“Who is it?” Linden asks from the other side of the door.
“Disney princess,” I answer, adding, “bride.”
I hear a chuckle. “All right baby blue. You better have your blindfold on. We can’t see each other, remember?”
“Hold on,” I tell him. I take note of where I’m standing, how far away the doorknob is and then slip the blindfold on, tying it behind my head. “I would much rather you tie this. Much sexier that way.”
My world goes dark. My hand goes on the knob. I slowly turn it and cautiously step inside the coatroom.
It smells of leather and potpourri and sage. That last scent is all Linden. Big, strong hands grip my arm and then pull me further in. Heavy breathing fills the room as the door clicks shut behind me.
“Please tell me you’re wearing your blindfold too,” I tell him, feeling so vulnerable and out of sorts in the blackness. “Or this is ridiculous.”
A hand goes on my shoulder, the other around my waist. It’s awkward, like he’s unsure, but confident at the same time.
“I can’t see shit,” he says. “And I turned out the lights just in case. Don’t worry, I’m taking your whole don’t see the bride before the wedding bullshit seriously.”
“It’s not bullshit,” I tell him and now his lips are on my neck and his hands skim my breasts, my hips, my thighs.
“I can already tell you look beautiful and this dress is amazing,” he says, voice rough and low in the blackness.
I grin. I had my wedding dress custom-made actually: halter neck, fitted through the hips and then flaring out mermaid style. It’s white but the ends are hot pink, ombre, like it’s been dipped in color. I’ll be the first to admit I was totally inspired by Gwen Stefani’s wedding gown way back when.
“You’ll see it soon enough,” I promise him. “Now why are we meeting like this again?”
“Because I can’t go twenty-fours without being inside you,” he murmurs, his mouth finding my neck and sucking on my sweet spot.
I moan slightly, succumbing to his lips and tongue. “Right. I thought maybe you were nervous and needed to be reminded of what you were getting married to.”
“That too,” he says bringing his mouth up to mine. “That too.” He kisses me, so open, warm, and strong. His kisses claim me, call me as his, and though I feel I’ve always been his, in heart and soul, in the next hour I’ll be his legally, as his married wife.
Wife. Husband. After the pact, after so many years, it’s finally happening. I still can’t believe it and some ways I don’t want to believe it. I like waking up each morning in his arms and thinking I’m in a dream. Now I’m going to be married in one. I’m one lucky bitch.
As usual, his kisses leave me yearning for more. He holds me by the waist and turns me around, so good at physically moving my body with such ease, such raw masculinity. My hands fly forward, grabbing onto the pole where all the coats are hanging. It reminds me of the times we had sex in the storeroom of my old shop. Now that the Fog & Cloth is completely online, I no longer have the physical store but the good news is that business is up and my work hours are down. There’s still a learning curve in the dot-com world, but I’m finding my niche in the industry and using it to my advantage.
My thing now? Everything skulls. Rubber boots with skulls, scarves with skulls, skirts with skulls, hats with skulls, lamps with skulls, frying pans in the shape of skulls. Sometimes I think I should change my store name to the Fog & Skull but it hasn’t come to that yet. We’ll see.
Linden groans in hunger and his reaches down, his hands traveling up my legs, hiking my dress as he goes. They pause at the garter belt around one thigh.
“That’s the something blue,” I explain to him as he snaps the lacy fabric against my thigh. “Your mother gave it to me, which is kind of weird. But she said it’s in your tartan from Deeside or whatever. Red and blue.”
“Aye,” he says, sounding extra Scottish. “That fucking turns me on.”
“That your mother gave it to me?”
“Don’t mention my mum for the next while,” he warns. “I mean the tartan. The fact that you’re wearing it means a lot to me. I know our name is spelled without the A nowadays, but we’re still the MacGregors.”
My heart melts a bit. “You mean a lot to me. And I’ll take any name you choose.”
I can feel his hot breath on my neck. “Are we seriously going to get emotional here in the closet or are we going to fuck?”
“Man, you’re pushy,” I tell him.