17. Lurielle

Lurielle

The previous spring, she had attended a two-day workshop held right there in town, at the community center. Lurielle had scoffed initially when Ris invited her along, finding the guru-like messaging on the flier her friend produced to be a bit woo woo for her particular beliefs, but, as Ris as pointed out, they didn't need to return the second day if it turned out to be way to get them to buy essential oils — or worse, sell essential oils themselves.

The experience hadn't been nearly as new age woo as she'd feared. She could admit when she was wrong, and if Lurielle was honest with herself, which she tried to be, she had enjoyed the workshop quite a bit. Silva and Dynah had both joined them for the first day, and the four elves had repaired to the Black Sheep Beanery immediately after, to discuss their learnings.

That there were no accidental meetings, the serene-voiced Sylvan had told them. Every person who came into one's life was there with a purpose – to teach or inspire, to challenge or elevate, to hold up a mirror to one's flaws. She had chuckled to herself over that last bit at the time, thinking of Rourke and Khash. That's it. That's why we're neighbors. So those idiots can dance around each other with their mirrors. She'd shared the concept with Despina in therapy, and it was one that she'd revisited often.

Lurielle possessed not a single shred of doubt in her mind that Grace, the human events coordinator and social media manager for Saddlethorne Farm, had been placed in her path as a lifeline.

The day she had left the naga's flower shop, finding Khash moping out on the sidewalk, she'd walked as briskly as her short legs were able to move, passing him as she returned to the car.

"C'mon. We have somewhere else to go. Step on it, big man."

Khash's eyebrows had drawn together, his mouth opening in shock around his thick tusks, but Lurielle had only leaned from the passenger door, giving him a look.

"Bluebell, I don't understand what you think were going to get at the Farmer's Market —"

She had made the same pspspsp sound at him, jabbing her index finger in his direction. "You know what, you can either stay in the car or go mosey around the store. I have something to do. No, I don't need your assistance."

She left Khash sulking in front of a display of pumpkins outside the farmstand shop, marching off to a little striped tent advertising information.

The woman sitting behind the table had a cloud of fluffy blonde curls and wide blue eyes, and as she rose from her seat behind the table, speaking into her little headset for assistance at information, Lurielle took in her brightly patterned dress. A-line and cinched at the waist, somewhat emphasizing her not at all model-like pear shape, she turned back to Lurielle with a cherry-red smile, motioning for her to follow. Lurielle breathed a sigh of relief, feeling giddy. This is the one. I have a good feeling about her already.

When she learned that Grace was not only the events coordinator for the farm, but had been an actual wedding planner for nearly a decade prior, Lurielle almost cried tears of relief and gratitude.

"Thank you so much for even checking your schedule, you have no idea what it's been like to even get a shop to do that much," she burbled, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue, feeling like a fool. "And I understand, I do. Everyone is busy with the Hemming wedding and I want the shops in town to do well, but —"

"Oh, we're not even going to talk about that," Grace cut in. Her voice was still bright and her smile serene, but her blue eyes had hardened. "I get it. They're trying to spread the money all over town. They're doing the rehearsal dinner next door at the winery. The moon temple is getting the ceremony. And we can't complain, Saddlethorne is providing some food for the reception. I get it, but I don't have to like it. I'm not going to pretend I won't be out in my yard trying to magic up a thunderstorm the day of."

Lurielle choked out a burble of laughter she wasn't able to hold back. She couldn't help it. This was the sort of petty she approved of.

"Okay, so what do we think of a Saturday afternoon ceremony? Maybe . . . second week of June? I know you're concerned about the heat, but I would be more concerned about storms in May. We can set up in a nice shady area to protect you and your guests from the sun, but there's nothing I can do to save you from a tornado watch. You said a tree, right? . . . hmmm, I think I have just the right spot. Let me take you over there and show you what I'm envisioning."

Lurielle blew her nose as they walked out of the tent, casting a glance back to the farm store with a slight pang of guilt. Khash was probably inside, trapping some hapless cashier in conversation, asking for an in-depth description on every unusual Brussels sprouts and unfamiliar lettuce leaf he came across. My granddaddy didn't come home every night with a crick in his neck from hunchin' in the mines for me to eat a plate of baby cabbages instead of a real meal, Bluebell. She could save the employees and fetch him, take him along to whatever picturesque tree Grace had in mind . . .

No. Khash had his chance to be reasonable and prove himself for the past month. Just look at today! He was ready to walk out of that shop because they weren't fancy enough, and then changed his mind and had a fit when they couldn't accommodate us. Wedding planning made him irrational and competitive, and she would do better to leave him behind. Besides, learning about lettuce would be good for him.

