Authors: Chanse Lowell
“We have exchanged them back and forth, sometimes losing some of ourselves, sometimes gaining more, but always we find solace.” He dumped her hand over and let the remaining water fall away.
Her eyes followed his hand as he drifted it up her inner arm.
“Leo was your health. Your cousin took care of your physical needs.” He swallowed. “Pauline forced me to improve in matters of temperance. She showed me my cravings do not own me or make me the person I am. They are a part of me I can control and enjoy.”
“If
she
did that for you, then what could I have possibly done?”
“Shhh . . . I’m getting there.”
Her right shoulder dropped, and she scowled.
He brought his wet, right index finger up and ran it across her bottom lip. “You have brought me peace through your purity.”
“And who is the angel, then?”
“My mother. For without her, I would have never known why I was despised, why I even exist—and now we both have a parent to love and include in our life. She’s there to watch over us, but never intrude.”
Right as he said these words, a priest was approaching them, and the very person he’d just spoken of was trailing behind him.
“She’s to witness this most treasured event,” he said.
He pulled a sixpence out of his pocket, tucked it in Cherry girl’s shoe without an explanation and winked at her.
When he straightened to his full height, she kissed him and shook her head like he was a silly, lovesick boy.
As Genevieve and the priest continued to near them—Leo and Elizabeth, along with Pauline and Samuel, emerged from under the tunnel.
“We are missing Tyrone, though,” Cherry said.
“He has another purpose tonight, and you do not get to question this time. I promise, it is for a good reason.” He smiled at her.
She smiled back, and under the haze of a cloudy but spectacular night, they were married like two lovers ought to be—in a blanket of peace and surrounded by a few cherished friends and family.
* * *
Clarissa boarded the ship with him directly behind her, carrying her bag.
She stopped once she was out of the way of the other few passengers boarding behind them.
“William, why did you put a sixpence in my shoe?” She settled up against the railing.
“I can answer that,” Tyrone said, walking up the bridge to the ship.
“Are you joining us?” she asked Tyrone.
“No—only passing through for a few minutes to wish you both well.” He handed a parcel to William.
“So? Why the money under my foot while I was being wed? Is it that old saying, ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue—and a lucky sixpence in your shoe?’” Her eyes narrowed at Tyrone.
“Yes.” Tyrone smirked and chuckled. “I’m a sap.” He looked up at the sky for a moment. “I told him I would not do this tradition for him if he did not do that one. I believe in the power of coins.” He pulled a sixpence out of his pocket. “It’s a pair. They always brought me luck, and my dad told me mere moments ago as he drove with me here that one had belonged to him and one to Genevieve—William’s mother. They had promised to marry each other and exchanged coins rather than rings. At the time, it was all they could afford.” His voice got choked up at the end.
“What a lovely story. Thank you for sharing it.” She reached out and gripped his wrist.
Tyrone smiled. “The coin is my gift to you—a sign of my goodwill. It’s a lucky charm to symbolize how life will bring you both wealth and happiness by surrounding yourself in things you enjoy. Including lacy lady’s garments.” He bit his bottom lip and almost wore an expression of gloating.
“Yes, I’ve told him,” William explained to her. “He has done this for me tonight, and he has connections.” William tried to shoo him off, flapping his wrist, but Tyrone stood stock still, staring at her.
“Why couldn’t you have had a tempting sister?” Tyrone’s smile spread wider.
“Oh good Lord—what a burden that would’ve been.” She laughed. “William can barely handle me half the time. Can you imagine if I’d had a sibling to burden him? He would’ve ran screaming all the way to France.”
William clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I’m hardly that squeamish and girlie.”
“You, sir, are a lucky bastard, and that’s all I shall say. Good night to you both.” Tyrone hugged her and then departed.
William tossed the box in his hands up in the air for a moment, then caught it—grinning all the while.
They were shown to their estate room and once the door was closed and they were alone, he passed her the box. “Open it.”
She gave him a reprimanding look, took it from him and sat on the edge of the bed.
He took a spot on the blue settee in the corner.
She opened it, and a V formed above the bridge of her nose. “Three? Why are there three?”
She pulled out the three slippers and lined them up on the bed.
“I left one for Tyrone. He’s to use the other when he gets married and the other set of ballet slippers are for you. No proper actress and dancer can go about in faulty footwear.”
“I’m still at a loss for the third. What am I to do with it?”
He grinned. “I am to drink champagne out of it.” He motioned to the bottle sitting in ice on top of the side table a few feet away from him.
She lifted out the wrapped articles beneath the shoes.
One by one she emancipated the beaded reticule, the melon scarf they’d played with many times and a new set of matching bra and panties.
“When I get back from our honeymoon, I am attending women’s rallies religiously. I will tell them you support women’s votes,” she said, laughing as she tossed him one of the ballet slippers.
“You can tell them what you like, but only after I’ve thoroughly ravaged you and fucked you raw.” He got up, grabbed the champagne bottle and opened it. Once it was ready, he prowled after her, stopping right before her, nestling his legs between hers.
“Undo my trousers.” He jutted his hips forward so his thickening cock was before her face.
Her fingers were trembling a little as she released him. “No union suit?”
“I went without. I saw no need.”
“I wore
my
undergarments,” she said, gawking.
“That is fine. Yours are pretty, and I made them for you for this particular occasion, but I will tell you this now—you will go without on this trip unless I tell you otherwise.”
