Surge (St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders) Book 3: St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders (20 page)

Epilogue

They didn’t want
a long engagement so they’d placed their names on a waiting list. Amazingly, a date became available in December.

Today—she—would—be—his.

So many changes had occurred for them over the past few months. Jackson had started his job as an E.R. physician. Clara hadn’t thought much would change when he took his full doctor position in emergency medicine because he’d been a resident there, but she was wrong. The section chief was in a hurry to mentor Jackson into the director of clinical services position and his hours were long and tedious, but he loved what he was doing and they loved their newfound freedom as a couple in love. Every day she’d pop in for a visit with him and was content to wait however long was needed for a window of time when they could be together, even if only for a moment.

Her little cheese shop was holding its own as well. By the third month in operation, she was able to pay her own overhead and food costs and even put a little money away. She loved talking to people and getting them passionate about cheese, olives, jams, and honey. The strangest thing about her gig was that she paired wine with cheese and made recommendations. At the age of eighteen she was allowed to sell wine, but she wasn’t allowed to drink it. Consequently, she wasn’t moving too much wine. She was relieved they hadn’t stocked much of the stuff.

On top of her new business and his new role as E.R. doctor, they also were in the process of moving. Her father had purchased a home for them in Augie and Mia’s neighborhood. Jackson was adamant that he be the one to provide for all of her needs, but she knew her dad had always dreamed of giving his little girl her first home. He finally had to agree to let Jackson pay him back when he was in a position to do so.

With work and moving Clara was happy that the wedding plans came together seamlessly. Jackson gave in to tradition and let her parents pay for most of the wedding. She had the perfect dress, the perfect setting, and the perfect man.

Her mom and all of her brother’s wives were sitting in the parlor of the church. Clara’s dream was about to come true. In an hour she would walk down the aisle of the St. Louis Cathedral and marry Jackson. She’d asked Eve to be her maid of honor and as she stood in her silky white dress she scanned the room. She couldn’t imagine this day without a single one of her sisters-in-law or her mother. In that moment she knew Jackson had been right—she needed her family. Jackson had selflessly sacrificed his need of her to give her back to her family. She shuddered at the memory of living without him. She would never have to again. And best of all, her family had given their blessing and shown their love and support for the union.

Women hovered all around her. Brook and Isa were busy steaming wrinkles she couldn’t even see out of her gown. Jenny and Chloe pinned her hair, and her mother touched up her lip gloss. Jessie, Eve, and Mia were busy fluffing all the bouquets and discussing the processional.

The hour passed quickly and they all lined up at the door leading to the sanctuary. She stood to the side and watched the processional line get shorter and shorter. Excitement flitted in her stomach and she knew she’d never been this happy before. “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes drifted through the speakers. Her father walked her to the doorway arch leading from the foyer into the sanctuary. She told him to stand there with her until the first verse was complete. No one expected the quirky song. She guessed they were listening for Mendelssohn’s Wedding March, but she’d saved this little surprise for this moment.

Jackson turned the moment she and her father filled the arch. He always knew when she was in a room. This knowledge caused a large smile to break across her face and she thought her skin might split. He threw her an equally big smile.

“You ready to march?”

Her dad kissed her hand and placed her arm in his. “Yeah, Dad.”

“I love you, Clara Bear.”

“I love you, Dad.”

They marched slowly, her gaze locked with Jackson’s. Her song for him blasted through the large speakers. When her father gave her to Jackson the room fell away, along with all the people. There were no walls, nothing existed to confine them. Together they would face the world as one. The covenant they entered into meant more to her than the house, the cheese shop, or his title as doctor because it meant they were accepted. They were acknowledged as equals. She’d been allowed to make the decision to love him for the rest of her life and the fact that her family supported her in that decision was humbling. They’d support her and Jackson through anything now, no matter how difficult the circumstance, or high the hill to climb, her family would be there, pushing behind them.

They exchanged vows and rings and then the sweetest words she ever heard were spoken by the priest, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Jackson Reid Olivier.” Old fashioned yes, but she was made to be Mrs. Olivier and she knew he needed her to be as well.

The wedding ceremony started at seven o’clock. It was seven forty-five when they walked, hands joined, through the front door. A New Orleans brass band waited for the wedding party to exit and then the trumpets and rich saxophone sounds filled the night air. “When the Saints Go Marching In”—the song’s message wasn’t romantic, but it was the tune and the spirit with which it was played that was infectious. They marched down Bourbon Street through the French Quarter with her family and friends in tow. She’d never seen Jackson so happy and carefree. Her dress dragged along the filthy streets, but it would be a hell of a story to reminisce with her grandkids about exactly how the bottom became such a dingy shade of gray.

Many people from hotels, apartments, and nightclubs joined their festive parade. Those who didn’t whooped and hollered as they passed.

She tugged at his arm and he bent his head toward her ear. “Cracker Jack, this is the best day of my life.”

