Big Girls Do It Married (20 page)

Mouth pressed to mouth, quivering wide in silent screams, we came together, merging and morphing until I had no conception of myself without him.
 

His dark brown eyes glittered in the silver light of the fading moon, piercing mine, and finally he spoke the words aloud: "I love you, Anna."

"I love you more," I said.

He laughed, and rolled me onto my back and kissed me with the fire of a thousand suns.

We slept, and woke, and made love with starving hunger, and slept again. At some point the blindfold went around my eyes and I made love to Jeff in perfect dark, feeling only his body on mine, smelling the scent of sex and sweat and Jeff.

At some point day came and went, and only the hunger in our bellies told us of the passage of time.

When we slept again, it was the sleep of utter exhaustion and completely satiety.
 

*
 
*
 
*

We woke and showered and dressed, found a cafe and had a late lunch.
 

"The clerk at the front desk told me about this bridge that's somewhere around here," Jeff said around a bite of brie cheese. "Apparently you buy a padlock and write your names on it, both you and your lover, and then you lock it on the bridge and it will seal your love for as long as the lock remains on the bridge."
 

He pulled a small heart-shaped padlock out of his pocket, along with a Sharpie. "I got this as your gift. I thought it would be fun to do. I guess there's these bridges with love locks on them all over the world, in cities in Belgium and Japan and a bunch of other places."

He wrote his name on one side of the lock and handed it to me, and I wrote mine. For the first time, I signed my name
Anna Cartwright
. I smiled as I showed it to him.

"Anna Cartwright," Jeff said, leaning over the table to kiss me. "My wife."

"I like the way that sounds," I said.

"Me, too."
 

We took the lock to the
Pont de l'Archevêché
, opened the lock, hooked in an open spot, and clicked it into place.

"You know there are two such bridges as this?" a voice said in a thick French accent. An older man, with silver hair and a carefully trimmed beard, shuffled over to us. "You look as if you are in love, yes? Not only lovers, but in love?"

"We just got married a few days ago," I answered.

"Ah, well then you are in the wrong place, I think. This, the
Pont de l'Archevêché
, it is for lovers, you know? You have the key, still?" I showed him the key in my hand, and he took it from me, unlocked our lock, and handed it to me. "You must take this to the
Pont des Arts
and place there your lock. When you have locked it, you must throw the key into the Seine. There you are claiming the tradition of the committed lover,
oui
? It is a different kind of love, not only for the sex, but for the staying together, the always love.
Oui
?"

Jeff and I exchanged amused glances. "Thanks," Jeff said. "Wouldn't want to invoke the wrong tradition."

The old man narrowed his eyes. "You make fun, but this is serious. What can it hurt to believe? You should have more faith,
non
?"

"I wasn't—" Jeff started, but I stepped on his foot, and he smiled at the man. "Thanks, for real. Um, how do we get there?"

The old man gave us directions, and we found the bridge after a few wrong turns. The railings of this bridge had far fewer locks. Jeff and I put our padlock in place and withdrew the key. Before we tossed it into the Seine, Jeff pulled me against his chest and kissed me, hard and full of passion.
 

 
"I don't know if this how this works," he said. "But I think we should make a wish before we throw this key in."

I laughed. "I'm pretty sure that's how this works, but I'm game."

He wrapped his huge hand around my smaller one, holding the key together. "I wish for forty years of marriage with you," he said.
 

"Only forty?" I teased.

"Fine. How old are we? Almost thirty for both of us? How about eighty years, then? We'll be over a hundred. If we're still alive in eighty years, I want to still be married to you. Still in love. Still kissing you, just like this—" and he caressed my lips with his, slow and delicate, then hungrily, "every single day, until we fall asleep together and wake up in heaven."

"To kiss you every single day already is heaven," I whispered, "And that's my wish. A million kisses, and then a million more."

We threw the key into the Seine. It made a tiny splash, but I knew, deep in my soul, that the image of the key hitting the rushing river would be ingrained in my mind for as long as I lived. The feel of Jeff's hand in mine, a gentle breeze ruffling our hair, evening in Paris lowering gloom around us, these would be memories locked in my mind forever.

THE END

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ROCKSTARS DO IT HARDER

Part One of Chase's Story

Available Now

The pain in Anna's eyes when she caught sight of Chase sent a bolt of agony through his heart. It was the ultimate rejection, even more than her words. She'd told him, in no uncertain terms, that she didn't love him. Even that didn't hurt quite so much as seeing her soft, sweet, expressive hazel eyes blaze with pain and surprise and anger at the mere sight of him.
 

Chase had thrown himself into the band, into tours and concerts. He wrote like a madman, pouring his pain and anger into songs that got progressively darker as the weeks passed. His band mates had noticed, but they didn't say anything. The darker music drew the fans, drew the crowds to swelling numbers, filled the stadiums and the bars and the casinos. Sure, they weren't headliners yet, but of all the opening acts, Six Foot Tall drew the most attention, garnered the loudest applause.
 

None of that mattered. Not to Chase.
 

The fans could scream their heads off, but it wouldn't fill the ache in Chase's heart, the hollow in his belly. Only
she
could fill him like that, and she'd chosen someone else. Even when fans sneaked backstage after shows and pressed their bodies against him, he couldn't find even a moment of contentment.
 

He'd let a girl take him all the way once—and only once—after Anna broke his heart. He'd rejected dozens of girls up until then, all skinny girls with small, hard breasts and waists he could span with his hands, ribs showing when they lifted their tops to tempt him with their pale, frail bodies. He'd rejected them all, politely but firmly.
 

