I Do, Babe
Page 6
She settled into my chest and closed her eyes. I fucking let her as I stared out over the field, eyes focused on nothing. “I love you, River Nash,” she said sleepily. “I cannot wait to be your wife.” I squeezed her tighter; then she said, “We should go home. I am tired. I am struggling to keep my eyes open today.”
But I only held her tighter. I never wanted to let this bitch go. Taking a deep breath, I said, “St-Stay. St-Stay h-h-here w-w-with me.”
Mae looked up at me through her long black lashes and smiled, taken aback. Her cheeks were pink from the sun, and she’d never looked more fucking perfect to me. “Okay,” she said softly, her eyes closing again. “We will stay. It is warm enough, and I have you.”
As her breathing evened out and she fell asleep against my chest, I closed my eyes too and mouthed the vow once again.
I River Nash take you Mae . . . And I mouthed it over and over again until I fell asleep too.
Funny how I didn’t stutter in my dreams.
Chapter Four
Mae I lit the final candle just as I heard the lock turn. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
I heard his footsteps move through the house, and I knew who those feet were searching for: me. Each night, every time he returned from his run, his trajectory was to wherever I was.
Always me.
I waited for the call of my name. But as it had been for the past few weeks, his arrival home was silent. My fiancé was silent. He was never silent with me. With me his words—although stuttered and weak—were many, expressive . . . loving. But the silence that had befallen his soul lately was suffocating—just as the effort to speak was suffocating for him. And worse, he was not using his hands to tell me what was wrong. There was just . . . nothing.
I held my breath as I heard him approach the door. My heart beat as fast as it always did in his presence. I was sure with each passing day that beat increased in both volume and rhythm. I was sure it would until my very dying day.
Styx suddenly filled the doorway. I became breathless as his hazel eyes fell on me, sitting on the edge of the bed. His nostrils flared as he drank me in, and I smiled. I knew he liked me like this, dressed in a sleeveless white slip, hair falling to my waist, and no makeup on my face. And my gaze roved over him too. I loved him like this: in dark jeans, a black shirt, and his cut, his face stubbled, and his dark hair messy.
Styx did not speak. He cast his gaze around the room and raised his pierced eyebrow in a questioning gesture. Lifting his hand, he nodded toward the candles and the soft sounds of Johnny Cash playing from the bathroom. “What’s all this?” he signed and, as it had been doing for endless days, my heart broke.
I couldn’t answer as sadness welled within me. Instead, I held out my hands and rose from the bed. Styx came toward me immediately, as I had known he would. As the scent of tobacco filled my nose and his callused palms slipped against mine, I pulled him close. Tipping up my head, I waited for his kiss. Styx released my hands, cupped my face, and drew his lips against mine. I closed my eyes as his taste burst on my tongue. And we kissed. We kissed so deeply and so gently that I became liquid in his arms.
When I broke away, Styx’s hard hazel eyes stared at me, searching my face for answers. I pushed his cut from his broad shoulders, silencing any questions. The muscles on top of his shoulders, leading to his neck, tensed under my hands. His biceps corded and the tattoos of Hades and demons and hell’s denizens danced over his tanned skin. He hissed through parted lips when my hands traveled to the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his wide muscled chest and over his head until it landed on the floor. I met his eyes and he met mine as I leaned forward and pressed a whisper of a kiss in the center of his chest. Styx’s skin bumped under my touch, and I smiled when his hand threaded into my hair. My fingers made lazy circles on his abdominal muscles until they drifted lower and lower to the waistband of his jeans.
Styx growled under his breath as my fingers unbuttoned the fly, my hand grazing over the denim and touching his hard length. “Fuck,” Styx hissed as I pulled the jeans, inch by inch, down his legs. His thick thighs flexed under my touch. My mouth lay just before his hardness, my breath ghosting over the flesh yet never touching.
“M-Mae,” he stuttered and guided my head closer to him as he stepped from his jeans and kicked them to the side. I glanced up and watched his eyes burn with need. Laying my hands on his thighs, I flicked out my tongue and licked along his length. Styx’s head snapped back and his eyes closed as I moved away, only to wrap my lips around the top and move, painstakingly slowly, down his full length. “Fuck,” he called out as both of his hands steadied my head. I moaned and closed my eyes, savoring the taste of him filling my mouth, the heat of his flesh, and the touch of his hands in my hair.
I kept my rhythm slow and steady. I wanted him to see how much I adored him, loved him . . . worshipped him. And when I looked up and saw him watching me, a hand sliding to my neck so his finger could stroke my cheek so softly, I knew he understood that. And as he pulled back, his length slipping from my mouth, and gently hooked his arms under my own, bringing me to my feet, I knew he loved me too.
I just could not work out what was wrong.
He lifted me into his arms, carried me to our bed, and laid me down. Crawling over me, carefully avoiding my stomach, he pushed the straps of my slip off my shoulders and pulled the material down over my breasts. I moaned when his head dipped and his tongue lapped at the hard bud. But Styx did not stop—he kept tasting and kissing, moving to explore the rest of my swollen flesh.
“Styx,” I whispered and arched my back as he pulled the slip down the rest of my body until it was a discarded silk heap at the bottom of the bed. Styx’s mouth pressed against my foot then peppered a trail of kisses up my leg until it reached my core. Carefully parting my legs, he placed his wide shoulders between them and licked along my folds. My eyes closed as his fingers entered me and began to move. “Styx,” I whispered.
He moved faster, more determinedly, until his fingers rubbed the spot inside me that always made me fall apart. Once, twice, until my body clenched, my back arched, and a long moan sailed from my mouth as pleasure that only Styx could give me took me in its grip. Trust and love and safety. And light. Light so bright and pleasure so strong that I did not feel Styx move beside me until his lips met mine and his tongue pushed into my mouth. I lifted my chest until my skin met his. Warm against hot, hard against soft, and rough against smooth.
