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“That was exhausting. Let’s never do that again,” Jess said flatly as he carried Rory over the threshold of the honeymoon suite at the Dragonfly.
Rory grinned, arms looped around his neck. “It could have been worse. Mom was planning to make us all do the Hustle and then the hora and then a conga line.”
“The hora? We’re not Jewish.”
“You really think a little thing like that would stop her from group dance domination?”
He sighed and set her down on the bed. The room was dim with low lamplight and candles, with tiger lilies in clear vases on every surface. She liked the ambiance, and made a note to thank her mother in the morning. “So what did?”
“Luke.”
“Ever the voice of reason in all our lives,” he drawled, glancing her over. “You look good.”
Smiling, Rory toed off her blue satin heels and smoothed her hands over her dress. “This old thing?”
“A little on the white side, don’t you think?” he teased, fingers going to his shirt buttons. He lost his tie and jacket hours ago, much to Emily’s dismay. But then Richard and Luke set theirs aside too, and her grandmother gave up on them all and had another vodka tonic (or three).
She looked down over the cream-colored silk sheath. “Emily insisted. I would have gone scarlet, but it doesn’t do much for my complexion.”
He lay his shirt over the desk chair, kicking off his shoes. “Blue, maybe. Always liked you in blue.”
“You sentimental sap,” she teased, unpinning her hair. Her curls fell loose over her shoulders. He moved towards her on the bed; she could feel his gaze on every move. All the muscles in her body ached from dancing and standing and hours of smiling without end, but it was worth it. “Who’d have thunk I’d ball and chain you someday?”
“I did,” he said in that intense sincere way he had sometimes, his heart in his eyes and the shape of his hands as he reached for her.
She reclined back on her elbows as he kissed her, hot and slow. His hands drew smooth lines across her dress as his mouth covered hers over and over, tongue slick across her bottom lip. Her toes curled into the bedcovers. The room smelled sweetly of spring and linen.
He gathered the skirt of her dress in his fingers, sliding it up over her thighs. “Anything new I should know about?” he murmured against her mouth.
“What, since two days ago? Well, I finally got that Jane Austen tattoo I’ve been longing for,” she teased, breath catching in her throat. She shifted her hips up as the dress pooled at her waist. “You?”
He sat back, only in his undershirt and boxers. “Oh, you know, nipple piercings, shaved all my body hair.”
“That’s festive,” she said, sitting up so he could slip the rest of her dress over her head. The spring air was cool on her bare skin as she sat only in her lacy underwear.
“I want to keep things fun for you.”
“Because you being boring has always been a problem for us,” she deadpanned as his hands curled at her waist.
He kissed along the line of her throat and down her chest, pressing her down into the bed. His fingers played at the waist of her panties and slid under to warm skin. She hitched a thigh across his hip, arching into his touch and humming to herself. His mouth damped the lace of her bra, teeth scraping lightly as fingers stroked her gently and surely into slick wetness.
In bed with him, in the quiet of their Brooklyn second floor walk-up or in Luke’s old apartment above the diner (they stayed there when they visited because her old room was now a nursery, and besides, Luke’s face still twitched at the thought of Rory being anything but totally virginal, engagement and marriage to his own nephew be damned), was when she kept her words in her throat and was all sounds and breaths. Her heart beat hard against her chest, the breaths caught in her lungs. All the blood rushed to her face, skin flushing.
He pressed a lean thumb to her clit and bit the curve of her breast gently. She could feel him hard against her thigh. “We’ve been incredibly traditional about this whole thing, you know,” he murmured at her clavicle.
Her fingers raked through his hair. He’d gotten it cut just for this, with no one even asking. They really were growing up. “What are you talking about?”
“Staying apart the night before the wedding, wearing white, throwing the bouquet, me in a suit--it’s very by-the-book.”
“Are you suggesting we do this upside-down or against the window?” she asked between gasps, heat curling in her middle.
“No, I like it this way,” he replied, adding a third finger and rubbing gently as his thumb fluttered at her clit. His voice was oddly soft, and quiet.
Tugging at his hair, she pulled him up to kiss him hard. “Sentimentality is really attractive on you,” she bit into his mouth.
He surged forward, his hand tearing at her underwear. “It’s the flowers, that’s all,” he muttered against her lips. Her underwear gave with a delicate sound and she tugged at his boxers with her feet and toes, laughing into his mouth.
“You cried though, you did. During the vows, I saw you,” she teased through a moan as their hips lay flush to each other.
He stretched her arms over her head, pinning her wrists with one hand. “I did not.”
Sighing as he slipped into her, she arched off the bed. His free hand lay flat on her stomach. “Apparently you always cry at weddings. Mom and Luke’s--”
“All allergies.”
“And your mom’s?”
He pressed his thumb to her clit and she moaned his name, throwing her head to the side. Curls stuck to the line of her throat. “Don’t make me shut you up,” he murmured against her throat, lips grazing the line of her jugular.
She just hummed low in her throat and tilted her head towards his. His tongue in her mouth, he let her wrists go to catch just one hand in his. Their wedding bands clinked together near her ear. She curled her free hand around the nape of his neck, twisting in the short hairs there. He whispered her name against her lips, hoarse and low; though familiar, the sound still sent shivers down her spine. Shutting her eyes, she lost herself in the sound of his breathing and the feel of his body on hers, better than all the words in all the books she’d ever read
After, they lay on top of the sheets, letting the breeze cool the sweat from their skin. She tucked her cheek to his shoulder as his hand slipped up and down the line of her spine, fingering her loose curls. Their left hands, still joined, rested on his hip.
“It was a nice wedding,” he said after a while, voice still catching in his throat.
She grinned up at him. “Sap.”
“Shut up.”
Laughing, she kissed him lightly. “You were a real sport, with the ceremony and the reception and the dancing and dealing with my grandmother and everything. Thank you.”
“Yeah, well. You’re the only one I’d do any of this for,” he said darkly.
She straddled his hips and leaned over him, smoothing a hand through his hair. Her curls fell around them like a dark curtain. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Dodger.”
*