Of Being Yours[another way 2] (23 page)

“You’re getting mighty bossy for my submissive,” he said, the words low now, teasing.

“Then spank me and punish me.” It was a bold statement, a challenge, not one that I expected him to rise to. But he smiled.

“You’d only like it.”

Chapter 16

T
HERE
were rules when we were staying with my family, and even though we didn’t have to worry about them for this trip, we followed them by force of habit. No toys ever made it into my parents’ house. No one was likely to snoop, but it was a security thing. We never kissed in front of them; rarely, if ever, held hands. In the past few years, my mama had come to accept my relationship, but neither of us was comfortable with the thought of forcing the finer details upon her.

When we stayed, she made up two beds for us—the pullout sofa in the den for Will, and I got to take the regular sofa on the other side of the room. To prove a point, I never slept on the tidily made-up sheets she set out for me; I slept on the lumpy pullout, too, snuggling up to my partner like I did every night. Mama never commented.

The rules for the wedding were much the same: no overt displays of affection, don’t mention our relationship in front of the homophobic older members of the family, be calm and polite in the face of their disapproval. It sucked.

My sister had been asked to be a bridesmaid, and although there was a clear offer that I could be involved in the wedding party if I so wished, I didn’t accept. More important to me was sticking close to Will, making sure my family didn’t say anything mean, and protecting him, however stupid that might sound.

The idea of matching suits was fairly repulsive to us both, but our choices echoed each other. I didn’t match my partner; instead we complemented each other perfectly. Will’s darker hair looked striking against the light-gray suit he wore with a white shirt that had an almost-white stripe, the shirt open at the neck in place of a tie. It was a summer wedding, after all. My own suit was slightly darker than his and had a light pinstripe running through the material. I’d chosen a white shirt and a waistcoat as well as a jacket. I was more used to the heat than he was.

“Don’t you look smart,” he said as I finished threading cufflinks through their holes.

“Thanks,” I said and smirked at him. “You look fairly edible yourself.”

He laughed and leaned over to bite my ear. “I’m going to melt by the end of the day.”

“We’ll only be outside for a little while. All of the reception is being held in a grand hotel ballroom.”

“Very nice.”

“Nothing but the best.”

Will reached over to the pot of hair gel on our dresser and started to smooth it through my hair, working it back in a style that I loved but my mother strongly disliked. I slicked cologne over his collarbones and finished buttoning up his shirt.

“We’re disgusting,” he said.

“Could be us getting married.” I waited a few beats for the words to register. This was where we both voiced our disagreement with the gay marriage issue—we weren’t prepared to make that step until we felt like we weren’t second-class citizens, and that equality was meant for everyone.

While I waited for Will to voice our joint opinion like he always did, he kissed me softly, being careful not to bruise or redden my lips. Then linked his hands low at my back.

“Come on,” he said. I frowned and followed.

We had a cab booked for the ride from the hotel to the church because I wanted our arrival to be discreet. It seemed like things were in full swing by the time we arrived, and as I’d hoped, we were able to slide into one of the pews on the bride’s side of the church while others were still turning up.

My mama and dad joined us, Mama scowling at my hair but not commenting. I knew that Will felt uncomfortable in church, mostly because he believed the church had a problem with him, rather than him having a problem with the church. He kept his hand pressed against the side of my leg so that no one apart from me could tell that it was there.

After the service we met up with Jennifer outside, where Nicole was smiling brightly on her new husband’s arm as a photographer snapped pictures of them.

“I might have to run off in a bit,” she said, apologizing before we even finished greeting her. She waved a bouquet demonstratively. “I have
duties.
”

Will leaned in to kiss her cheek quickly. “You look lovely, Jennifer.”

“Thanks,” she said, then scowled at me.

“I don’t think you look lovely,” I said childishly. “I think you look like a marshmallow.”

“I hate you,” she said and fluffed up her pink dress where it had wilted in the heat.

Her name was called from somewhere near the front of the church, and she threw me a
look
before flouncing off in their direction.

“Be nice to your sister,” Will said.

“Yes,” Mama echoed.

I reached for Will’s hand as we walked back to their car; we’d ride with my parents, but Jennifer got to take one of the beautiful vintage cars to the hotel where the reception was being held. Will didn’t push my hand away, and I was grateful for that, although he did only brush his thumb over the side of it a few times before letting go.

I wanted to kiss him more in that moment than I had in a long, long time.

The reception venue was decorated with flowers, hundreds on hundreds of white-and-pink flowers, the smell of which made me slightly light-headed. The pomp and circumstance of speeches, many courses of dinner, and conversation kept me going for a while; being seated between another of my cousins and her partner kept me occupied. I had plenty to keep my mind distracted from my partner across the table, who was receiving a grilling from my aunt.

I did my mingling, talking to the people who wanted to congratulate me on my master’s degree and my job and to do some questioning of their own of what my new position meant. I was quiet on the subject of Will and our life together unless someone asked something specific. It hurt my heart to have to reduce him to something less than what he was, but it was necessary to protect us both.

