The Wedding Night 1 Arrival

Posted in: Novellas & Series

Leaning over I lay my head against his shoulder. Removing a hand from the wheel, he tenderly strokes my hair and cheek. Knowing I have chosen my life mate wisely, I’m filled with peaceful love towards him, and I know he perfectly reciprocates my feelings.

At a loss for words I press silently against him, as he slowly drives these winding back country lanes. We both remain quiet, neither of us wanting to disturb the tranquil mood. There’s nothing needing saying that has not already been said. Tonight is a time for actions, not conversation.

He still hasn’t revealed where we’re headed, and I just know him to be taking the scenic route in getting there. The man certainly likes his romantic suspense.

Spotting yet another Y in the road, I feel it’s prudent to break the mood, to let him know of my growing impatience; “Please honey…No more side roads?” Grimacing slightly, nevertheless he takes the road more traveled. I feel bad; Me and my impatience, spoiling the wending route he obviously had so carefully planned for this trip. Still, there will be time aplenty another day, for a long romantic drive. Tomorrow would be fine…unless things really spark between us as I hope. In that case, maybe the day after tomorrow.

Some five minutes later we turn on to the main street of a town small enough to have but a single block of businesses. But low and behold, there, snuggled between a grade school and a farm field, is a cabin style motel.

He parks us out front, right next to a carved wooden statue of a life sized bear. On the spot I decide this is the most romantic place I’ve ever seen.

Reluctantly slipping free of my grasp, he climbs slowly from the drivers seat.

Expecting him to head for the lobby and make a room rental, I wonder if I should get out and join him. Instead, fishing in his dress pant’s pocket, he removes a largish key from it’s expensive…I mean expansive depths.

Realizing I’m moments away from being alone with him, has the butterflies in my stomach morphing into grasshoppers. Though feeling a little light headed, I take pride in the fact my palms are dry, my breathing even. This is excitement, not nervousness. I see now why he planned such a circuitous route. It was meant to bond us together into a relaxed state, to calm our body’s urges. In my case, it hasn’t worked.

In the time it takes me to unclench my hands, he collects the medium white traveling case from the trunk, the only thing we brought, and has come around to my door. Opening it, he looks down on me. I wait patiently for him to take my hand. I’m glad I designed my dress without a train, otherwise reaching our room while avoiding the country dirt would be impossible.

Before I’m all the way standing, his arm slides behind my thighs and he hefts me up into his arms. I am not a light woman, (It is all muscle, thank you very much.) yet he supports me with no apparent strain. A stray white balloon we must have missed shoving into the backseat, now rolls across the ground away from the car, on the faintest of breezes. I doubt he even notices it’s escape. His eyes are rather busy. If it were not our wedding night I would slap his face. The way he stares almost hungrily at my chest is indecent. “No”, I remind myself. “Admit how it truly makes you feel.” I take the arm I don’t have wrapped around his neck, running my gloved fingers over the swell of my chest; finally resting my forearm upon my breasts, as if shy, and wishing to shield myself from his gaze.

Our small duffel bag with all the night’s necessities he sets in my lap, so both his hands can be free; free to tightly clasp me to his torso. So far he’s done an admirable job of sweeping me off my feet. Now, which of these cabins is ours?

He carries me down to the very end hotel room, abutting the harvested corn field.

This late in the year the air goes chill long before the orange sun oozes behind the distant western hills, but the drop in air temperature is not the reason for my sudden bout of shivers. Stopping at our door with me still cuddled in his arms, he shifts my weight onto his thigh, so as to slide home the door key.

I have to think, “Will his key fit my lock so smoothly?”

—————————————————————————————————————————–

I have anticipated this moment so many times over the last month. My wife seems to weigh practically nothing in my arms. My adrenaline is spiking so high I could pick up a cow from the field just down the road. Why am I thinking of bovines?! Normally I would laugh at these meandering thoughts of mine, but with her soft weight in my arms any emotion besides lust is inconceivable. My wife could never be a grazing animal. If I had to select a creature she embodies, it would be the leopard.

Noticing my thoughtful expression, she gives me a questioning look. “Oh, I was just thinking what animal you would be.” Raising her eyebrows, she puts me on the spot, silently awaiting the conclusion I have reached. “Snow Leopard.” Her eyes widen slightly as I step into the gloom of our cabin’s long shadow, and she makes a throaty cat noise of approval. “Hmmm; And you’re a Jaguar.” “That’s a relief. This means we’re just connatural enough to perform a successful mating.” I know it’s the perfect response when she pushes at my chest, her shoulders shaking in silent mirth.

My hand is shaking so badly I have trouble inserting the key into the lock. It must be the adrenaline making me so jittery. I struggle not to drop the key while holding her and finally…success! I slide the corrugated metal length into place, and twist.

Once I get the knob turned, I throw open the garishly red painted door with my leg, revealing to our gazes what the hotel manager called ‘The Anniversary Suite’. Wanting our first night together to be as spontaneous as possible, I have not yet looked inside. From what I can see now, it’s perfect. Directly across from a massive flat panel mounted on the wooden wall, lies a king sized bed set high up off the ground.

Choosing not carry my wife into the mostly dark interior, I set her down, right on the lintel. It’s on her own prerogative that she steps within, her grasping hand practically dragging me along. “Oh no!” The last thing I want is her thinking she needs to take the lead.

If only I knew what fantasies and expectations she has for this night, then I might tailor my forthcoming actions accordingly. Should I ask her? No; better to just take it slow, to never lose control or rush. The important thing is to make tonight memorable; to make it

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