Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

MACY

H e rolls the condom on then spreads my legs as he nestles back between them.

"Fuck. You have the prettiest pussy, Mace."

Wood drags the tip of himself along my center, getting it wet with my juices. Making me whimper when he rubs it over my clit.

"I want to fill you up so bad."

"Please," I beg.

He lines himself up with my entrance then comes down over me, caging my head between his arms and looking into my eyes. His nose touches mine, our lips agonizingly close, almost brushing, but not quite.

And then he tilts his hips. Slowly. So slowly pushing in. Stretching me around his girth.

I let out a quivering moan. His breath is sweet against my lips, and he brushes hair away from my forehead as he sinks inside me inch by inch.

His hips connect to my thighs. He's all the way in. He's so deep and I'm so full.

"You feel amazing."

"You're so big," I blurt.

He laughs, his smile lighting up his face. And then he leans in and kisses my nose and then my lips as he pulls out slowly. This time he pushes back in faster and harder and I gasp. A loud "Oh my god!" escapes my lips, unbidden.

"Is that good?" he pants against my lips, thrusting out and back in.

"Don't stop." I wrap my arms and legs around him, digging my heels into his butt as he thrusts, clawing at his back, willing him deeper, closer.

He hikes one of my legs up, knee to my chest, opening me up. And this time when he pushes in, he goes deeper, hitting the perfect spot.

"Is that what you needed, love?"

"Yes."

Once he finds the place, he keeps hitting it. I lift my hips to meet his thrusts. Our pace perfectly in sync, not too fast, not too slow. Deliberate. Hard. Deep. Harder.

He shifts his hips so that somehow his groin is grinding against my clit with each of our movements.

My heart is racing, electricity under my skin, hot, every muscle tensing and coiling as blood pumps everywhere all at once. The pulse between my legs becoming all-consuming.

Noises escape my lips, unhuman sounds, each one morphing into the next. A litany of words urging him on. Begging for more. Desperate pleas.

Through staccato breaths, I tell him I'm going to come again.

"Fuck," he growls and then his kisses me harder.

Our tongues clash and lick and we suck and bite, needing to taste, feel, and consume every part of each other. Swollen lips. Muffled moans.

I throb around him as the tension building low in my belly blossoms and bursts like breaking the surface of the water and finally getting that gasp of air. It rushes through me, bright and shimmering, lighting me up. I float away for a second before coming back down to the mattress.

My eyes refocus. Wood is on top of me, inside me, wringing the sheets in his fists, his strokes becoming stilted. Then he grunts and whimpers, the muscles in his arms tensing and trembling.

I watch him as he comes. Our eyes meet and his strained face softens through the last of his shuddering breaths.

He closes his eyes when I touch his cheek and leans into my touch, turning to kiss my palm.

He slides out of me gently and I hate the empty feeling. I want to pull him back to me.

When I wake up the next morning, Wood's arms are holding me to his chest, his leg hooked around my ankle.

His eyes are closed, his breathing slow and rhythmic. The filtered sunlight glowing against his smooth, tan skin and highlighting the angles of his serene face.

I take this moment, in the silence, to run my finger along his jaw, down his neck, his bare shoulder, and across his chest. I press my hand flat there, against his steady heartbeat.

Today is Bex's wedding day.

In twenty-four hours, we'll be packing up and going back to Seattle. Back to real life. And in real life, there are no fake boyfriends.

Something tightens in my chest.

Am I falling in love with Wood?

No. He's just extremely good looking. And nice. And caring. And funny. And he smells so good. And the sex is amazing. Mind-blowing.

That's it.

It's the sex.

This is all chemical. It's the endorphins and serotonin that's making me feel falsely attached to him.

It will pass.

But I don't want it to pass! a voice screams in my head. This is the happiest I've been in... I wrack my brain trying to conjure up a memory. But I can't. I've never been this happy.

Maybe he'll want to keep doing this…after the wedding. Like, a friends with benefits type thing? How do I ask for that?