Then a different kind of girl found him backstage, bribed security to give her a few minutes alone with Chase. She was tall with wide hips and heavy breasts, a luxurious fall of black hair and bright green eyes. For the first time in weeks, Chase felt the stirrings of desire. He let her peel her shirt off, pendulous breasts swaying in front of his face, her areolas dark dimes against her pale skin.
 
She'd pushed her skintight pants down to her feet and stepped out to stand before him naked and gloriously beautiful, a pale Diana. The cold air of the dressing room made her nipples stand on end, hard little beads.
 

Chase sat, waiting, heart thudding, his pose deceptively casual. She didn't say anything, just unbuckled his belt, tugged his pants down to his knees, slipped her legs astride his, and impaled herself on him, moved above him, her green eyes locked on his, full lips pressed thin, heavy breasts swaying. His body responded, but his mind stayed frozen and cold, his heart empty and black.

She isn't Anna
. He pounded the thought through his mind, a harsh reminder, but to no avail. Black hair flashed into blond locks, green eyes turned gray. Her name was poised on his lips, whispered in the cold air.

Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed, the black-haired beauty, but she smiled and said, "I can be your Anna, if that's what you want."
 

She moved faster above him, her eyes closed, and her breath came faster as she neared climax.
 

He came, and the release was brief and unfulfilling. She rose off him, plucked a few Kleenex from the box on the counter behind Chase. He watched with a kind of detached, apathetic disgust as she cleaned the white trickle from her thighs, swiped down the line of her lips, and then threw the tissue in the small metal trashcan on the floor. She dressed, pulled her long black hair into a ponytail, and opened the door. Before she departed, she pulled a small white rectangle from her purse, a business card, and set it on the filing cabinet by the door.
 

"If you get over Anna and you want some real company, call me." Then she was gone.
 

Chase sat, his pants still around his thighs, cock limp and sticky against his leg. A fist knocked, jerking Chase from his blank stare, and he tugged his pants on, buckled his belt, and called a hoarse, "Come in."

The security guard poked his head in. "You're on in five." He saw the card on the cabinet, and flicked a grin at Chase. "Nice, huh? That chick had some big ol' titties, right?"

"Yeah."

"Gonna bring her backstage again after?"

"No." Chase felt a flood of self-loathing wash through him. "In fact, don't let anyone else back here again."

The security guard lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "You sure? You don't want—"

"No, I don't."

"All right, man. If you say so."

After that Chase had taken to hiding in the green room, or in a crowd of other musicians.
 
He'd started to heal, started to forget.

And then he'd gone out onstage in Vegas, some casino way off the Strip. The lights had gone up, the crowd had been wild, manic, infusing him with a crazed energy. The first number had killed. Then he'd paused, scanning the crowd, seeing only a sea of faces. Just as Chase was about to give the signal to kick in the next number, he'd seen a flash of blonde hair, an all-too-familiar face only a few feet away from the stage.
 

Anna
.
 

One look, and his heart had crumbled all over again.
 

He'd written dozens of songs about her, but he'd only written one song
to
her,
for
her. It was, perhaps, his best song to date. The band had learned it, but they hadn't planned on performing it yet.
 

It was time, he decided.

Chase spun in place and waved for his band's attention. "We're doing 'I Found You.'"

"Now?" This was Gage, his bassist, and one of his oldest friends.

"Yeah, now. She's here. She needs to hear it."
 

Gage shrugged. "If you say so, man."

"Make it burn, boys," Chase said. He turned away and fixed his eyes on Anna.
 

Mic to his lips, he addressed her. "This next song is...special. It's brand new, you guys are the first live audience to hear it played. I wrote it during a time of...heartbreak and loss. Just listen, you'll see what I mean." Chase paused to tamp down the emotion. "I hadn't planned this, but the person...the woman I wrote this song about, is in the audience today. Makes this performance especially personal. Anna, this is for you."
 

He watched her eyes darken with pain, and then the drumbeat kicked in and the music carried him away. He screamed himself raw, that song. But it didn't matter. She turned away, and he knew she'd made her final choice. Just as well. He was so hurt, so full of blind rage, he wouldn't have been able to speak to her.
 

He saw
him
, Jeff, standing behind her. "Take care of her."

Jeff nodded, and Chase was satisfied. Even through the anger and searing pain, he wanted her to be happy, and it was clear Jeff made her happy.

The rest of the set flew by, and he collapsed in the green room, completely spent. He sipped water and settled in to wait for his band mates to finish partying with the rest of the festival bands. He wasn't up for a crowd, not then.
 

The door opened, and he started to bitch out the security guard, but the face he saw poking through the gap stopped his heart. She hesitated, unsure.
 

"You?" Chase's voice cracked into a whisper.

"I know you probably don't want to see me, of all people, but—"

"No, it's fine. Come on in." He set his bottle down and tried to gather his scattered wits. "What—uh, what are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." She held up a backstage pass. "I have this...Anna—sorry,
she
gave it to me. So...here I am."

Her eyes held sorrow for him. That hurt, in an odd way. She cared about him? She saw his pain, clearly. "Here you are."

The silence stretched out, neither of them sure what to say, or do, or feel.
 

God, she's gorgeous
. The thought struck him, unbidden.
 

For the first time in months, Anna was nowhere in his mind.

Jasinda Wilder

Visit me at my website:
www.jasindawilder.com
 

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