'm someone's husband. Regan is my wife. The thought makes me impossibly harder as I settle between her thighs.
"Say it again," I growl, nipping gently at the sensitive skin of her throat.
"Husband," she whispers, her voice hitching as I position myself at her entrance. "My husband."
I push inside her with one smooth thrust, both of us gasping. Rose petals crush beneath us, releasing their sweet scent into the air as we move together. Regan wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, her nails digging half-moons into my shoulders that I'll wear proudly tomorrow.
"Mine," I growl while setting a rhythm that has her arching beneath me. "All mine."
"Yours, yes. Always yours."
We lose ourselves in each other, our bodies slick with sweat as the tension builds. Regan's gasps turn to moans, then to cries that would make Martha blush if she were anywhere near our room. Thank goodness for thick walls and the sound of crashing waves through our open window.
"Mike," Regan pants, her walls tightening around me. "I'm so close."
"Let go and come for me, wife," I urge, while my own release is building toward climax.
That word---wife---pushes her over the edge.
She comes apart beneath me, her body arching and trembling as wave after wave of pleasure washes over her.
Her body folds in on itself while she thrashes and cries out.
Her entrance pulsates around my dick while I grunt and growl, gasping for breath as I'm teetering on the edge of an explosion.
All I can do is bury my face in her neck as I erupt.
"Regan, fuck! Ahh..."
We lay tangled together afterward, the sheets now hopelessly tangled, the rose petals crushed and sticking to our damp skin. The bed bounces faintly and I collapse on top her. I can't remember ever feeling this complete, this completely satisfied.
"Holy shit," I pant, rolling onto my back and pulling Regan onto my chest. "Think married sex will always be this good? Because I might not survive."
"We might've traumatized poor Martha. These walls can't be that thick."
"She's heard worse, I'm sure." I kiss Regan's temple. "Besides, we're newlyweds. It's expected."
I trace lazy patterns on my wife's bare shoulder as the reality of what we've done finally hits me.
Not because of the way we made love. No, I'm worrying about how our families will take the news.
The moms wanted the whole shebang, but we can't lie to everybody and claim we got married on our upcoming wedding day. We need to explain it to them.
How will that discussion go? We'll find out soon enough.
In the morning, we drive back to Portland. Regan rests her hand on my thigh as I drive, and her wedding band catches the morning sunlight every time she moves. I can't resist glancing at the simple gold band that somehow feels more significant than any championship ring.