And will he still call me "love" and hold my hand and kiss my temple and hold me possessively around the waist like he does now? Probably not. That would definitely cramp his busy social life. It's not like he's hurting for female company or ever lonely on Friday nights.

The whole point of friends with benefits is that it's non-committal. So, he'd still be dating other women. I don't think I could handle that. Seeing him be affectionate with someone else. Even if I don't see it, just knowing that he's with someone else.

Sleeping with someone else.

Waking up next to them. Naked in each other's arms, like we are right now.

Just the thought makes my stomach churn.

Because I don't just want the sex. I want all of it. I want his time and attention. His smiles. His kisses. The girlfriend treatment. And I don't want to share. I don't want him with anyone else and I don't want anyone else.

Son of a biscuit.

I want to be his girlfriend. For real.

I wish he felt the same.

His eyelids twitch and his hand moves over mine on his chest before he opens his eyes. So blue. So gorgeous.

"Morning, you." He smiles lazily then laces our fingers together.

"Morning," I say, my voice froggy.

We move our hands together, turning them in the morning sunlight, lacing and unlacing our fingers, watching them slide and slip past each other. Then Wood brings my hand to his lips and kisses my palm, then the inside of my wrist, right on the pulse point.

But when he moves in to kiss me, I rear back. "I have morning breath."

He laughs. "Two morning breaths cancel each other out."

"I don't think that's how it works."

He smiles and leans in anyway. "Let's give it a try and see."

Wood rolls on top of me and kisses me with deep tongue strokes, interlocking our fingers over my head, his body pressed against mine.

I open my legs to him, and he takes the unspoken invitation, already hard and eager for me.

If this is our last day, I'm going to try and enjoy it.

Our morning activities gave Wood quite an appetite.

At brunch, he has no less than four plates of food sitting in front of him. A stack of pancakes dripping with butter and maple syrup, a pile of bacon, seven sausage links, four over-easy eggs, loaded hashbrowns, a yogurt parfait with fresh fruit and granola, and an English muffin slathered with raspberry preserves.

The morning sun streams in through the wall of windows overlooking the east lawn. The room is filled with round tables covered in white and peach table clothes. Bunches of white and pink flowers are shoved in every corner, on the tables, and around the buffet table—which is abounding with every breakfast food imaginable, complete with an ice sculpture.

Two swans wander across the grass.

I was initially relieved that Spencer, Margot, and their parents were seated at another table. We're sitting with Bex, Jake, Livvy, and Noah. And Bex's parents. Her very divorced parents.

This may be worse.

There hasn't been a polite word between them all morning.

I focus on my plate, poking at my scrambled eggs and breaking off pieces of my blueberry muffin, and try to tune them out. I already ate all my bacon.

"It makes just as much sense that I should walk her down the aisle," Bex's mother says, her eyelids peeled back.

"Stop getting emotional. It's already been decided." Bex's father is gripping the fork in his meaty hand so tight he might bend it in half.

"You left before the divorce was even finalized and hardly had anything to do with her after that. A birthday card, a Christmas present in the mail—sometimes. You certainly weren't around for the hard years. When Rebecca was sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to do god-knows-what and getting expelled from school."

Bex chugs her mimosa.

"Well, I'm still her father. And it's tradition that the father walks the bride down the aisle."

"It's also tradition that the bride's family pays for the wedding, but I didn't see you stepping up to contribute to her day."

"She's marrying into a rich family. They ought to have paid for it anyway. What do I look like, I'm made of money?"

Wood slips two slices of bacon to my plate.

Jake chimes in, looking between his future in-laws with pleading eyes. "Maybe you two could both walk her down the aisle? It's a pretty common thing nowadays."

"Absolutely not," her father says.

Bex tips her head back, draining every last drop of her mimosa then slams the empty glass down on the table. "How about neither of you walk with me. I'll just walk myself down the aisle and we can stop pretending that either of you gave a shit about me growing up or give a shit about me now."

"Rebecca!" Her mother gasps, her hand going to her chest.

