The Bride Goes Trolling

“Let’s just get dressed and go,” she said, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t want to leave you unsatisfied.”

“Then go get your big brother and bring him back here.”

“That’s really harsh. Maybe I will just go.” He pulled the shorts on quickly. He grabbed the toga and his shoes and walked out the door where they had entered. She lay there on the couch, her dress hiked up around her waist, wondering what had been the point of it all. And then she knew. She wanted to call him back and thank him.

She went back to the party a few minutes later after checking herself in the mirror and making a few small adjustments. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for.

“Come here, you,” she said. She grabbed her man by the neck bolts, pulled him to her and kissed him like they’d been apart for months. “Let’s go home and have a real party.”

She hugged his chest and breathed his masculine scent of decay and freshly turned earth. She slid her fingers under his shirt to stroke his scarred body, then surreptitiously grazed his crotch to feel that huge bulge that hadn’t gone away for a single moment of the 300 years she’d known him. She wondered how she could have ever gone looking for anyone else when she had everything she needed right here.

So what if he couldn’t discuss philosophy? He had the strength of 10 men, but still cradled her in his arms as gently as if she were a newborn kitten. This was where she belonged. And she couldn’t wait to get home and show him that she knew it.