"Hop on. I promise I'm licensed to drive these things."

Lurielle laughed, climbing onto the golf cart beside the human woman, gripping the front bar tightly. As Grace zipped them down a little gravel lane, up hills and around corners, Lurielle took it in — the farm was beautiful.. Rolling green hills, agricultural crops and grazing animals, picturesque outbuildings and barns. There was a giant pond, nearly the size of a small lake, and just before it, a long, covered pavilion. At the edge of the water stood a huge weeping willow, her long branches stretching down, dipping leafy fingertips into the water's surface.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. She was crying before the human woman even had her little key out of the ignition.

"It's good, right? I was hoping you would have this reaction. And then, over there behind the pavilion, we have a fire pit. I don't know if that's good enough for the fire ceremony you talked about, but we can do our best. If we have to move to a secondary location, we can –"

"This is perfect," Lurielle wheezed. She was going to stand before him beneath that lovely tree and promise to love him for the rest of her life. "I'm really not a hugger, she gasped out, pulling her crippled tissue from her pocket to mop her face. "But —"

"Oh, don't worry. I am!"

By the time she was walking out of the little trailer office, barely an hour later, everything had been arranged. Lurielle had hissed that her fiancé didn't really want a wedding planner, that he had it in his head they should be doing everything themselves with a true Orcish DIY spirit, but that she was at the end of her tether.

"Well, good news," Grace said cheerfully. "You don't need to book a separate wedding planner. You have me. If you already have a vision, we can help you bring it to life. If you don't, we can create it for you. That's the service we offer here – as inclusive as the bride and groom needs."

Everyone who came into her life was there for a reason. The naga hadn't been placed in her path to do her wedding flowers. He had been dropped into her life to send her here. As her eyes filled with tears again, it was hard to see this pretty human woman as anything other than a savior. You need to pay this forward, like, tenfold. Make someone else's day better because of this. Maybe set Dynah up with one of Khash's friends.

"We can take care of tables and chairs, the linens, everything like that . . . you said you're doing pastels for your bridal party? I already have something in mind for the flowers . . . All the food will be farm fresh, of course. I'll send you home with some of our sample menus. For an afternoon affair, I would suggest a selection of small plates."

"I'm not sure if small plates are going to cut it. Did I mention I'm marrying an orc? These are big appetites."

"We can accommodate big appetites with small plates," the human laughed. "Our cocktail service is provided in packages, that's also on one of the menus. I think that's everything . . . this will be our all-inclusive package, then. Sooooo, if you want to look things over with your husband and call me back to let me know within the next day or two —"

"Oh no." Lurielle scrambled, reaching into her cross body bag. "Are you fucking kidding me? So that Grayson Hemming can call in ten minutes and decide he's going to book an overflow venue just for funsies? I'm not walking out of here without things taken care of, on the books, deposit paid. This is it. You're the one, Grace. Fate sent me to that flower shop for a reason, and that was to wind up here. Can you put it on my card?"

The human woman smiled widely, her cherry lips stretching around her small, white teeth. "We can absolutely use your card to hold everything. And if this same card is okay to use, I'm going to go ahead and call Ranar when you leave, and we'll get things set up with him. Look over the menus with your fiancé and pick your beverage package. Honestly, thank you for making it easy for me. Usually when we book weddings, it's a few meetings just to get all the details squared away. But if you're willing to put everything in our hands –"

"I am," Lurielle blurted. "I'll be happy with whatever, at this point I'm just so frustrated with being told no, every yes feels like a win."

Grace smiled again. "Well, I'm thrilled to hear it. Grayson Hemming's loss is your gain. Saddlethorne is thrilled to host your special day."

"Bluebell, have you thought this through? A farm? Really?? Do we seem like the type who enjoy being farmin' on weekends? I think you're confused, Lurielle. Done gone and bumped your head, thinkin' you're marrying bully boy from next door."

"Will you stop?" Lurielle exclaimed in exasperation, a stitch in her side from laughing so hard at his grousing. "It's done! Everything is going to be done for us. The place is beautiful. I don't know why you're complaining, you still get to do your favorite part. So now when everyone complements the food, you can strut around and pretend you wrestled the cow down with your bare hands."

"Darlin', I don't think I need to sit here and take this sort of verbal abuse."

His method of not sitting there and taking her abuse was to lurch to his feet, crossing the room in a single stride, hauling her up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Lurielle shrieked, squealing in laughter as his hand came down on her ass, a hard spank, followed in quick succession by two more, his hand holding on and massaging her cheek on the third.