“No, Bug, it’s the best day of mine. Thank you for giving me my life back.”

“Hey, you stole my line.”

“Oh.” His brow hitched.

“You saved me that day in my sixteen-year-old bedroom.”

“You saved me back.”

They kissed, holding up the march, but no one seemed to mind. Their hearts were truly entwined and could now beat together as one. Nothing would ever be more perfect. Clara turned to her family and smiled as she rested her sleepy head on Jackson’s shoulder.

“Together forever,” they said in unison.

Damaged excerpt

Excerpt has not been edited. Content may change upon final publication.

≈

Strong arms on
Bailey’s waist guided her down to the bench, positioning her on her knees. The couch was low and she felt the breeze rush over her exposed bottom.

“Hang on, just gotta put on a condom.”

His words were slurred from the amount of alcohol coursing through his system. The condom wrapper zipped and she listened hard for other sounds, but heard only the soft waves against the boat.

Attempting to turn over she pushed against the bench with her hands, but he pushed her down with his knee in the small of her back. “Don’t move.” He chuckled. His voice was cajoling not harsh as he scooped her hair into his hands and positioned it over her left shoulder. “Do you want to leave?”

“No, I just …”

“Just what? If you’re having second thoughts you need to tell me because once I start, there’s no turning back.”

“No second thoughts, I just wanted to see your penis.”

“Penis is a bit clinical for my tastes. Call it a cock and I may let you see it.”

“I want to see your cock.” She smiled as she said the taboo word she’d rarely spoken.

“He smacked her butt hard. Don’t worry baby you’ll see it as you suck and lick it and I come down your throat.” His words caused her to shiver. This is what she’d sought when she went to the pub. She wanted to be screwed by a man that knew exactly what he wanted and how to use what the good Lord had given him.

Maura had been opposed to this kind of destructive behavior, but she’d told her sister that she definitely wanted to experience raw ecstasy before she passed on.

At once he plunged one of his fingers into her depths and she cried out from the sudden fullness.

“Damn you’re snug. You’re wet though, that’ll help.”

She wondered what she needed help with and then she felt something solid, heavy, and warm push between her legs. The sensation startled her and she jolted forward.

“Damn, are you sure you really want this?”

“I want it!”

“Convince me.”

She pushed back onto his erection and moved her hips, rubbing her wetness onto his cock.

“Your body clearly wants it. What I meant was convince me with your words.”

“Oh … er … I … um … want your stiff, hot rod to penetrate me.” That’s just dreadful.

Huge booming laughter vibrated through him and into her. “Okay, but I’ve never heard it quite put that way before.” His hand slapped her butt and then she shrieked at the intrusion of him fully sheathed inside of her at once. Stinging pain morphed into tingling bliss. Behind her he held still giving her a chance to adjust to the fullness.

When she moved her hips to adjust he pulled out half of his length and slowly fed it back inside of her until his tranquil composure had her begging.

“Ah, please.”

“We’ll get going in a bit, let me stretch out.” His voice had a lilt to it and she imagined he was smiling, maybe laughing, at her.

His hands palmed her butt and kneaded. Then he spread her cheeks as his cock parted her folds. “You’ve got a perfect little ass.” She acknowledged his words with a groan. “Ever been fucked here?” His finger rubbed around her bud.

“No.” She croaked. He chuckled and then he was pounding into her using his hips with speed and precision. Each forward and backward stroke was as steady as the last. Furiously, he pumped and even the boat was rocking. Whimpering, she was louder than she’d ever been during sex, usually preferring to keep the noises to a minimum, but the sounds were involuntary. His strong hands on her hips pulled and pushed at the flesh there to aid his efforts. Hard slapping fleshy sounds coupled with their wetness and the creaks from the boat could be heard.

Suddenly his arms looped through hers and pulled her to a standing position. Roughly he pulled her back toward his chest and his arm snaked down her body, his hand cupping her sex. “Give me your hand.” His voice was raspy.

He placed her hand where his had been. “Feel my cock pumping in and out of you.” His fingers pushed against hers and she gasped when she felt his hot hard steel, wet from her juices, sliding in and out.

“Play with your clit. Make yourself come.”

His dirty whispers in her ear compiled the soundtrack of the most erotic scenes of her life. She placed her fingers on the spot and sighed in pleasure. This is what she’d been wanting, craving—a moment to forget who she was. She wanted to be treated like a sexy woman and this man, this magnificent man, was sharing his skills with her. God he knew how to make a woman’s body sing.

His thrusts slowed as he slid his middle finger into her mouth, imitating the movement of his cock. As quickly as it appeared his finger was gone. He pulled out a fraction and she felt pressure against her butt. She stilled, not sure she was ready for what he had planned.

“Relax. I’m just going to finger your ass.”

Her body seized. She was experiencing so much pleasure that she almost didn’t have enough emotion left to feel embarrassment. Almost. She pulled away. He pulled her back and started thrusting, his finger pushed into her mouth a second time.