But I only held her tighter. I never wanted to let this bitch go. Taking a deep breath, I said, “St-Stay. St-Stay h-h-here w-w-with me.”
Mae looked up at me through her long black lashes and smiled, taken aback. Her cheeks were pink from the sun, and she’d never looked more fucking perfect to me. “Okay,” she said softly, her eyes closing again. “We will stay. It is warm enough, and I have you.”
As her breathing evened out and she fell asleep against my chest, I closed my eyes too and mouthed the vow once again.
I River Nash take you Mae . . . And I mouthed it over and over again until I fell asleep too.
Funny how I didn’t stutter in my dreams.
Chapter Four
Mae I lit the final candle just as I heard the lock turn. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
I heard his footsteps move through the house, and I knew who those feet were searching for: me. Each night, every time he returned from his run, his trajectory was to wherever I was.
Always me.
I waited for the call of my name. But as it had been for the past few weeks, his arrival home was silent. My fiancé was silent. He was never silent with me. With me his words—although stuttered and weak—were many, expressive . . . loving. But the silence that had befallen his soul lately was suffocating—just as the effort to speak was suffocating for him. And worse, he was not using his hands to tell me what was wrong. There was just . . . nothing.
I held my breath as I heard him approach the door. My heart beat as fast as it always did in his presence. I was sure with each passing day that beat increased in both volume and rhythm. I was sure it would until my very dying day.
Styx suddenly filled the doorway. I became breathless as his hazel eyes fell on me, sitting on the edge of the bed. His nostrils flared as he drank me in, and I smiled. I knew he liked me like this, dressed in a sleeveless white slip, hair falling to my waist, and no makeup on my face. And my gaze roved over him too. I loved him like this: in dark jeans, a black shirt, and his cut, his face stubbled, and his dark hair messy.
Styx did not speak. He cast his gaze around the room and raised his pierced eyebrow in a questioning gesture. Lifting his hand, he nodded toward the candles and the soft sounds of Johnny Cash playing from the bathroom. “What’s all this?” he signed and, as it had been doing for endless days, my heart broke.
I couldn’t answer as sadness welled within me. Instead, I held out my hands and rose from the bed. Styx came toward me immediately, as I had known he would. As the scent of tobacco filled my nose and his callused palms slipped against mine, I pulled him close. Tipping up my head, I waited for his kiss. Styx released my hands, cupped my face, and drew his lips against mine. I closed my eyes as his taste burst on my tongue. And we kissed. We kissed so deeply and so gently that I became liquid in his arms.
When I broke away, Styx’s hard hazel eyes stared at me, searching my face for answers. I pushed his cut from his broad shoulders, silencing any questions. The muscles on top of his shoulders, leading to his neck, tensed under my hands. His biceps corded and the tattoos of Hades and demons and hell’s denizens danced over his tanned skin. He hissed through parted lips when my hands traveled to the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his wide muscled chest and over his head until it landed on the floor. I met his eyes and he met mine as I leaned forward and pressed a whisper of a kiss in the center of his chest. Styx’s skin bumped under my touch, and I smiled when his hand threaded into my hair. My fingers made lazy circles on his abdominal muscles until they drifted lower and lower to the waistband of his jeans.
Styx growled under his breath as my fingers unbuttoned the fly, my hand grazing over the denim and touching his hard length. “Fuck,” Styx hissed as I pulled the jeans, inch by inch, down his legs. His thick thighs flexed under my touch. My mouth lay just before his hardness, my breath ghosting over the flesh yet never touching.
“M-Mae,” he stuttered and guided my head closer to him as he stepped from his jeans and kicked them to the side. I glanced up and watched his eyes burn with need. Laying my hands on his thighs, I flicked out my tongue and licked along his length. Styx’s head snapped back and his eyes closed as I moved away, only to wrap my lips around the top and move, painstakingly slowly, down his full length. “Fuck,” he called out as both of his hands steadied my head. I moaned and closed my eyes, savoring the taste of him filling my mouth, the heat of his flesh, and the touch of his hands in my hair.
I kept my rhythm slow and steady. I wanted him to see how much I adored him, loved him . . . worshipped him. And when I looked up and saw him watching me, a hand sliding to my neck so his finger could stroke my cheek so softly, I knew he understood that. And as he pulled back, his length slipping from my mouth, and gently hooked his arms under my own, bringing me to my feet, I knew he loved me too.
I just could not work out what was wrong.
He lifted me into his arms, carried me to our bed, and laid me down. Crawling over me, carefully avoiding my stomach, he pushed the straps of my slip off my shoulders and pulled the material down over my breasts. I moaned when his head dipped and his tongue lapped at the hard bud. But Styx did not stop—he kept tasting and kissing, moving to explore the rest of my swollen flesh.
“Styx,” I whispered and arched my back as he pulled the slip down the rest of my body until it was a discarded silk heap at the bottom of the bed. Styx’s mouth pressed against my foot then peppered a trail of kisses up my leg until it reached my core. Carefully parting my legs, he placed his wide shoulders between them and licked along my folds. My eyes closed as his fingers entered me and began to move. “Styx,” I whispered.
He moved faster, more determinedly, until his fingers rubbed the spot inside me that always made me fall apart. Once, twice, until my body clenched, my back arched, and a long moan sailed from my mouth as pleasure that only Styx could give me took me in its grip. Trust and love and safety. And light. Light so bright and pleasure so strong that I did not feel Styx move beside me until his lips met mine and his tongue pushed into my mouth. I lifted my chest until my skin met his. Warm against hot, hard against soft, and rough against smooth.
