Her Inconvenient Groom by Niomie Roland

Chapter 39

 

Amazing how little it takes to be happy, Chantelle thought as she hugged Dustin’s cotton shirt more tightly around herself. When they’d left that morning she had teased him about being paranoid enough to pack an extra shirt, but he’d laughed it off, saying he tended to sweat a lot during physical exercise, so he didn’t want to be wet and gross on the way back.

As a bonus, the fact that they only possessed one dry shirt between them meant that Dustin was enticingly bare-chested. She didn’t mind admitting that she was ogling him just a tiny bit.

She sat on the bed and watched as Dustin rummaged through his own backpack, which was way heavier than hers, and withdrew a few surprises. There was a bottle of red wine—which he deftly uncorked using the Swiss Army knife she’d also teased him about backing. A few pieces of fresh fruit and several pre-packaged sandwiches. Corn chips. “You can’t eat a chicken salad sandwich without corn chips,” he’d commented when they’d stopped off at the gas station convenience store.

“You mean you can’t eat chicken salad sandwiches without corn chips,” she had shot back. “I can manage just fine. C’est degeulasse.”

“It’s not disgusting. It’s awesome.”

“Your French is getting better,” she’d complimented him. He’d given her a happy grin.

Now as the thunderstorm raged overhead and her tummy began to growl, he laid out the items he’d thoughtfully packed, and it looked and smelled like the best offering of her favorite Michelin-starred restaurant.

“Thanks for thinking about the corn chips!” She reached out and grabbed a packet, but he knocked her hand away lightly.

“Those go inside the sandwiches. For the crunch, you know?”

She whined, “I’m hungry!”

The bed sank as he sat down next to her. “So let’s eat, then.” He spread out his arms proudly to indicate the feast before them. “Looks good, huh?”

“Mmm. I wasn’t sure we’d actually need all this, but you have the foresight of Nostradamus. That’s one reason I love you as much as—” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Chantelle clapped her hands to her lips. Had she really said that? Unprovoked?

Maybe he won’t put too much weight on it, she decided. Maybe he’d think she was just kidding.

But he sat stock still for a moment, and then pantomimed deafness, cupping his hand around his ear. “Pardon? Can you repeat that?”

She made a face. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” he pressed.

She floundered. “Because — ugh —” Was he really putting her on the spot?

He wrapped her in his arms, shoving aside the food, which had consumed her attention so completely just moments before, but which now seemed so trivial. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you, I love you, too?” Like her, he was carefully trying to keep his tone light, allowing him to find refuge in banter if it turned out that they’d overstated their case.

“Infinitely,” she began to joke back, but couldn’t keep it up anymore. This wasn’t a joke. This was more real than anything she’d ever felt. She let her face fall into her hands. “Dustin.”

He pulled her tighter, and she felt his heart beating within his chest. “Chantelle, I love you. You have to know that. You should be able to feel it.”

She faltered, remembering the night in her hospital room when he’d pleaded with her to be together. And all the other nights she’d spent in the hospital with him keeping vigil at her bedside. Playing cards with her. Setting up video calls so she could communicate with her board of directors. Helping her in and out of the hospital bathroom. Bringing her favorite foods. Telling her stories of his youth to make her laugh and him listening to hers. He stood by her, ready to provide whatever she needed or wanted. “I couldn’t be sure.”

“How could you not be?”

“I couldn’t believe it could be true. I lost our baby—”

“That’s not your fault!” he said hotly.

She shook her head. “He’s still lost. And I don’t know if I can have another.”

“You will, I promise. And if that doesn’t turn out to be God’s purpose for us, we’ll adopt. I don’t care. All I know is that I love you and want to be with you. I want to raise a family with you. Share a bed with you and your bossy cat.”

That made her chuckle. “At least you’re pre-approved. She doesn’t give the okay to just anyone, you know.”

“The tuna bribes worked.” He laughed and then got serious again. “We don’t have to conform to the contract and get that divorce, you know. We can tear it up. Though for your peace of mind and mine, I want the prenup to remain as is. I’m willing to marry you again before our family and friends. With a gown and a band and lots of drunken uncles acting inappropriately by the bar.”

She hugged him back, lifting her face to press her lips against his. They hadn’t kissed more than her forehead or cheek while she was in the hospital. It felt so perfect she wondered why they took so long to kiss each other. “I don’t want another wedding. What I want is a real marriage. You and me, doing this for real this time.”

“I can do that,” he said with immense sincerity. “I want to stay here in France with you. I’ve fallen in love with the place, with Aix, the fields of flowers, the house. You.”

“You already said that.”

“I’m saying it again.” He began kissing her earnestly, hungrily.

She pressed her hands against his bare chest, feeling his warm skin under her fingers. Noticing that she wanted to feel more against her than just his chest. She took the initiative, standing just long enough to peel down her jeans and kick them away, then add her panties to the heap. He watched her as if there was nothing else in the world worth looking at.