“Relax. Push against me. I promise it’ll be more pleasure than you’ve ever experienced.”

His finger left her mouth and massaged around the tight skin of her bud. She closed her eyes and slowly massaged her clit. Inhaling deep she pushed against his finger and he slipped in. Stinging pain gave way to raw pleasure. It was different than the pleasure she gave herself with her clit massage and different from his cock filling her vagina. Pain coupled with tingling spread from her core. Every time he moved even a centimeter she felt it to the roots of her hair. The sensation was all consuming—like taking a plunge into a pool of ice cold water. Not a single cell had been left untouched.

She could have sworn he’d crawled inside of her and was pleasuring her from the inside out. Her own low cries were unrecognizable. She existed in a space that was untouched by time or gravity. She floated, the boat’s gentle rocking heightening her sense of weightlessness. She couldn’t move so his free hand cupped her sex and his finger massaged her clit as she came hard on his cock. Her muscles clamped down around the finger inside her causing a flurry of intense pressure to the nerves around his finger. Her tits hardened to the point of pain and she screamed over and over. He groaned as her muscles contracted around him. Together they reached the pinnacle and plummeted into carnal abyss.

Her body went limp after the last electric charge worked its way from her core out to her skin. Still he jerked and moaned behind her. When her knees gave out he pulled her down with him to the couch. They sat with her back to his front for several minutes. Her eyes closed and if she didn’t watch it she knew she’d fall asleep. Her stamina for ordinary day-to-day tasks was diminished and this exertion, when compared to her normal daily living activities, was akin to flying to the moon.

He slipped from her, rose from the couch and stood just outside of what appeared to be a small room. When he turned toward her his jeans were fastened and zipped. He walked toward a shelf above where she was sitting and stood on tiptoe. The smooth vocal melodies of Birdy filled the small boat cabin and her eyes closed. She hoped he’d let her sleep before he wanted her to leave. She knew guys were funny about that kind of thing, but if he made her go she’d have to nap in her car.

Soft velvet enrobed her skin and she hummed as he tucked a blanket around her.

When she woke morning light filtered through the windows of the boat. As she sat up reality slowly crept into her consciousness.
Shit
! Last night she’d completed an item from her checklist. The man … what was his name? … Peter … no … Parker was amazing. Coffee fumes filled her nostrils and her head turned in the direction of the enticing smell.

Her jaw dropped at the sight of Parker without a shirt and in nothing but the tight designer jeans he’d worn last night. Thick, tight sinewy muscles coursed up his arms, across his expansive chest, and down into the V of his defined abdominals. She closed her mouth and swallowed using the back of her hand to wipe the drool that had escaped. How humiliating.

He chuckled. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Oh … yeah … I love it.”

Sputtering sounds announced a full pot of coffee awaited and Parker turned his attention away from her. She was glad because it allowed her time to dig in the couch for her shirt. She righted her skirt and slipped on her panties. Wow, this scenario gave new meaning to the phrase
walk of shame.
She slid on her sandals. As she started folding the blanket Parker arrived with the coffee. She took a break and sipped the warm, tantalizing liquid. They exchanged no words as they drank. Parker seemed too comfortable in her presence given their night of debauchery. His eyes scanned her from head to toe and she felt her face and chest heat. She looked away from him and drained her mug. She needed to call her sister and hoped her phone was in her car. Not happy with her decision to leave the bar with Parker, Maura would have worn a hole in the carpet by now.

She stood and completed the task of folding the blanket. She held it out to him. “Thanks for letting me sleep here last night.”

He took the blanket and then lifted her arm, turning the inside toward his gaze. Worry lines furrowed as he took in the sight of her veins that had been abused. Intense eye contact followed and his mouth gaped, full of questions he’d never ask. He probably thought she was an avid drug user and she preferred that rather than the truth. She pulled her arm away turning the bruises from his intense stare.

Outside somebody was whistling. She could hear footsteps as someone climbed down the stairs and then shadows prevented her ability to focus on the body descending into the boat cabin.

“Bailey?”

Julian. The nice guy she’d met at the pub a few weeks ago. They’d been to dinner and a movie together, though she couldn’t remember the name of it. This was beyond embarrassing. She looked down at her toes, “Hey Julian.”

Walk of shame indeed.

“Your name is Bailey?” Her eyes grew large as she turned toward Parker.

“Yeah fucktard, her name is Bailey.” Julian shot daggers at Parker.

“Yeah. Um, I better go. See you around.” She couldn’t get out of there fast enough and stumbled at the stairs.

Parker caught her bare upper arm. “Easy.”

She saw her sweater on the floor in front of the couch. “My sweater.” She snatched it up and tried the stairs again this time making it out to the upper deck with no problem. She walked down the pier to her car and sank down behind the wheel.

As embarrassed as she was, she wouldn’t trade her night with Parker for anything in the world. He’d treated her like a desired possession and she’d desperately needed to feel desired again.