I ran back to the bed, jumped up on it, and wrapped my arms around my new husband. “Okay,” I said, “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Okay, that wasn’t the most romantic thing I could have said, but Timothy accepted it. His lips were traveling my body practically before I’d completed the sentence. What happened after that was stupendous.
One of the women at work had made a comment one day in the workroom that after you were married, the sex wasn’t as good. I guess it didn’t count if this was our first entanglement after marriage. Or perhaps it was because we were just starting our honeymoon, but, whichever the case, our bedding ceremony was quite enjoyable and just as fulfilling as the same events under that green bedspread in San Diego.
Timothy said he did the pooka bite during our “ceremony.” If he did, I never felt it. I know where he put it. He licked the side of my neck forever and a day, but I wasn’t complaining at the time. It was outrageously delightful. He told me later, that he put enough saliva in my skin that I wouldn’t feel any pain for a week, and if it did hurt later, he said he’d redo the saliva boost.
I kidded him about that. The words saliva boost had all the enticement of an IRA audit or a root canal at the dentist. He laughed, and I took note of the crinkle lines at the edges of his eyes. I don’t know if it was a pooka thing or a human thing, but when Timothy was fully satisfied and content with life, he always smiled them into being. I found his laugh lines incredibly sexy, so it was something I looked forward to seeing.
We showered after a few more kisses. That’s when Timothy told me that he’d delivered the pooka bite. My hand sped to the site. I wanted to know if he’d left a wound, but I couldn’t feel anything. He removed my hand from my neck, kissed it, and said, “Let’s allow it to heal before you start your investigations.”
I guess about an hour had passed between bed play and showering, but it hit me as we came out of the bathroom that I’d either have to put my wedding dress back on or go nude. Timothy said he liked the latter idea, but I could tell he didn’t mean it. Timothy was too much in the past to appreciate our guests viewing my body, not that it mattered anyway, because I’d never do the nude thing. I was even more of a prude than he was.
Timothy walked over to the closet, opened it, and chortled. “They moved your clothes in here. You have a full selection. Simone left this one in front,” he said, showing me a rose-colored dress. The note on it said for the party after your private party.
Bless Simone. She was always prepared … and funny. A second chest of drawers had been added to Timothy’s room. It contained the rest of my clothes.