Page 111 of Doing It for Love

Once I have it locked, I let the dress fall down my torso and I immediately yank on the skintight underwear. I make a lot of bizarre noises, wiggling and jumping and trying to get these things off, but it seems every ounce of sweat I accumulated today has molded itself into the material that has glued itself to me.

“Okay…“I blow out a breath and lean against the counter. I’ve only been able to free about an inch of my stomach.

“Tumbles? It’s been much longer than two seconds!” I hear Landon call out, and I make a face in the mirror.

“Patience, you animal!”

Then visions of him sprawled out naked in our hotel suite and the sweet, sweet love we’re about to make jolt me upright, and I tuck my thumbs into the material on each side and tug so hard on the Spanx I form red marks.

And the damn things won’t budge.

My hair falls into my face, and I shove it back, search my bag for a hair tie, and get the strands off of my now heated skin. Frustration and struggling isn’t helping the sweat factor, and I try again to wiggle out of my underwear. And again. And, damn it all to hell, I need butter or oil or scissors.

The sound from the TV filters in and I slump on top of the toilet, wishing the things would tear in half as I bend. It’s not a bad idea since I’m sort of losing it, so I reach down and touch my toes, I twist my torso, I do the splits on the bathroom tile, and if anything I’ve made the material roll up my thighs and get stuck in my pelvic crease.

I fall against the floor, grateful we’re in a nice enough hotel that I’m pretty sure the tile is cleaner than the bathroom I have at home, and I’m so far gone that I start laughing. Of course this happens. Nothing ever runs one-hundred-percent smoothly. I grapple for my bag one more time, twisting to my stomach.

“Please have something sharp,” I whisper to the contents. If not, I’m going to have to get Landon in here. Nothing sexier than helping your wife get out of her Spanx.

“Ah ha!” I shout to the heavens, pulling my nail kit out. I sit up, ready the toe-nail clippers, and start clipping away at the fabric that was probably made by Houdini.

Landon asks me what I’m doing three more times while I cut myself out. I just tell him I’m making myself irresistibly sexy, and he says something sweet like “You’re already at that point,” but he can’t see me on the floor of the bathroom stuck in my underwear, sweat rolling down my temples.

Finally, when I get close to my hip, I take both ends of the material and rip myself free, bursting forth like Superman about to save the planet from an oncoming meteor.

“Aaaaaaah….” I sigh, collapsing once again on the cool floor. I’m half tempted to take a quick nap so I can regain some strength before riding my husband into Chocolateville. But I’ve already made him wait so long. Not just tonight. He’s waited five months.

Once I find the motivation, I slowly get to my feet and gaze at my exhausted and sweaty body in the mirror. It almost looks as if I had sex all by my lonesome in here, my perfectly curled hair now carelessly wrapped in an impromptu bun, chest rising and falling with every quick breath, and skin red and glistening. I probably smell so fabulous.

After swipes of deodorant and spritzes of body spray that don’t seem to take, I say, “Screw it,” and hop into the shower. Then I dry, blow dry, primp, and slip into the royal blue bustier I got last night at my bachelorette party. I pucker my lips and shake my ass, examining myself in the mirror. Landon won’t be sorry at all that he had to wait so long.

“Husband…” I call out, stepping into the suite with gusto. “What do you—”

I stop midsentence, staring at Landon’s form on the bed. His mouth is wide open, face half stuffed into the pillow, and only his butt is covered by a strip of the comforter.

“Landon?” I hiss, taking cautious steps forward. He makes no attempt to move.

Holding back a small laugh, I slide onto the bed and gently tap on his arm. Nothing.

“Are you seriously sleeping?” I whisper, hoping he’s playing possum just to tease me. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stir, doesn’t crack a smile. I put a finger under his nose just to be sure he’s still breathing.

Well, guess I could wake him up in a fun way, but he looks so out of it, so relaxed, and I…I’mjealous. I want to sleep too. I want to sleep on my wedding night. What was the point of the last five months other than to bring me to the edge of my sanity?!

I let out a large breath, half hoping it wakes him up and half relieved it doesn’t. Sliding into the sheets, I curl up beside his naked body, adjusting the comforter so he’s completely covered. He still doesn’t move, and as I trace his lips with my manicured fingernail all thoughts of why I wanted to wait evaporate, becauseeverytime with Landon has been epic. From the first time he knocked me out of my chair in our theater class to this moment here. The awkward first kiss we had, the accidental slip, the naked argument fail…and I’m sure there will be more. With pregnancy, menopause, our bodies changing and growing and adjusting to those changes, there are bound to be some sexual blunders. But I love him. He loves me. I find such satisfaction in that alone that every moment with him will be double-fudge raspberry cheesecake.

So instead of waking him up, I fall asleep in his arms, completely satisfied with how our night ends.

Chapter 36

Landon wakes me up with a huge snort, scaring me so much I slip off the bed and hit the floor of our suite.

“Holy mother of all pains in the asses!” I screech from the carpet.

The mattress creaks, and Landon rolls onto the floor next to me. He looks more awake now than he did a few hours ago.

“I’m sorry, miss,” he says, getting the sleep out of his voice, “but you say you have a pain in your ass?”

“It’sMrs.” I correct him, then turn around and shove my butt in his face. “It’s terribly bruised.”

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