Page 141 of Hard to Judge

“We’re married,” Hota whispers.

“I now pronounce you husband, husband, and wife!” Laurent cheers.

We stare at each other as though we can’t quite believe it. Behind us, people scream and clap, but our eyes never leave our tightened circle.

Like I did not too many months ago, I snake my hands up their arms and clamp onto their napes. Gently, I pull them closer and closer and then pucker. Our three mouths meet in the center. My lips on both of theirs and theirs on each other’s. I hold them in the center and graze my lips over Arlo’s mouth, and then Hota’s. Where they meet, I let my tongue slip out and catch the edge between them, before I kiss them both once more.

When I lean back, they do the same, and then we all scream and jump and hug and cry and laugh and dance until our feet hurt and our cheeks are sore.

“Judge, huh?” Hard wonders aloud as he works a new ribbon into my chest. This one is close to my looping dragon, designed so he watches over her.

Her.

My geisha is not traditional in any way. Even her classic susohiki is pulled down over her shoulders and chest, revealing the intricacy of the dragon tattooed on her chest. The shirts flow longer than usual, billowing out over the field she stands in with two swords peeking out from behind her back. Arlo and I are there to protect her.

Her hair flows long and free all around her. And red. The only bit of color on my front.

“For the sixth time, yes.” I smile. “If you ask me again, I’ll wrestle the tattoo gun from you, knock you out cold, and sign my new name on your ass with it.”

“Okay. Okay.” He throws his hands up in defense. “It’s just quick is all. I’m trying to catch up.”

I toy with the rings on my left finger. It’s a stack of three slim tungsten bands, one representing each of us.

They represent our love and what we bring to each other.

Arlo proposed three weeks ago. In that time, we have new names and new rings and a whole new life together. Let’s not forget the honeymoon in the French countryside.

“Yeah, it’s fast and also perfect.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

Arlo, or more accurately, Natalia, is planning a party to celebrate our union stateside. It will be a gaudy affair with the who’s who of the world. In lieu of gifts, they’re setting up three options for charitable donations. Hailey’s, my barely off the ground organization for college students in need, and one Arlo has yet to choose.

Luckily, we have a few months.

Nat is vying for June at the plaza, like a real wedding, but the thing is booked until forever. She’s tried to convince Arlo to buy the place.

We couldn’t care less about the where, as long as we’re there together.

“Who’s bottoming?” Hard asks as he dips the needle into the pool of black once more.

“Seriously?” I glare at him.

“What?” He makes a face that would scare a small child. “We’re both in the life. I know you’re no prude. Hell, I’ve seen you fuck. It was a goddamn art installation.” His big hand waves away my outrage as he starts poking again. Literally and metaphorically. “You’re both pretty dominant. Every time I think I have it figured out, I second-guess myself.”

“Are you done yet?” I grouse.

“I can’t be the only one to ask.” He wipes his brow. “Karris is a mouthy fucker too.” Hard groans. “And what a fucking mouth.”

“If you pop wood while working on me, I’ll stab you,” I grumble.

“And I’ll hide the body,” says a new and very familiar voice. It rumbles across my body with its thin tone.

My husband.

“I’ll watch,” Hailey chimes sweetly.

My wife.

It’s my turn to groan.

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