I don’t know for how long we were mashing, but by the time I lifted my head, all I could hear were whoops and clapping and laughter coming from all directions. There was no holding back my smile.
Ellie was grasping onto my head and back and seemed a little wobbly, so instead of doing the normal thing, I bent down and picked her up and carried her down the aisle of chrome, back to the clubhouse. Everybody trailed us, and the party started rocking immediately. There was a lot of loud music, champagne—I had a glass because I figured I should—disgusting stuff—and beer and top-shelf everything.
Despite all of her nerves during the ceremony, my woman loosened up soon afterward. We danced, laughed, and ate a ton of great barbeque. The Iron Bandits threw us one hell of an amazing party, and I knew they did it for me, for Keith, and for Ellie. I had good people.
And now, Ellie did, too. That, in itself, was important.
The only thing I was having a consistent issue with—the whole night long—was the raging boner that pressed hard against my jeans just from being near that woman. I couldn’t blame her for it, but by the time the party was winding down enough for us to go home, I was desperately searching for ways to put some distance between us. Proximity was getting to be torture, and even though I was all for living in the now, I also had to be mindful of our arrangement, and our promises to not give in to our explosive sexual chemistry.
Ecstasy, meet Agony.
Chapter 18
Ellie
Jack was so dreamy.
He was beautiful, and tall, and strong, and he smelled sooo good. I loved watching his face when he laughed—he didn’t do that often enough. His smile was a mile wide, and his eyes sparkled, and his whole being just lit up. Standing next to him, dancing with him, sitting on his lap—apparently this was de rigeur for ‘old ladies’—a set to which I could now claim membership. Not sure how I felt about that, but the ladies in it were cool, so my first impression of the concept might have been wrong—all of this proximity to Jack had me more wet in my panties than I had ever been in my life. It was all I could do not to jump his bones.
I blamed him. He had started it this morning, leaving me high and…not dry at the coffeemaker. Then all throughout the ceremony, when I was so nervous, he held my hand and smiled at me, looking appreciative and strong and so handsome. And that kiss! And then he carried me down the aisle! I mean, come on. All night, I just wanted to crawl all over him, suck on his lips and tongue, kiss and breathe in his neck, touch him all over…. It was ridiculous. I was ridiculous.
By some unknowable holy power, I had managed to restrain myself from acting on any of my baser instincts. I was doing my best to respect the lines we had drawn in the sand regarding the marriage contract and the no-more-sex-ever clause.
I had darned well better be earning top points in karma for all of my incredibly difficult work on this Herculean task. And those points, I decided, would all be put into Peter’s health box. It would all be worth it, for Peter.
Speaking of, Peter was being treated to a night of best-ever babysitting and extreme mama love from all of the old ladies who were mommies themselves.
Lena—who was partnered with Shooter, a veteran badass who had a prosthetic leg and a fiercely awesome sense of humor—had brought along her family’s favorite babysitter, Nell, to oversee all the loving, and to protect my little one from any overzealous handling. She guarded him while he slept, and kept him company in an upstairs room far enough away from the party to keep him safe and sound.
The mommies in the house were taking turns going up there, loving the opportunity to cuddle with my little bean, and they reassured me over and over again that I was not to worry about him until I was sober.
That meant that I could get my drink on and have a real night out, enjoy the party and all that went with it, and know that my baby boy was in fabulously loving hands. I hadn’t felt this free since…I don’t even know when. Maybe the night that Peter was conceived. Huh. That was significant, but I couldn’t really pinpoint exactly why, in my current state of semi-inebriation.
I wasn’t drunk. But I was certainly buzzed, and feeling high on life. I felt amazing: happy, light, and …around Jack? Jack was making me feel beautiful. Damn, I wanted to kiss that man.
# # #
As a wedding gift and to welcome me to the club, they had all pitched in to get me my very own kutte to match Jack’s, who they all called Jack-o—I still did not know why. It was a minor point, I figured, even though I now had a black leather road vest that read, “Property of Jack-o” on the back. Seeing as it was given to me with the expectation that I would be moved and honored and actually thrilled by such an appellation, I had smiled at all of them, and looked quizzically at Jack when I tried it on.