Bex stands, her chair screeching against the tile floor, and rushes out of the room, the clicks of her heels echoing through the now silent sunroom as everyone watches.

Jake looks around with a pained smile. "Everything's fine. You know how stressed brides can be on their wedding day." He lowers his voice as he slides in his chair and reassures her parents and his mother, who has marched herself over as well. "I'll go talk to her."

Wood moves on to his pancakes.

"This is just like you, Richard. Always so selfish and stubborn. Making everything about you. You've ruined the day for me." Bex's mother gets up from the table, almost taking the tablecloth with her, and leaves in a huff.

Mr. Bishop throws down his napkin, every part of his face not covered in beard a cherry red. "If I'm not walking her down the aisle, why the hell did I even fly all the way out here for?"

"How about to see your daughter get married and support her?" Noah says dryly.

Livvy's dad turns to her, somehow even redder. "You, young lady, I expected better than this from you." He points at Noah. "If you two get married, don't bother sending an invite. I won't be there."

Livvy looks pale.

"No worries Mr. B," Noah chimes in. His expression is neutral, almost smiling, but his arm around the back of Livvy's chair is flexed, hand fisted. "We'll probably just run off and elope without telling anyone."

Mr. Bishop's eyes narrow, bushy eyebrows surely impeding on his vision, almost shaking with rage.

Noah sits up straighter, easily having several inches on him. Calm. Not looking away.

I sip my mimosa. Wood lays a warm hand on my leg under the table and gives a gentle squeeze.

Without another word, Mr. Bishop throws his fork on his plate, clattering high-pitched metal against ceramic, and storms out as well.

We sit in silence for a bit, unmoving—except for Wood, who never stopped eating, currently polishing off his yogurt parfait, the sound of his spoon scraping the inside of the dish.

Finally, the low sound of conversation picks back up around the room and I pick up my last piece of bacon.

Livvy's shoulders relax and she leans into Noah's side. "We're eloping, huh?"

Wood walks me out, hand in hand, to the guest house where I'll be getting ready for the wedding with Bex. Through the damp grass, the sun moving in and out from behind white, fluffy clouds, and I stop short.

Tonight's our last day.

He stops when I do. "Everything all right?"

I nod. "This is it. Wedding day."

He quirks an eyebrow and looks stupid handsome doing it.

"You know what that means?"

"Yeah." He moves in closer, taking both my hands as the sun glows all around him. "It's the last day we get to be fake boyfriend and girlfriend."

I smile. Not exactly sure why I chose to do this now. I should have waited until after the wedding—in case it gets awkward when he inevitably lets me down gently. But I'm going to do it. I'm going to ask if he wants to hang out with me after this in a not fake way?—

But then there's movement over his shoulder, past the trees. A small gasp. Cut-off jean shorts and blonde hair.

Margot.

She glances our way as she heads up to the guest house.

And I know she heard.

Fudge.

"Mace?"

I snap back to Wood, forgetting my train of thought. Disoriented. "Um, can we talk tonight? After the wedding, I mean?"

"Yes. Definitely."

I dart my eyes around, looking for Margot, but she's disappeared. My hands are suddenly clammy, and I slip them from Wood's grip.

We part ways, and as I walk up to the guest house, I wish I had kissed him goodbye. There's a sinking feeling in my gut that it might have been my last chance.

Bex is unusually quiet while we're getting our hair done.

Margot hasn't said much. Maybe she didn't hear me and Wood talking.

But every time I look her way, she has a knowing look in her eye. A smile that's too calm.

I try not to think about it too much. After we've moved on to makeup, Bex seems to have calmed down a bit and is back to her upbeat self. The bucket of champagne we've gone through throughout the afternoon is probably helping.

I'm in my peach dress, which, admittedly, looks better with my hair and makeup done. The hair stylist, i.e. magician, somehow managed to get my hair into big, bouncy, loose curls that are defined, not frizzy, and are still soft. She left it down, twisting two small pieces back and pinning them behind my temples.

