“Let me help you in the shower,” she said, reaching in between the folds of his robe and finding his hard cock. “You should be very, very clean for this.”
John was more than happy to be led by the dumb handle into the bathroom, and when they emerged forty-five minutes later, he was more relaxed—and clean as a motherfucking whistle.#p#分页标题#e#
“Yes, the tux,” his female said as he stood in front of their closet, staring at the stuff hanging from the rods. “No question.”
Nodding, he went for the starched white shirt, popping it off its hanger and pulling it onto his shoulders. Xhex had to do up the buttons—for some reason his hands were jumping all around now like he was nervous. He got the slacks on just fine, though—not the suspenders, however. She had to take care of them. And forget about the cummerbund and the bow tie—he just stood there like a dairy cow as she made quick work of it all.
The nice thing was that he got to stare at her.
“Now the jacket.” She held the thing out for him like she was the man, guiding the fine wool into place on his back, then turning him around and smoothing the lapels. “Damn…”
What? he signed.
Her stare was gleaming as she pulled a head-to-toe on him. “You make that look hot as hell.”
John puffed his pecs, going all robin-breasted. Hard not to when your female was eating you up with her eyes like that.
And you’re still naked. He smiled. Your birthday suit is my favorite.
Except she wasn’t completely unadorned. Reaching out, he touched the necklace he’d given to her, the one with the big square-cut diamond in the center.
Xhex wasn’t normally down for the sap, but she covered his hand with hers and brought his palm to her mouth. Kissing it, she murmured, “I know. I love you, too. Forever.”
He leaned into her and brushed his lips against hers.
A couple minutes later they headed out, with her dressed in slacks and a black silk shirt. Which, next to the aforementioned birthday suit, was a pretty fine little outfit. Especially because for once, she’d put her feet into a spectacular pair of fuck-me pumps.
Something he planned to follow through on whenever they could catch a minute alone.
Other people were coming out of bedroom doors: Blay and Qhuinn, also in suits. Z and Bella, with little Nalla dressed in yet another pink confection of silk and tulle … which made her pretty much the most adorable thing he’d seen.
And he didn’t even like kids.
As the group walked down the hall of statues and hit the stairs, there wasn’t a lot of talking. Hadn’t been since Rehv had put that proclamation on the dining room table. Wasn’t going to be for a while.
This was going to help, however.
Down below in the foyer, still more from the household had gathered, but not Wrath or Beth yet, and John joined the crowd—which again was very quiet. Hell, even Rhage put the kibosh on his usual antics—although with that mouthy fallen angel yet to show—
“What the fuck is that?”
At the sound of V’s voice, John turned with the rest of them … and when he saw what was up at the head of the grand staircase, he blinked once. Twice. Twelve times.
Lassiter was standing at the top of the carpeted steps, his blond-and-black hair styled in a pompadour, a heavy Bible under his armpit, piercings catching the light …
But none of that was the real shocker.
The fallen angel was dressed in a sparkling white Elvis costume. Complete with bell-bottoms, balloon sleeves, and lapels big enough to tent up the backyard. Oh, and rainbow wings that revealed themselves as he held his arms out, preacher style.
“Time to get the party started,” he said as he jogged down, sequins winking and flashing. “And where the hell’s my pulpit?”
V coughed out the smoke he’d just inhaled. “She’s having you do the service?”
The angel popped his already mile-high collar. “She said she wanted the holiest thing in the house to do it.”
“She got holey, all right,” somebody muttered.
“Is that Butch’s Bible?” V asked.
The angel flashed the goods. “Yup. And his BoC, he called it? I also got a sermon I did myself.”
“Saints preserve us,” came from the opposite side of the crowd.
“Wait, wait, wait.” V waved his hand-rolled around. “I’m the son of a deity and she picked you?”
“You can call me Pastor—and before Mr. Sox Fan gets his panties in a wad, I want everyone to know I’m legit. I went online, took a minister’s course in under an hour, and I’m ordained, baby.”
Rhage raised his hand. “Pastor Ass-hat, I have a question.”
“Yes, my son, you are going to hell.” Lassiter made the sign of the cross and then looked around. “So where’s our bride? The groom? I’m ready to marry somebody.”