"Since you got so much time to flap them gums, we're gonna find a better use for that smart mouth of yours, darlin'."

She continued to giggle from her knees at the edge of the bed, and he gazed down at her sternly, unbuckling his belt. "I do have a pretty smart mouth," she agreed cheekily. "You're marrying a pretty smart elf."

"Oh, I surely know it. But right now, we're gonna give your smart mouth something to do."

He had himself in hand, thick and delicious.

She would never get tired of watching him sleep, Lurielle had decided one morning, not even minding the way he snored. She would never get tired of his laughter, would never get tired of the sultry, sticky way he said her name, his tongue holding onto that first L, making all the letters that followed sound decadent and glamorous. She would never get tired of the way he held her, tucked against his chest, enfolded in his strong, heavy arms.

And she would never, ever get tired of the sight of his fat cock in his hand, not quite hard, but flushed and full. His foreskin had already begun to edge back, giving her delectable peak at the blush edge of his shiny slick head.

"Now, open your mouth, darlin'. I've got something to fill it."

She was more than happy to oblige, letting her mouth fall open as he fed her that big mushroom cap, his head alone providing a mouthful. Lurielle dragged her tongue against him, all over the smooth surface, around the flared edge, once he'd pulled the rest of his foreskin back, up that puckered seam and into his winking slit, working her tongue back and forth against it. Khash groaned as she gave a sucking kiss to his frenulum, kissing her way all over him.

"That's good, Bluebell. You know just what I like. Now suck."

She would never get tired of the weight of his balls in her hands, the way her fingers streeeetched just to make it halfway around his turgid shaft, the way he filled her mouth completely . . . She would never get tired of it, but nor would she ever actually be good at it.

He was simply too big and her mouth too small, but Lurielle did her best.

She had developed a technique that worked, one that preserved the integrity of her jaw and had him rolling his hips upward. She put both hands at the base of his thick shaft, attempting to interlace her fingertips. She used her thumbs to press into the thick root that ran up his underside, while from the top, her mouth did what it could do — tongue moving, lips puckering, sucking him as deeply into her throat as she could without gagging. When her mouth and hands work in tandem, it created enough stimulation for his big dragon to take wing.

"All right darlin', I think your mouth has learned its lesson." He pulled out of her with a groan, a string of drool connecting her mouth to his bobbing head. "Now why don't you turn around and let me stuff that pretty kitty full."

She was giggling so hard it was a struggle to peel off her leggings. She would never get tired of this, either. She knew other couples, probably including some of her friends, would be all animal heat and dirty talk at this point in the operation, but she would never get tired of their laughter. She thought about that very first night they spent together, at the cabin. Finding positions that accommodated their extreme size difference was a comedy of errors, and laughing, having fun, had been such a revelation to her then. They had never stopped laughing, and that suited her perfectly.

"Bluebell, don't make me have to go cut a switch for you. You sit there gigglin' any longer, you're going to need to run this ol' windsock up the flagpole all over again."

"Then you'd better grind your corn a little faster and get over here, big boy."

She was still laughing as he pressed into her from behind, pushing all of the air out of her lungs as he did so, her eyes rolling back at the pressure. She would never get tired of this, either.

At this angle — on her hands and knees at the edge of the bed, her ass raised high enough for him to grip her hips and direct her movement – she felt stuffed completely full, no room left for her to take a breath. His pullback was slow, but when he thrust forward again, pressing into her even deeper, Lurielle fell forward on her elbows, her hands fisting the bedding, as she attempted to breathe around the intrusion of his cock. She was positive her internal organs were being displaced every time he pumped into her, but it felt so damn good, she couldn't care. We can find someplace new for your spleen. Later. The press of him from behind heightened every drag, the flare of his cockhead catching on her G spot on each pass, dragging against her inner walls so thoroughly that her eyes rolled back. She would never, ever get tired of this.

Khash groaned deep in his chest, and she felt the first burst of him emptying within her like a hot flood, increasing as his cock erupted. "Bluebell, you make me come like this in the middle of the day every Saturday, you watch how fast I give up the league."

When one of his big fingers came around to rub at her clit, Lurielle was finished.

He chuckled as she clenched around him, wheezing, back arching. She was so full, and the pressure was so enormous, Lurielle was certain she clenched him tight enough to squeeze out another few drops.

"Mmmmm, that's it, darlin'. Drain me good."