She blinked, nodded and continued to push his trousers down to his thighs.
“Hand me your reticule,” he said, motioning for it.
“What for?” Her jaw flexed.
“Surely you didn’t think I’d be drinking alone, did you?” He fingered the long strand of pearls she wore that had once been her mothers.
She grabbed his hand. “My something borrowed.” She swallowed hard. “I never told you how I came in possession of those pink pearls and these.” She blinked, lowered her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “The day my parents died in that tenement disaster—I had been playing dress-up with my sister. She was allowed to wear Mother’s shoes, and I wore her costume jewelry. Mother bade me not to touch her pearls because they were real—passed down from her mother. I snuck and put them in my dress, tucked against my sash. It was all I had left when they were gone.” She sniffed. “So, even though you broke the pink strand that day, you saved me from selling something I cherish more in this world than almost anything.”
He sucked in a breath. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“You’re welcome.” She released his hand, and he pulled the pearl necklace off her and set it aside.
“Now, the objects in the bag.” He pointed with his chin at the reticule.
She blinked in rapid succession and stopped breathing. “You’re going to drink champagne out of my new bag along with the slipper and ruin it?”
Her eyes lingered over the white satin purse with the fine draw strings and tassels.
“Not champagne, no—and
you’ll
be drinking it.” He smirked.
Her shoulders dropped. “Riddles hardly become you. Tell me what you’re planning.”
“Give me the slipper and the reticule, and I will show you.” He extended his palm.
She handed him the slipper first. He filled it with the champagne, drank it with five large gulps and once it was swallowed down, he set the shoe and bottle aside.
“Now, the purse,” he said, eyeing her.
She gave him another questioning look and did as he requested.
“You’re to touch me—elongate my shaft and milk my come out of me,” he said, holding the reticule aloft and fully open to catch what she released from his cock.
She bit her lower lip, her eyes looked unfocused and then she huffed. “Will, I don’t think—”
“Good. I don’t want you to. Yank it, love—hard.” He shoved his dick closer to her mouth. “Now.”
“All right, but I . . .” She trailed off, wrapped her hands around his length and pumped him.
He leaned over, braced his hands on either side of her thighs on the bed with the reticule tucked under one of his palms. His face was in front of hers. “Do you like the way that feels? The dirty way I glide in your hands, Cherry girl?”
“Yes.” Her breath hitched.
“What do you like about it?” He nipped at her lower lip.
She made this soft plaintive moan that made his stones tighten.
“It makes me wet,” she said, her voice going soft and airy. “And very trembly about the tummy and knees.”
“Wet enough you need new knickers or panties? Wet enough you seep through onto your garters? Hmm . . . When you use the washroom, does it get on your hands?”
“God, William.” She groaned, and her eyes slid up into her head.
“Wet enough you are close to releasing your own orgasm without my ever touching you?”
“I . . . How would I . . .”
“You would think about how much I want you, and how I die to have you—your puss would clench tight and ripple within you, awakening your womb, preparing it for my come.” He ran his nose alongside hers. His breath pelted her lips.
She parted hers in response, barely releasing any breath at all.
“Breathe, little girl, or you’ll pass out, and I can’t have that. Not on my wedding night—the night you’ll toast to me by drinking my come out of your reticule.” He thrust his cock more vigorously into her hands. “Tighter.”
Her hands clamped down.
“Faster.” His breathing went ragged.
She nodded and upped her speed.
“Ready? Ready to be wet with me and come at the same time?” His eyelids went heavy.
“But I . . .”
He moved back to standing upright, holding the bag open at his tip, ready to spurt inside it in dirty, hot waves of come.
“You have permission to touch yourself with one hand. That’s all I’ll give you right now. But I want to see you needy for me, fingers wet with what I’ve already provided for you between your sensual thighs.”
She fought off a visible shiver, rummaged under her skirts with her right hand and delved inside her tiny panties he had her wear for their wedding.
“Let me see,” he said, still having her playact sex with her hand on his cock.
She pulled her hand back out, produced her shiny, very wet fingers.
He bent his head down, licked and sucked until they were clean.
She moaned, bent her head back and then he was choking on a hoarse cry as his come was spurting into her bag.
“Oh God—that was . . . Sweet Jesus, Clary, I love you!” he whimpered, his voice high pitched.
She kept tugging at his foreskin until he yanked his hips back.
Before his vision cleared, she tipped the bag up and was gulping the contents down.
“My God in Heaven,” he said, leaning his wobbling legs into the bed and gripping her shoulders for support.
When she had drunk it all, she licked her lips, set the bag aside and wiped the back of her mouth with the panties he’d gifted her with.
“Fuck—that was more erotic than I could have imagined.” He slipped down to his knees, pulled her shoes off and then put the slippers on her.
“Am I to dance for you now?”
“Yes, on my cock. In a few moments. I’ll strip you of your clothing, you sing to me and I’ll be stone hard again in no time.”
She ran her fingers back and forth over his brow and into his hair.
“So romantic, sir.” She giggled as he stood up and pushed his trousers the rest of the way off.
“If romance means you drinking my come and me wanting you more than ever as my lovely, seductive wife, then yes—this night is the epitome of romance.”
When she was down to nothing but her bra and slippers, he draped her over the bed, blindfolded her with the scarf and grabbed an ice cube.
“Now the romance really begins,” he said, dripping it over her right breast.
She gasped. “Yes, sir. It begins, because this cherry girl is ripe and yours.”