Runaway Bride

“Fuck, Ivy…that was…I don’t even have words.” I know what he means. I don’t have words to describe what we just experienced either.

We sit like this for a few minutes, our bodies completely intertwined, his cock still inside me, my legs wrapped around him, and my arms holding him as close as I can while our combined juices coat us.

Bishop starts moving first, but all he does is stroke his fingers across my back. The gentle touch feels amazing, the total opposite of what we just did, but powerful in its own way. I still can’t believe how my life has changed in just the last twenty-four hours. How different my life would be now if I hadn’t left the church or all but ran into Bishop.

“How come you were in the alley at the church yesterday?” I ask, peeking up at him through my blonde strands.

“I was going to check out a new tattoo shop a block away from there. They just opened and I wanted to see how they were doing.”

“Why?”

“To check out the new competition. I own a tattoo shop on the other end of town. My buddy just opened up that one, and I wanted to check out his gig.” I kinda feel bad for ruining his plans, but then again, I don’t. Meeting him is what saved me.

“I’ve never been to a tattoo shop. Obviously, I don’t have a tattoo…you would have found it by now.”

“I’ll take you sometime, but I’m not done claiming you yet. I’ll be taking every single hole on your body before we leave this house.”

My core throbs at the thought, and I bat my eyes at him. “I’m fine with that—the fucking and the waiting to leave the house. All I want to do is stay here with you and go wherever you go.”

“Good, because I feel the same way. Now, let’s go take a shower. You made a very big mess, Bambi.” He slaps my ass again, but not nearly as hard as he did while we were having sex.

We get up, my skin peeling off his. I follow him to the shower where we wash up. Just like he did earlier, he washes me, takes care of me—shows me how much he loves me without words. When he is done, I take the washcloth from him and do the same. Cleaning his whole body while massaging all the tight muscles as I go.

We rinse off, and Bishop gets out to grab the towels. He wraps me up in one before drying himself off, and I wonder if he knows how much that small gesture means to me.

“No one’s ever done for me, what you just did.”

“No one’s ever handed you a towel? I mean, I would hope not. You shouldn’t be taking a shower with anyone else.” He smirks, and I punch him softly in the bicep.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, in the past, no one’s ever put me first. You always make sure I’m taken care of before you take care of yourself. Just like when you gave me your sandwich. You fed me before feeding yourself. You washed me before washing yourself. You wrapped me up in a towel before grabbing your own.”

“That’s how it should be, and always will be, Ivy. I promise I will always put you first, no matter the circumstance. That’s what love is all about.” He leans down to kiss me, water dripping from his hair onto the tip of my nose.

“I’m gonna shave. Why don’t you go climb into our bed and wait for me. We can cuddle and watch some TV or even a couple movies for the rest of the day.”

“That sounds perfect,” I respond before walking back into the bedroom. It’s such a mundane thing to do, but it’s with him, and something I never got to do. TV was forbidden, and I was only allowed to call or text the approved numbers my parents set.

I throw the towel into the laundry hamper in the corner and slide under the soft blanket without putting any clothes on. There is a large flat screen TV hanging on the wall above the dresser. I grab the remote from the night stand and turn it on.

I flip through the channels aimlessly, not finding anything of interest. I almost turn it back off when I land on a local new channel. I freeze, blinking my eyes to make sure I’m not seeing things. It’s me, on TV. A picture of me with a headline talking about a kidnapping. Kidnapped? They think I was kidnapped?

“Bishop…I need you to come look at this.” Panic grips onto me with a vengeance.

He runs in a second later, shaving cream still coating half his face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I point to the TV and watch his face as he takes in the pictures moving across them.