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I might not be able to see anymore, but I can feel and smell and revel in the sweetness of her in my arms. She has on a special perfume tonight, and even though I’m trying to be soft and romantic for her, that silky, spicy, floral scent has me hard as an I-beam in my slacks.
I loosen my hold as we rock to the music. She can shift away from my hardon if she wants. But she doesn’t. Instead, she presses closer and winds her arms up and around my neck. Even with heels on to give her an extra few inches, she’s so small compared to me I have to bend around her to accommodate her hold. I don’t mind. I’d maintain an uncomfortable position all night just to give her a more peaceful rest, especially now that she’s carrying my baby.
And it ismybaby. It’sallof our baby. Not a single one of us cares who actually got Cora pregnant. We’re all proud as can be, and we’ll all treat the little one like our own son or daughter. And hopefully, there will more little ones to follow.
Somewhere near the banquet table set up by the passthrough window, someone taps a fork on a champagne glass. Scrap turns down the music and Shep speaks up.
“Our bride did not get a bridal shower,” he says. “So now is the time for gifts! Cora, flower, come to me, please.”
“I’m being summoned,” she says. With a kiss on my cheek, she leaves me. I can’t wait to get her back.
Shep says, “There are wedding traditions that must be followed. So, the seven of us have come up with a new twist on traditional gifts. First is something old.”
I hear Cora gasp and say it’s beautiful, whatever it is. I’m content to listen in, but when she comes to me to present her first gift, my chest puffs up with pride. She wants to make sure I’m included.
“It’s a necklace,” she says as she guides my fingers to her neck.
A delicate chain rests on her collar bones and dips down to a collection of smooth beads. The centerpiece is a large feather mounted to a starched, lacy backing. The feather, I’m told, is from Bernard. I never got to meet the New Orleans pelican, but I owe my life, in part, to the help he gave us. It’s a brilliant “something old.”
I shoo Cora away to receive more gifts.
“And here’s your something new,chér.” Doc says.
Again, Cora brings the gift to me. It’s a ring this time.
“It has seven stones,” Doc says, “to represent your seven husbands.”
I trace the band with its stone-bumps. Cora wears it beneath the one-carat solitaire diamond we all agreed would stand for our rock-solid commitment to her.
“Something borrowed.” Rev’s gravelly voice sounds to my left. “Before we left the ranch, Hope gave me this. It’s the ribbon she used to tie back her hair so she could hide it and not be conspicuous among the mombies. It belonged to her mother, and she wants it back. It’s a borrowed promise that we’ll all meet again.”
While Rev speaks, he moves behind Cora. I assume he’s adding the ribbon to her swept-up hairdo.
“And now for something blue,” Shep says. “Scrap?”
“Uh, yeah.” Tonight, Scrap has traded his smartass jokes for a sincerity I’ve rarely witnessed from him. “So, we all worked on the design, and we hope you like it.” I hear a barely-there rustle of a single sheet of paper. “It’s a tattoo of a butterfly, for your back, if you want it. It’s in mostly blue tones, to match your eyes, and it has parts that represent all of us. If you’ll accept it, I’ll put it over your scars. It’ll take a bunch of sessions, but I figure we can get it done before the baby comes.”
“Oh my gosh, Scrap! I love it!” I hear Cora leap into his arms.
She brings me the paper to explain the design to me, but I wave her away. “I already know about this one, kitten.” Scrap asked me for input as he worked on the sketch and asked what I wanted to add. Within the butterfly’s wing pattern, there’s tools to represent Grim’s former life as a construction worker and the letter A to represent his lost daughter. There are small, silver-toned skulls like the ones Doc favors with his jewelry and a US Army Eagle and Shield insignia. For Rev, there’s an outline of the state of Oklahoma and an ivy pattern he says reminds him of home. Brawn’s contributions are a letter C, which he told us stands for his daughter, who he lost to the Virus, and a rainbow breaking through clouds to represent his boldness in coming out as bisexual. Shep added a Norwegian flag and the symbol of the wrestling federation he belonged to. The last one to add an element was me, and I chose to have Scrap draw a realistic human heart with seven distinct veins crisscrossing its smooth, muscled exterior.
For a long while we all talk about our contributions to the tattoo, and Cora bounces on my lap with excitement. She can’t wait to get started, and I can’t wait for my girl to have something beautiful to cover the scars she has to live with for the rest of her life.
As I sip cold beer and shoot the shit with my family, Cora’s warm weight on my cock becomes more and more enticing. My hands begin roaming her sleek dress, growing bolder and bolder. Soon, my hand is up her skirt.
“No garter?” I say, searching one thigh and then the other.
“I forgot to get one at the bridal shop,” she says. She’s talking about yesterday, when Doc and Brawn took her into Bozeman to find a dress.
“Speaking of garters,” Rev says. I hear him stand from his favorite armchair, like he’s going to make an announcement. “We gave our bride something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue, thus fulfilling the old, familiar wedding tradition. But since when have we ever been traditional?” His tone turns playful, and I can picture him waggling his brows above his intense eyes. “I figured a family with one woman and seven men should add a new tradition to the mix.” Something rustles. It sounds like a duffel bag. “So, I put together a little ‘something naughty’ for our bride.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Cora says, and I feel her cover her eyes with her hand.
“It’s a bag of sex toys!” Scrap calls out! “Shit! Rev, this is awesome! There’s dildos and butt plugs in here, and cuffs!”
“I call the rope!” Brawn shouts, as if he’s holding said rope aloft.
“Nipple clamps,” Doc says. “I’ll make good use of these,chér.”
