Torn (Connections #2)

Torn (Connections #2) Page 43

She looks at me for the longest time before speaking. “Will you marry me today? Make this my happiest day of the year instead of my saddest day of the year?”

Like she really has to ask. I can’t even answer her right away because I’m so full of emotion I have to compose myself before saying, “Dahlia, I would have married you at the campus bar that night if you would have asked. You’re the only one I have ever really loved; the only one I will ever love. You, beautiful girl, are every breath I take. So of course I’ll marry you today.”

In all honesty there is nothing more I want to do. I’m not the kind of guy to cry but I swear I feel tears in my eyes when I look at the glow on her face. All I wanted to do was make her happy today and all she needs to be happy is for me to marry her—of course I can do that.

She closes her eyes for a moment and when she reopens them she says, “So Vegas it is.”

My heart thuds in my chest as I fall to my back and pull her on top of me. “No, I’m done with Vegas. We’re getting married nearby and I am taking care of it all.”

With her palms flat on my chest, she lifts herself up. She’s biting her lip and has a contemplative look on her face.

“What?”

She raises an eyebrow and a small giggle of disbelief escapes her mouth. “You’re going to take care of everything?”

I prop myself up on my elbows and meet her gaze. “That’s what I said.”

“Okay, then.” She grins at me and it’s decided—today is finally the day and it’s mine to plan.

Rolling on top of her so our bodies are perfectly aligned, I lean down to taste her skin. When she rocks her h*ps into mine I let out a low groan. She feels so good and my urge to be inside her becomes a frenzied need. I lock my lips around her earlobe and whisper, “You can see how long it takes me now, if you want.”

She combs her hands in my hair and tugs at my scalp in that way that drives me crazy. When she runs her nose up my neck so I can feel her warm breath against my skin, her lips find mine and she murmurs, “Yes, I want.”

It’s a little while later and I head downstairs to plan the day—our wedding day. I promise myself that this time we will be married by the end of the day. The wedding may not be traditional in every sense of the word, but I want to make sure we hit the most important parts—the ceremony and of course an unbelievable wedding night. With that in mind, I quickly call my sister and tell her about the wedding. She says she’ll be right over but I know if I want something done a certain way I have to stress it over and over, so I repeat myself, “Bell, remember these two words—sunset and simple.” But I know she’s not even listening as she hangs up the phone.

I’m surprised when she gets here and has already secured the location. And all of her ideas are perfect—except one. As she leaves, I beg her to skip the monkey suit, but she only rolls her eyes and says, “Be at Grandpa’s store at noon. Xander will meet you there.”

As she’s leaving, she yells over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to tell Dahlia to meet me at Avery’s at one!” I actually haven’t been to Grandpa’s store since his death. About a year before he died, he had asked all three of us if we were interested in taking over the store, but we were young and that responsibility seemed too daunting so we all declined. Now someone else owns it.

Feeling good about Bell’s involvement I decide to search for my girl to reassure her that it’s all under control. She doesn’t have to worry about a thing. When I find her ending a call with Aerie, I tell her only a handful of minor wedding details. I want the location to be a surprise. When she looks at me skeptically, I feign offense and then promptly send her off to do whatever it is a woman has to do before getting married. I also have things to do myself. First on my list—write my vows; second—select the most perfect song to dance to; and finally—come up with a plan to make tonight unlike any other night.

My monkey suit shoes are in the closet and as I look at the laces I know I will be switching them out for my Adidas. Bell’s going to kill me, but those shiny shoes are just not for me. Dahlia’s still out and I’m making sure I have everything ready. I jump in the shower and start singing “You Make Loving Fun” because for some reason thinking about last night makes me think about that song. Everything about her amazes me and the simple fact that we can go out and have a great time together no matter what we do, just makes me appreciate her even more.

As I’m shaving, I’m humming and singing along. When I look up I see her in the mirror. She’s leaning up against the doorframe with the biggest smile on her face. Seeing her carefree and happy like that makes it hard for me to see straight. Twisting around to catch an even better glimpse, she’s already walking my way. I meet her in the middle because I can’t wait to get my arms around her and feel her body against mine. She slings her arms over my shoulders and I lace mine around her waist. When she runs her fingers through my wet hair, I groan and cup her backside. She rests her head in the crook of my neck and I pull her into me as close as I can and fight back the urge to devour her.

Even our bodies fit together. It’s perfection. We’re two people meant to be together.

As she nips at the skin on my neck, my resolve to wait to have her is beginning to wane. I had decided earlier that we should not have sex again before tonight. I’ve booked a room at the Beverly Wilshire and Bell is going to make sure it’s filled with everything to make the night special—flowers, champagne, my guitar, and “a few other things,” she said. I rolled my eyes at the “a few other things” comment, but thanked her anyway.

Her soft lips touch my shoulder and I breathe her in. She slides her fingers down my bare chest to my towel and I squeeze her tight to me. She tugs at the knot and unfastens it, letting it fall to the ground. When she purrs, “You didn’t wait for me to take a shower,” a raw heat starts to consume me.

I lean back and try to control the fire raging through my body. “That’s because I knew I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself if I did that.”

