Under Wraps - Love Under Lockdown

We waited a bit longer for the wedding, not at least for Emma to recover from the rigors of childbirth, and because we wanted very much to enjoy our honeymoon. There was also something of a demand, as weddings, funerals, and every other form of event had been severely limited for most of the year, and there were a lot of people trying to make up for lost time

“When’s the big day?” McKoy asked, leaning on the counter in the break room, cool as the breeze, his tie much looser than company policy allowed.

“Whenever we can get a date,” I said, stirring my latte.

“Are you going to use a wedding planner?”

McKoy dropped his cup, what was left splashing all over the tile floor. I hadn’t hit him. I didn’t really believe in using violence. I had simply fixed McKoy with a look so utterly withering, he actually hit himself.

“What happened to McKoy?” Sandra asked, coming in for her break.

“A serious case of self-chastisement,” I said, casually.

“Looked more like self-flagellation,” Sandra said.

“That too.”

It was the easiest wedding that had ever been planned. Emma and I had put what we wanted most on cards, arranging them in order of priority. Whenever our top priorities clashed, which was surprisingly rare, we would flip a coin to settle things. Our only major point of contention was where to have the ceremony. I wanted a wedding in the woods, close to nature; Emma wanted a big church wedding. She won.

Emma

It was a beautiful old cathedral, built in 1790, or so claimed the cornerstone. Going against tradition, Damien influencing me in more ways than one, we had no flowers or any of the other trappings that usually went with weddings. We had splurged on the dress, however. Practical as I was getting to be, I still wanted to look pretty on my big day. I paced the foyer, trying to keep it together and ignore the circus raging in my head. Happiness and nervousness were a volatile mix, threatening to explode at any moment.

The organ started up and everything cleared; anticipation, more than anything else, had been making me nervous. Putting one foot in front of the other, trying to remember how to walk in heels, I made my way to the front, where Damien and Imogen waited for me. The minster was there, too, but that was not what I was most focused on.

We wrote our own vows; it was one of the priorities on which we absolutely agreed during our planning session. It took all of two hours. Neither of us wanted anyone else speaking for us, not even a representative of the Lord.

My parents didn’t come up for the wedding. I really didn’t expect them to; it was a long flight, and they were getting older. Daddy hadn’t been able to travel very well since the stroke.

We had the reception at home, the grounds being more than big enough. I didn’t say it at the time, but I figured it was a compromise for Damien’s forest wedding idea, the house being surrounded by thick woods. Wedding in a church, reception in the wood, seemed like a fair balance to me.

Parking ourselves at the head table, Damien put Imogen down for a nap in her carrier by his chair. She was a really quiet baby, barely fussing at all, even during the ceremony despite all the sound and strange people.

“Love you, Mrs. LeVay,” Damien said, gently taking my hand.

“Love you, Mr. LeVay.”

We kissed, our breath tasting like wine and bubble gum, as Damien’s best friend from college gave the best man speech.

It wasn’t too long to get back into the city. Leaving Damien’s lovely car at the house, we took a cab to the Seventy, taking the same room as where it had all started. The clerks recognized us as we came in.

“And who is this?” the clerk asked as we signed in.

“Imogen,” I said.

“Imogen LaVey,” the clerk said. “Cool!”

It was like a fog, the sexual tension building to a near fever pitch. We had fucked while I was pregnant, and did what we could while I recovered, mostly oral, but it had been a long time since we had been able to really go at it in the way that we liked. Damien’s hand was already on my ass before we got off the elevator.

We were flying out on his private jet in the morning to go on our official honeymoon in France. We were already packed, and the hotel was pretty close to the airfield, so we would have lots of time.

Getting Imogen to sleep in her travel crib almost immediately, Damien swooped me up, quietly giggling, and carried me across the threshold of the adjoining room, heading straight for the bed.

The dress was more complicated than a Rubik’s cube, though Damien figured it out pretty darn quick, pulling it down and away along my naked, vulnerable body. I hadn’t worn underwear on purpose, figuring he would want to get right down to business. Taking off his tux, he joined me on the bed, getting on his knees between my legs. Closing my eyes, I prepared for what was coming next.