Enoch let them in the front door, and Corinne staggered through it, leaning over. “I can’t wait to take these shoes off. Jesus Christ.”
Enoch hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her upright. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said.
“Sorry,” she said. “Jiminy Christmas. That’s my wedding gift to you. No more blasphemy for the day.”
Enoch drew her in, turning her to face him. His eyes were narrow. His forehead was tense. “I need you to keep the shoes on, for just a little while longer.”
Corinne raised her eyebrows, she went still.
Enoch hunched over to kiss her neck. To kiss the hinge of her jaw. “I like this dress,” he said. “I like these shoes.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Can I just…” He was maneuvering her backward. Into the living room. His arms around her waist, one hand on her bottom. Until she bumped into the arm of the couch. “Corinne,” he said, biting her neck, pushing forward.
Corinne rested on the edge of the couch. She set her bouquet down behind her, so she could put both hands in his hair. It wasn’t slippery today—he’d put gel or something in it.
Enoch was sucking on her neck. He was holding her hips.
Corinne let her head fall back. She closed her eyes. “Is this how you want to consummate our wedding vows?”
“No,” Enoch said. “I want to bend you over.”
“Oh,” she said. Weak. So weak. Such a fool. “Okay.”
“Wait here a second?”
Corinne nodded.
“Don’t move,” he said.
“I won’t.”
Enoch stood up. He disappeared down the hall. Corinne stayed perched on the arm of the couch. She hardly had a chance to feel silly before Enoch was back, kissing her again. Mumbling sweet nothings. Actual nothings: “this dress” and “my girl.”
“Your wife,” Corinne ventured, and he lifted her off the couch, hugging her. Holding her. Taking bites out of her.
“I love you,” he said, pulling up her skirt. “I want you. Can we—”
She nodded. “We can do whatever you want, Enoch.”
“Turn around,” he rumbled.
Corinne turned. She didn’t lean over. She let him bite the back of her neck and rub her hips. She let him bend her. “I love you,” she said, “I love you.”
Enoch dragged his big hands from her shoulders to her ass. He lifted up her dress and palmed her cheeks through her burgundy tights. “Corinne, I promise we can do this later, looking into each other’s eyes.”
“I don’t care,” she said, bracing her elbows on the arm of the couch. “I’ve seen your eyes.”
“Ha,” Enoch laughed, and Corinne grinned. She didn’t care. She wanted this. She wanted forever of this. Of him.
He pulled her tights down to her thighs, and she stood up on tiptoe, and he was right, the shoes did make it easier. She heard his belt buckle and looked over her shoulder to watch. Enoch dove forward for a kiss, then made her look away, so he could put on the condom. Corinne listened. She smelled the latex, she lifted her hips. Enoch had fetched the spermicide gel, too. Corinne was not getting pregnant on her wedding night—her wedding afternoon. She was getting fucked over a couch by the love of her life. (That’s what Shannon had called him.) (Whatever, it was true.)
Enoch pushed into her, and Corinne felt her spine start to unspool. He pushed into her hard—he knew now that she didn’t mind, that she liked it. Corinne shook her head to deal with the sudden burst of pleasure. The buzzing in the base of her back, in the base of her skull. Enoch held her by her hips. He bounced against her ass. He said her name, and it sounded like blasphemy.
Corinne made ugly noises she never would have allowed herself in her twenties.
She was loud, and it didn’t matter—Enoch Miller lived in a house, and his neighbors wouldn’t hear. Corinne lived here, too. She cried out. She loved it like this. She liked it better than coming, and she didn’t even have to choose. She loved him. She loved him. She told him so.
“Corinne…” Enoch said, holding himself still inside of her like he was trying to stop something. He couldn’t stop. He pumped a few more times, and Corinne closed her eyes and took it.
Enoch remembered to hold the condom on the way out. He leaned over and kissed her bottom. His belt buckle clinked.
Corinne stayed just where she was, catching her breath, waiting for the buzzing to dissipate. She felt Enoch taking off one of her shoes. “Is there blood?” she asked.
He touched the inside of her thigh. “Did that hurt?”
“On my heel,” she said.
“Oh…” Enoch bent her leg at the knee. “A little bit. Ouch.” He took her other shoe off. “I can’t believe I made you keep these on.”
“Worth it,” Corinne said. “Never mention it again.”
He peeled off her tights and underwear. “Ouch,” he said again. “Come here.” He pulled Corinne to her feet. Her skirt felt whispery on her bare legs, and the ground felt strangely close and flat. She had blisters on the back of both heels. Only one was split.
Enoch’s mouth was four inches farther away again. He hunched over to kiss her. And then he bent down and put his shoulder in her belly.
“Jesus Christ!” she said. “Not again!”
He lifted her up with a grunt. “Jiminy Christmas, you mean.”
“Enoch, your back. Your knees. Your everything.”
“I’m carrying you over the threshold,” he said, lurching down the hall.
“This is the last time, and I fucking mean it!”
Enoch heaved her onto the bed. “Do you need some peroxide?”
“No. I need you to stop giving yourself a hernia. And I need you to touch me.”
Enoch’s eyes were dancing.
“Come here,” Corinne said.
She took off his jacket. She loosened his tie. She set the pink rosebud on the bedside table, on top of his Bible. Were the angels and the demons still watching them, or had they lost interest?
Enoch touched her … (She still didn’t have a good word. She was just never going to say it.) He whispered so much nonsense in her ear that Corinne started crying even before she came. He wouldn’t let Corinne take the dress off. “Let me have this,” he said.
“I’m constantly letting you have things,” Corinne said. She was rubbing her clit. He had two thick fingers inside of her. He was doing whatever she asked.
When she started to come again, he kissed her right hand.
Were the angels and the demons watching? Or did they only pay attention when it was a sin?