She shrieked in laughter again when his hand came down on her ass, and she stayed his arm when he attempted to pull out. "No, wait. Stay inside for just a minute."

"Mhm, but can I at least move? Bluebell, we look like two guilty coonhounds caught fuckin' in the henhouse. If bully boy peeps through the windows right now . . ."

She was sure Rourke was going to hear her pealing laughter through their houses, as Khash brought his knee to the bed, somehow scooping her up and twisting them onto their sides in one fluid motion.

"Darling, don't think I don't know what you're doing. I know this trick. You get me so hot and bothered that I pop off like a preacher in a bordello on Saturday, and then you grip me so hard I go cross eyed. Suckin' me up. That's what you're doing."

"What if I am?" she challenged, still laughing.

"Lurielle, you know I've got no problem with that. I told you I was gonna pump you full strong sons. Are you happy with this farm of yours?"

She closed her eyes, envisioning that lovely little lake once more, the willow stretching down to get her fingers into the water. It would be a perfect backdrop, the loveliest pictures, a beautiful memory to look back on for the rest of her long life.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Well that's good enough for me. Most important lesson granddaddy taught me. Happy wife is a happy life. And you can take that to the bank."

* * *

She did, as a matter of fact.

"I can't believe you went and put that much on a credit card. Darlin', where's your head?"

"What?! It's our wedding! This isn't our first dinner date, I am capable of paying for things."

"Bluebell, the interest!"

She collapsed against him as he pulled a glass from the cupboard in the kitchen, mumbling under his breath and clucking his tongue as if he were the wet hen.

"You make it sound like I'm not going to pay off the balance!"

"Oh, you're going to pay off the balance. I'm going to write you a check and you're going to march that cute little behind yours to the bank right now and deposit the total into your account and pay it off today. We're not carrying a dime of debt on this wedding, Lurielle. I refuse. It's like granddaddy used to say, a pauper will borrow from tomorrow to pay for today's meat. If you can't pay for your steak on Sunday, there'll be no supper."

"Are you being serious? You can't just do a transfer? I have to go to the bank with a check? I feel like I'm marrying granddaddy right now."

The look he leveled on her was positively mutinous, and she had to sink into a chair before she fell over from laughing so hard again.

"Yes, Lurielle. A check. None of this app transfer nonsense. I want a paper trail in hand, with hard records of everything."

If he hadn't been so adamant, she would have never left the house that afternoon, heading off to the bank. She might not have stopped off for a smoothie from the juice bar, near Applethorpe Manor. If she hadn't been in the juice bar, swinging her arms as she waited for her order, she might never have noticed the little corkboard of advertisements, a collection of business cards from local vendors, advertising their services.

Skilled dressmaker/custom weavings/knitting and crocheting

All of your fiber craft needs

She snapped a photo of the card, sending an email inquiring into the custom dress claim, providing the measurements taken from the shop in Bridgeton, a photo of a dress she'd found online, one that was only offered in pale pink and not made in her size, along with her preferred color of choice.

By the time she was home from the bank, the seamstress, Philomel, had already responded, thanking her for the foresight to send ahead her measurements, along with a price quote. She had an appointment for a fitting the following week.

Lurielle went outside, staring up at the winter sky as she bounced on her toes, her eyes burning with tears. She'd never been that girl.

It was a fucked up reality when little Elvis girls sat at their lunch tables, eating their crisp greens and perfectly balanced meals, attempting to outdo one another over their future weddings. She'd always been the odd one out, and would sit at the periphery of those conversations – by herself but just close enough to the group to not draw too much untoward attention. She would listen to her schoolmates talk about the ornate hairstyles they wanted, gowns with trains requiring fifteen attendants just to carry, the outlandish parties they would throw, the entertainment they would provide.

It had all sounded like a circus to her. Lurielle had never been able to imagine herself as the star of one of those big days. She'd never been able to picture her adult self in a fancy dress with fancier hair, could not imagine the sort of elf with whom she would stand beneath the binding tree. It had occurred to her, in one tearful therapy session, that even as a little girl, she hadn't liked the sight of herself in the mirror. How could you imagine yourself as the star of a happily ever after if you didn't want to see yourself in the first place?

She'd never been that elf who dreamed of her wedding, with plans and expectations, who envisioned herself in the and they lived happily ever after ending. Now, for the very first time in her life, she was, and it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Cambric Creek was entering that winter stasis, but come spring, it would be beautiful. She would be beautiful. And even though it felt as if all of their wedding planning got off to the rockiest start imaginable, everything that had been placed in her path was exactly as it was meant to be.