She walks me backward until I’m leaning against the counter. When she reaches down her fingers quickly wrap around me and it feels so good. Of course, I was already hard before she even touched me; I was hard the minute I saw her.

“Why would you have to restrain yourself?” she asks while stroking me.

Fighting the urge to rip her clothes off I manage to say through gritted teeth, “Because I thought we should wait until after we’re married to have sex.”

A deep throaty laugh escapes her lips as her thumb lightly circles my tip and I feel myself swell even more inside her hand. At this point there’s no going back.

“Okay, that’s sweet and I like traditions, but that tradition only applies if the two people have never had sex.”

I grip the counter with one hand and her with the other. She continues to stroke me and I throw my head back. “It’s not tradition,” I manage to say. “It’s one of my rules.”

She laughs again. “Okay, I don’t get it, but since I always love your rules, I’ll be happy to follow your lead.” Then she twists her palm over the head of my c**k in the way she knows I like. “So I can’t do this?”

My voice comes out low and strained as I answer, “No, I mean yes—you can do that.”

When she drops to her knees and wraps her mouth around me, she sucks so hard, I can no longer control myself. I close my eyes and just let go. Before I know it, I’m thrusting my hips, clutching her hair with my hands, deciding technically this isn’t sex.

For all the complaining I’ve done about my sister’s party planning in the past, I take it all back today. She really outdid herself. She managed to secure the ideal location compliments of pulling the “my grandfather was a major benefactor” card, she arranged limo transportation compliments of an old boyfriend, and she even had Garrett become ordained so that he could marry us.

Glancing out the window, I see dark clouds are rolling in and I’m hoping it doesn’t rain. Dahlia and I are riding together, but I want the location to be a surprise so I have her blindfolded. Getting it on took a little bit of coercing. Of course, she had some smart-ass comments to make about not knowing how kinky I was and then asking what I planned on doing to her once I got the blindfold on—I had all kinds of ideas of what I could do to her, but it was neither the time nor the place.

Although she made fun of me for traditions, she wanted to keep one herself—she didn’t want me to see her in her wedding dress until the actual ceremony. So she’s wearing the dress Aerie got her the day we were originally going to elope to Vegas. She’ll change at the location of the ceremony. And even though I know this isn’t her wedding dress, I can’t take my eyes off her. She looks so beautiful. But in truth, as gorgeous as she looks right now, I just know that when I see her walking down the aisle, this moment won’t compare.

Glancing at her, I notice something on her leg. I run my hand up between her legs, and, even blindfolded, she’s a fast catch. She has my hand in hers in a flash. “No, no. You don’t get to see that until after we’re married.”

“Dahlia, I can see it now. I’m not the one with a blindfold on, remember?”

“Oh, I remember. You might be able to see, but no touching.”

I creep my fingers back up her leg and she slaps my hand. “No, not now. Remember your rules. I don’t want to tempt you into something, so no touching, got it?”

“I got it, beautiful,” I say and lean over to kiss her, beyond happy that she’s mine. Her lips, her legs, her body, her humor, her everything—she’s all mine. “Whatever you say.”

Everyone else went ahead of us, but I had a stop I wanted to make first. When the limo comes to a halt, I take her hand and help her out of the car. As I guide her up and we step onto the wooden platform, I already feel the magic of this location. I completely understand why as a child, she’d have asked her parents for this as a present. I was uncertain if I should bring her here or not. I didn’t want to make her sad by bringing back memories of her parents, but I wanted them to be a part of our special day.

I brace her hands on one of the poles and signal to the operator. When it starts to move, I remove her blindfold. I’m standing right in front of her, but her face is unreadable.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She lifts her head, staring into my eyes. “I’m more than okay.”

And I know it’s true. Her eyes dart around, taking in her surroundings, and I get to see this magical fantasy world come to life through her eyes. As the organ music begins and the merry-go-round turns, the prancing wooden horses move up and down and even I feel like they are inviting us to join them.

“May I?” I ask softly as my hands grip her waist and lift her to sit sideways on the colorful moving horse.

She traces her fingertips over my cheek and then motions for me to join her. I quickly hop on behind her and reach around her to hold onto her hands on the pole. The mirror plates reflect both of our smiling faces and allow me a glimpse of the twelve-year-old girl who requested this birthday present. We ride in a circle over and over, and occasionally I kiss her neck or press my cheek to hers and every once in a while she leans back into me or rests her head on my shoulder.

As the ride ends, the horses and music stop. But I know the enchantment in our life together never will.

I hop off and see that her eyes are squeezed closed. When she opens them, her smile brightens. She mouths, “Thank you.” Then she wraps her arms around my neck and leans into me, softly and tenderly kissing me.

I want to give her a present before we go. Leaning back, I open my jacket and reach inside for the black velvet pouch. “Give me your wrist.” When she does I take out the stack of gold and silver bracelets and pull them over her hand to her wrist. She looks at me questioningly. “These were the bracelets Janis Joplin wore at Woodstock. My grandfather was her drummer and she overhead a conversation he was having with someone that his wife was so mad at him because it was their anniversary and he wasn’t home. That night Janis sent my grandfather a letter with this pouch telling him these bracelets were made of love from all around the world and she was sure if he gifted my grandmother with them she’d forgive him.