I find myself pleased that she left it down, for no other reason than that I know Wood likes it.

My makeup, too, is unbelievable. The makeup artist, Cami, commented almost the entire time about how lovely and smooth my skin was. She used a semi-sheer skin tint and the tiniest bit of concealer so as to not cover up my freckles, which I was disappointed with initially. But when I turn to see the final result in the mirror, she was right. It is one of my defining features. She said she didn't want to cover up my features but enhance them.

I look like me, but better.

My cheeks are sculpted, my brows shaped and filled-in lightly. A brown mascara and peachy blush make the dress make sense. Even my brown eyes don't look boring. They look pretty.

We're on the second floor of the guest house that overlooks the garden where the ceremony will take place. They've already set up the chairs. Over two hundred. Staff in all black are running around the grounds with huge bouquets of flowers. Security guys with earpieces have started patrolling the perimeter as guests arrive.

The altar is dripping with more flowers. Linens cover the chairs. Lights around the perimeter. They're unrolling the pink runner down the aisle and covering it with buckets upon buckets of flower petals cascading all the way to the altar.

Livvy joins me at the window, champagne glass in hand, already in her dress as Bex gets the finishing touches on her makeup.

Guests are wandering into the ceremony area. Mostly in couples, a few groups.

"Mom. Do you know who that is?"

Mrs. Bishop comes over next to Livvy, who is pointing out the window to a man standing away from everyone else.

I can't make out too many details from this distance, but he's in a black suit that must be tailored within an inch of its life, because his chest and shoulders are so broad. His thighs also look like they're about to burst several seams.

His hands are stuffed in his pockets as he looks around. His hair is thick and dark, both on top of his head and his full, short beard.

"Oh, that's the Bridger boy. You remember Laura's son, who used to live next door?"

"What?" Bex shoots out of her seat, much to Cami's chagrin. She runs over in her robe, one set of eyelashes on, and practically smashes her face against the window to see out. "What is he doing here?"

"I took it upon myself to invite him, since you seemed to have forgotten. You two were practically joined at the hip growing up."

"I remember, Mother." Bex cranes her neck to get a better look at him. "He looks… different."

"Well, you haven't seen him in almost ten years. Did you expect him to still look like a teenager?"

"He definitely looks… grown up," Bex says, jaw hanging, unblinking, in a daze.

The wedding coordinator pops her head in the door. "Five minutes to go time, ladies." She looks pointedly at Bex, who isn't even in her dress yet, then places her hand to the side of her headset and retreats into the hall, barking something into the tiny mouthpiece.

Cami finishes her makeup while Bex finishes her bottle of champagne.

Then Bex unzips her dress, which has been hanging in a pink garment bag near the window and takes it into the small dressing area to change.

"What the fuck is this?" Bex comes out a few moments later wearing the dress, holding it to her torso as the back still needs buttoned up. It's the same dress she was fitted in on Monday—except for the addition of lace cap sleeves.

"It's lovely," her mom says, tears in her eyes.

"What. The. Fuck. Are these? "

"Rebecca! Language."

Bex smiles sweetly. "I'm sorry, Mother. What the fucking fuck are these?"

Mrs. Bishop keeps her tone light. "Oh. I brought up the idea of adding those to Jake. He thought it was a great idea and talked to the seamstress. Now everyone will be focused on you and how beautiful you are instead of that little drawing on your shoulder."

Bex blinks at her mother, lips tight. "You and Jake had alterations done to my wedding dress. Without telling me."

"They did a beautiful job matching the lace on the rest of the dress. You can't even tell that's not how it originally was." Mrs. Bishop smiles, a pearl and diamond brooch in the shape of a cross shining in the sunlight on the lapel of her mauve suit jacket.

I go to Bex and start buttoning up the back of her gown.

She's quiet, but her breathing is fast and shallow.

Through gritted teeth, she quietly says, "I need you to get Jake. Tell him I need to talk to him, and I won't walk down the aisle until I do."