“What’s your poison, Anderson?” I heard my father’s voice carry through the room and turned my head instinctively.

Both my dad and Will were standing at the bar, Will leaning back slightly against a barstool.

“Bourbon,” Will said. “Thanks.”

“Straight?” Dad asked, and from this angle I couldn’t see his expression.

“Ice. Please.” His voice held the remains of a laugh, so I guessed my father wasn’t being a dick.

“I figured you for something more….”

“Fruity?” Will supplied.

My dad laughed, a big belly laugh that shook his broad shoulders. “You’re all right, Anderson. You’re all right.”

I decided I had listened in to their conversation for too long already and sidled up to Will. “Hey.”

“Drink, Jesse?” Dad asked affably.

“Sure. Same, please.”

The barmaid returned to our end of the bar and Dad caught her attention. “Three bourbons, on the rocks.”

When it arrived, I took a long swallow of my drink, watching how Dad only sipped his and Will took a reasonable-sized mouthful, then wondered what that said about each of us as men. The night had crept on, and many of the older members of the family had already left, claiming they needed their rest after the activity of the day.

My grandmother remained—my father’s mother, the old crone who liked to call me a “shirt lifter.” I didn’t mind; she was perfectly pleasant to both Will and me, and I found her as amusing as she was offensive.

“So tell me about this ‘little bump’ you had in the car,” Dad said.

I looked over at Will. He looked as puzzled as I was.

I’d decided to keep my parents fairly out of the loop when it came to the details of the accident. There was no use in worrying them, and the last thing I wanted was for them to decide that the right thing to do would be to come up to Seattle to take care of me. I knew from experience that my mama would get fairly hysterical if she thought I was in any kind of danger. It was for the best this way.

“What do you mean?” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “We hit some ice on the way back from boarding. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal, hmm,” he echoed. “Care to tell me, then, why Cara Anderson called me up to tell me all about it?”

Will frowned. “I didn’t know my mom contacted you.”

“She said that everything was under control,” Dad said, swirling his bourbon and ice around in his glass and not looking at us. “But it would have been nice for my son to have told me about it himself.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” I said, deciding to go with honesty. “You’re too far away to be able to run over and see that for yourselves.”

“I haven’t told your mama,” Dad said. “I don’t want you keeping things like this from me, Jesse. In the future—call me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Good.”

We were silent for a few moments, and I tried to interpret Will’s expression. He didn’t seem to be shocked at the news that his mother had somehow managed to find a number for my folks. I wasn’t that surprised either. Cara was a mother, after all, and it made sense that she would feel responsible for letting my parents know what was happening. It was more surprising that my father felt the need to bring it up.

“You know something, Will,” my father said, and I could tell from his voice that alcohol had made him philosophical, “you weren’t what I expected for my son. But you make him happy.”

“He makes me happy too, sir,” Will said. I huffed a laugh.

“That’s good. You know his mother has got this Patrick Harris person into her head now.”

“So I’d heard,” Will said.

“I’d be careful of that,” Dad said. “She’s a persistent woman.” He drained his glass and laughed, shaking his head. “You two think you’re so subtle. Like no one could know unless they already knew. But I’ll tell you this, boys—every damn person in this room tonight knows you’re together.”

His unconscious echoing of my mother’s words the previous night shook me.

“So, Jesse,” he continued, “for the love of God, go and dance with the boy.” With that, he set his glass down on the bar and went to go distract his mother.

The DJ changed the record right then, and I looked over to the boy,
my
boy, and just smiled at him.

“Could I have this dance?” I said, and he smiled right back.

“You sound like a cheesy high school romantic comedy.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, clutching my hand over my heart.

He laughed as he slipped his hand in mine and led me to the dance floor. The clock on the wall showed it was nearing one in the morning, and the music was definitely reflecting the general mood of slightly drunk and overly affectionate. I slipped my arms around Will’s waist and he copied the move, trapping my arms within his as he clasped his hands at my lower back.

It was a move that was undoubtedly calculated as the man was also my Dominant, and I thrived on that sort of attention. I turned my face away from his and set my cheek down on his shoulder; Will turned too and laid his head down on top of mine.

The song, the place, the people didn’t matter. It would maybe be a moment I’d remember forever or maybe be lost in time as other better memories took its place. That didn’t matter either. It was the sort of moment that reminds you that you’re alive, you’re real, the world exists and so does your lover, the man you love.

Will lightly kissed the corner of my mouth, which responded by quirking up at the corner into a smile. He nudged at my nose… apparently not knowing that every set of eyes in the ballroom was turned toward us.

“Let’s go,” he murmured.

I kept my hand in his as we found Nicole and her new husband, offering more congratulations and kisses before slipping from the room without any further fuss. I’d broken all the rules and had an errant thought that maybe my Master would punish me for it.

Back in our room,
Will pulled out his iPod and stuck it in the dock. The room immediately filled with soft piano and guitar music and the clear, soulful voice of his favorite singer. I pulled off my jacket, shirt, tie, and shoes but left my pants on. He mimicked my undressing, then opened his arms to me.