Reckless Abandon(103)
Long blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, and a mouth so lush and plump, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.
I was Odysseus and she my siren, calling me in from the sea.
The light from the two-story glass windows poured in and cast a glow upon her as she swayed to the music. Her eyes were closed and as much as I wanted to see the soul behind them, I begged her with my breath not to. I knew when she opened them she’d see. She would see me. And she did.
The most mesmerizing pair of brown eyes looked back at me and I knew they would be able to look right through me and down deep into my dark soul.
She looked at the worst part of me and healed it. She saved me and I will spend the rest of my life proving to her I was worth saving.
“What are you thinking about?” Emma whispers into my ear, her hair blowing in the warm Mediterranean breeze. She looks exquisite in her white gown. Just over an hour ago, she walked toward me on the arm of her father. The sight of her brought me to tears.
Yes, I am man enough to admit I cried at the site of my bride walking down the aisle in a pair of white Sperry Top-Siders. Yes, my bride is wearing boat shoes and I wouldn’t have it any other way. While everyone was looking at her, as they should be, she was staring at me. With each step she took, she held my soul with every ounce of her being. And I gave it up freely.
Today she is mine. And I am hers.
It also helps that my wife looks gorgeous and way too sexy to be in the presence of God. She chose a form-fitting lace gown that hugs her gorgeous ass and narrows at her waist, the one I love to grab when she’s on top of me, riding me, loving me. I can’t wait to peel that dress off her tonight. Her supple breasts are about to pour out the top and it’s killing me not to bite down on them.
Yes, I am still a man. I can say those things about my wife.
My wife. Jesus Christ, she’s really mine. And she married me without the Asher name. She married me for me.
And I am so goddamn in love I’d die if she ever left me.
She’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer. I could go for sweet and I could go for lewd. Instead I’ll go for a kiss. Leaning down, I tug a hair behind her ear, wrap my hand around her jaw and kiss her, hard.
Emma responds easily, wrapping her lips around mine and lets her tongue glide across mine, caressing, loving, tempting—
Clink, Clink, Clink, Clink
Our moment is disrupted by the clanging of spoons on glasses as is customary at weddings when the bride and groom kiss. Emma laughs and buries her head into my chest. In return, I wrap my arm around her and hold her into me, laughing myself at the joy of the moment.
“Get a room!” Leah chants from the other side of the room, her swollen belly keeping her from drinking the limoncello.
“Oh, hush, you!” Pam play slaps her daughter.
“You can’t hit a pregnant woman!” Leah chides and rubs her arm as if she was just beaten. She turns to Adam for comfort. “Honey, tell her she has to be nice to me. I’m carrying her grandchild.”
Adam just shakes his head. “I won’t let anyone be anything but perfect towards you, baby. I got you.” He kisses his wife and rubs her stomach. They’re expecting a little boy in a few months. His name will be Matthew. No one was surprised to hear that.
Looking around the room, I feel at peace. The open-air restaurant overlooks the Mediterranean Sea, overlooks the very spot where Emma nearly drowned and was recused by Devon. If it weren’t for her inability to trust strangers with her belongings I never would have met her. She is still crazy about her belongings. She bought a white fanny pack to go with her wedding dress. Leah wouldn’t allow it.
Emma leans her head into my side and her nose nuzzles the skin of my neck. I lean down into her. “Are you sniffing me?”
“Yes.” She says, her lips skimming my ear. “You smell of sea and soap. It brings back beautiful memories.”
When I proposed to Emma, I knew there was only one place in the world we would be married: on the island of Capri. As I don’t have any family and no one other than Devon I’d care to invite, Emma and I opted to keep it small. So we flew eight of our closest friends and family to Italy to share this moment with us.
Seated at a rectangular table are Emma’s parents, her grandmother, Leah and Adam and Devon. Lisa couldn’t leave the kids but Crystal and Mattie are here. They offered to pay their own way but I wouldn’t allow it. They have both been incredible friends to Emma, especially during our weeks apart.
On the table in front of each guest is a vase of yellow roses with red tips, the same ones I gave her time and time again portraying one true meaning: Falling in love.
And I fall, every day, further and further every day.
A warm, smooth hand, tugs at mine. I look over at Emma who is pulling me toward the veranda. I follow her, away from our guests to a secluded spot, feeling as if the two of us are the only people on earth.
She is smiling at me, looking like the cat that ate the canary. I bow my head and squint at her, wondering what my little minx is up to.
“I have a secret to tell you.” Her brow rises up in a dare.
“What kind of secret?” I ask, tempting her to tell me.
Her teeth skim her lip and I swear if we didn’t have another hour left of this dinner I’d throw her over my shoulder and carry her up to our room.
“You have to promise you won’t tell a soul. At least not for another four weeks.” The full pout of her lips spread. She is obviously quote excited about her secret.