“Now you,” she said. She began to unbuckle his belt and pull on the button fly of his jeans, almost groaning in frustration at how hard they were to open. In the growing darkness, exacerbated by the black storm outside, it was hard to work with such small fastenings. “Oh, I hate these!” she groaned in frustration.

Dustin gently moved her hands away and undid the fly himself, stepping out of his clothes, his arousal blatant. Then he gathered as many of the food items as he could in his arms and dumped them unceremoniously on a small, rough-hewn wooden table, cleaning the bed. In doing so, he knocked over the bottle of red wine that had been left to breathe, spilling at least a glassful before he had the time to straighten it.

“Criminal,” she said.

He brought the bottle to her lips and offered her a sip, then had a mouthful himself. After carefully placing it upright on the table, thus avoiding her further ire, he returned to the bed. Instead of joining her in it, he got to his knees before her as she sat on the edge, bowing his head like a congregant at worship.

He took one light brown nipple between his lips and began his slow, methodical torture. He used his teeth, and then he didn’t. After making sure she was halfway out of her mind, he switched to the other nipple, thereby finishing the job.

She wrapped her hands around his head, panting, pressing him against her so hard he had to tap her on the arm to allow him to breathe.

He slid his lips lower, down her rib cage, which was still way too visible after all the weight she’d lost, and lingered at her navel. Swirling his tongue around it, dipping its tip inside.

All the while, his right hand slid lower, to the patch of soft fuzz below her tummy, discovering that, like his, her arousal was evident. He grunted in satisfaction.

One brave finger ventured past her lips, sliding into wetness, into slickness. Chantelle widened her knees and tilted her hips forward in a clear request for more. More fingers, more touching, more speed. Just more.

She told him so in no uncertain terms, and he complied with delight. When he was finished paying homage to her belly button, his mouth joined his probing fingers. The stab of his tongue was unexpected, even though she had watched in hungry anticipation as he had slid into position. She gave a sharp yip, and he chuckled. He seemed to enjoy the fact that she was helpless and in his control. She almost hated him for it.

But those cobwebs of hate were brushed away when Dustin began licking and sucking at her, working his fingers in and out of her even as he did so. Because there was no time for any such useless emotion when she was there, fully preoccupied with losing her mind.

As his fingers twisted and curled, she pressed back and up, rocking her hips to teach him the rhythm she wanted and needed. She lifted one leg and threw it around his shoulders, ensuring his entrapment until she had her satisfaction.

That satisfaction came fast, descending upon her as quickly as the storm had arrived earlier. She tilted her head back and panted out his name, feeling his hands grasping her butt cheeks as he pressed her against his mouth. Even when the pleasure became tinged with pain, he didn’t stop. He cruelly kept on. Wrecking her sanity and making her entire body shake.

It was only when he had enough that he rose to take in air, his slick mouth stretched wide in a grin.

“Salaud,” she gasped. “Bastard!”

Undaunted by her epithets, he had more in store for her. He positioned her higher up on the bed and loomed over her. Under her curious hands, she could tell that he was even more excited than before, but made no move to plunge into her, as she so desperately desired.

“What the hell?” she protested, growing angry now. Why was he leaving her hanging like this? “What are you waiting for?”

“Just admiring you, beauty. The woman I love.”

“Admire me later!” she gasped, reaching up to grab his muscular rear end and pull him down to her. Chantelle wanted to make contact with his hardness.

“As you wish.”

When he entered her, she felt as if everything in her universe shifted. They had sex before, but this was different. This time they were truly making love, a love that was confessed and admitted to, out in the open. Encircling them and embracing them.

This time, it was for real. And it made all the difference. Every stroke, every exhalation, every shudder was colored with that glow, that knowledge that she was treasured and adored.

When the time eventually came, her orgasm was elevated from a delightful neurological event to a new level, becoming something transcendent. Leaving her sobbing against his shoulder. And when the tossing of the ship slowed, she discovered to her astonishment that his cheeks were wet, too.

They rose eventually, finished their now slightly crushed and sorry-looking sandwiches, corn chips included, and fell back into bed to make love a second time.

She was awakened by the warmth she felt against her cheek and doubted it was sunshine, but it was. Chantelle opened her eyes and had to shade them with her hand, because it was morning and the storm had passed. Beams of light sliced through the window and targeted her face with a vengeance.

Next to her, Dustin lay on his side, dead asleep after the night’s exertions. She smiled and snuggled against him, enjoying the feel of his toned body under her hands. What would he say, she wondered, if she was to wake him up by—

Something moved. A light, tentative, gentle touch against her leg, cool, almost tender.

Dustin’s hands were facing away from her, one cradling his head, and the other lightly resting on his chest.

So what—

The caress came again, filling her with puzzlement and dread. With a frantic hand, she threw off the sheets and saw it. A snake! Dark gold with richly patterned iridescent scales — What the hell! She didn’t have time to admire the thing. It was on her leg and moving upward.

Chantelle began to scream.

Dustin leaped up, arms raised in a protective stance. Immediately, he spotted the danger and reacted with startling speed, seizing a blanket and wrapping it around the beast. He ran with it to the door, still naked, and disappeared into the woods outside.