Page 13 of Unplanned
“That’s it. Let it out. Let it all fucking go, Becca.”
At this urging, her body moves, grinding down on my hand. Her hard little clit finds the meat of my palm, and she owns it.
She grinds. I stroke. Together, we empty her head.
“Inhale good shit, exhale bullshit,” I tell her.
This makes her mouth curve slightly, and I can’t resist leaning in for a long, slow, devouring kiss. The hottest, wettest kiss, ending with a nibble to her bottom lip.
Her head falls back suddenly as her body twitches against me, her tiny muscles pulsing everywhere I’m touching her.
That one hit hard and fast.
I murmur against her throat as she rides out her release, tears streaming down her cheeks. “This is all that matters, Rebecca Louise Wright. You and me. I’ve got you. We got this. Everything is going to be okay.”
Eight
Becca
“Remind me again, why are you letting your parents railroad you into a wedding that you do not want?”
Quincy is not beating around the bush.
Before my final fitting, I’m meeting up with Quincy at a new place in town, Hummingbird Bubble Tea.
Convenient excuse to avoid the usual Saturday morning mimosas. I didn’t want Quincy guessing about my news before I had the chance to tell her. If we’d done our usual thing at Magpie, she’d want to know why I was ordering a virgin cocktail.
I give her the short answer. “Guilt.”
The long version is this: as the youngest child of three siblings, I’m the only daughter. My oldest brother, Michael, married someone that our parents approved of right away—the daughter of one of my mama’s sorority sisters. Brother number two, James, has a live-in girlfriend, Layla, whom he hasn’t introduced to the family, and he works as a park ranger in the Outer Banks.
Quincy knows all this already, so when I say the word “guilt,” it carries a lot of information.
“Becca. You’re not responsible for your mom’s happiness.”
I sip my black raspberry tea and chew on one of the tapioca bubbles. I’ve never had bubble tea before, and I’m still deciding if I like it.
“My mom never got to help with a wedding, so of course I said she could help with mine.”
“Help,” Quincy emphasizes. “Help is very different from what is happening here.”
“It started out as help, and then it morphed into all this,” I say, waving my hand around to indicate everything.
Quincy sits back and eyes me while sipping her honeydew and lime concoction.
My parents’ acceptance of Nico was enough for me to agree to accept their help at first. Throughout high school, they did everything they could to keep us apart. But once he graduated and got a job, and I escaped high school without an unplanned pregnancy, they decided that was good enough.
“When your rich parents come along and hand you a credit card to spend on whatever you like for your wedding, we’ll see if you don’t take it,” I say.
She lifts an eyebrow. “And when that credit card starts to come with strings attached, I’ll be handing it right back.”
My best friend knows how the games are played. Quincy and I grew up in the same type of environment. Our mothers were sorority sisters who married doctors who bought houses next door to each other on the lake just outside of town.
“It wasn’t so bad at first,” I explain. “First, it was just a lot of input. Then, the input gradually became harmless requests. The requests became strong suggestions. And then, those suggestions became conditions. This all happened over thecourse of a year, and it was almost unnoticeable until now, when it’s all smacking me in the face.”
Her fingers dab at the condensation on the outside of her plastic cup. “Sure, and all the while with both Nico and you working your asses off, you were grateful for the help. What are you going to do now?”
“Tell you something else to blow your mind,” I answer, biting my lip.
