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Crowded Places II
Staring back at the man whose eyes shone with something dark and hidden, lips firmed into the same line they always had, face so clear of any hint he’d been joking, Blue laughed rather harshly.
“I must really be screwed if that’s all you can think of,”
“I’m serious—think about it,” Standing slowly, paper forgotten by their feet, fingers twisting with hers, Blue somehow felt in some strange way that the idea wasn’t as crazy as she had first thought it. His eyes bore down on hers with the weight of deep pressure therapy. Lulled any worries. Embraced her where his arms had not. She stood with him. “It’s the only thing that makes sense,”
“You can’t fight crazy with crazy.”
“On the contrary,” Wrapping his arms around the woman’s shoulders, Vincent wished—however momentarily—that she’d had a shirt to wear. With her breasts all but falling from her bra and her heart pressing into his chest
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Blue had never expected that the people watching her as she walked down the aisle would be her husband’s housekeepers. She had always assumed Anya would be present, at the very least. Rather, hoped she would. Vincent had done rather well with only two days to make any arrangements. They’d chosen to marry at his penthouse, the very balcony he’d indulged Blue in the fake proposal. He’d thrown pots of white roses about—of which Blue had already planned where to place around the apartment when they were done. Strung fairy lights from the glass panelling overlooking the city. Cleared away the alfresco dining table and chairs. A wreath of tuberose and gardenia circled them where an arch couldn’t. They hadn’t found an officiant with so little in the way of notice. A priest stood waiting with Vincent, instead. She didn’t have the time to find a dress she’d wanted in her size. Though, she had always imagined some princess grown with gold
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"You know, taking me to all your business meetings when my mother might have filed a missing person report by now probably isn't the best idea," Blue avoided Vincent's eyes due to the sheer possibility her cheeks would be bright red—he had kept one hand on the steering wheel the whole drive back to the hotel and the other onher; one part of her body or the other. Of course, when he laced his fingers with hers, the touch had been rather tame. At odd moments on the highway where he didn't have to think too much at all, he'd hook a hand beneath her underwear and trace the length of her in the most painful way she could ever imagine. She'd wanted nothing more than to fuck his hand as though her life depended on it but lacked the sheer valor and instead settled on rocking her head back and pressing her lips together as she fisted the edge of her seat and held back a cry of frustration. "You're eighteen, Blue, I haven't stolen a child from their home—did yo
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Staring up at the man, she wondered if she should beg as she wanted to so dearly. Yet his eyes met her with the same softness they had standing at their do-it-yourself altar. Regardless of whether they married in haste out of pure necessity, Blue felt no guilt in taking for granted they’d married for love in those few moments. Convinced herself quietly that he cared for her as deeply as she for him. Sunk back into her own inventions where they ran away and started a family of their own. And though she felt a fond smile she hadn’t the mind to suppress would betray her fantastic delusions, Vincent merely straightened. Shrugged a throw over his shoulders. Pinned it beneath his arms. Hid the woman from the world as though they’d been watched and pressed into her somewhat gently. Traced the blossoming red marks that encircled her neck with his lips. Pushed his hips into hers rather crudely… Whether inspired by his ever-advancing orgasm or any genuine sentiment, he consid
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