Heal All Wounds || Chapter 9. Wrennie and Rehearsal Conundrum

Author’s Note:

1. Firstly, don’t miss the companion short story Wrennie vs Wedding Dress.

2. Thank you so much for comments! I read them each Saturday when posting the next chapter, and always try to answer all of them. So, feel free to leave more 😉 They are highly appreciated. Also, feel free to contact me on my writer’s Facebook page, if you ever have a question, or a request to place.

Thank you so much for reading!


Katya Kolmakov


Four months later…

You’re taking short sporadic breaths in; everything is swimming in front of your eyes; and you feel Thea’s hand stroking your back.

“Breathe, chick, c’mon… You don’t want to faint now…” Really, Thea? Well done. You feel suddenly more dizzy, and you grab the armrest. Another one is occupied with Thea’s glorious backside. There is a knock to the door, some movement, and John scoots in front of you. His face is hazy, but you can see that the blue eyes are tense.

“How are you, kiddo?” You’re trying to take a deep breath, but it bloody hurts in your chest.

“I can’t, John, I just can’t…” He puts his heavy hand on your shoulder, but it only makes it worse. You feel suffocated and try to shrink away from him.

“Breathe, Wrennie, common…” Thea’s trying to sound comforting, but you get irked.

“Could you?.. Please, give us some privacy?” You gesture away from yourself, and she slides off the armrest she was sitting on. You see her exchange worried looks with John, and you grind your teeth. They’re treating you like they are on a suicide watch. You are just having a panic attack. No biggie…

Thea leaves the room, and John kneels in front of you on the floor. You momentarily lament his posh trousers.


“John, I can’t, I’m sorry I just can’t… Never in my bloody life… The aisle, the staring, the poncy vicar…” You start hyperventilating, and you are surely green in the face. Bugger, bugger, bugger…

“Sod it all, I really can’t, please… There’re going to be seven hundred people there, and I can’t even do it in front of twenty… Please, John, don’t make me…”

“Wrennie, I am not making you. Maybe i remind you, you agreed to marry me.”

“I really didn’t know what I was agreeing at!” you cry out and focus on his face. The lips are in a stern line, and his eyes are cold. “Oh please, John, don’t… It’s not you, it’s me!” Seriously, Wren?! Bollocks, you really need to learn to explain yourself.

He lowers his head and gives out a sigh. Oh, you upset him. Bugger. But you really, really can’t… He inhales and lifts his face to you. There is a stressed wrinkle between his eyebrows, but his eyes are determined.

“Wren, let’s agree on this. We’re going to go through the steps now, and then we will go home and talk about it.” You gulp – in the vestry it sounds very loud, all the echo, and shite.

He places his hands on your knees and squeezes a bit.

“Wren, look at me.” His voice is low and velvet, and you manage to take a decent breath and actually almost straighten up in the chair. ‘Almost’ being the key word.

“Wren, focus on me.” You look into his extraordinary eyes. Bloody hell, he is so gorgeous.

“We will come out of this room, and we will go through the steps, and you will be looking at me the whole time.” The thought of going down that bloody aisle makes you squeak.

“Wren.” He suddenly spreads your knees, and you’re momentarily distracted from your terror. “You will keep your eyes on me, and the whole time you are walking towards the altar you will be thinking of what I am going to do to you when we get home.” His voice is totally indecent, and he knows it. He presses himself to you, kneeling in front of you, and his palms slide up your hips.

“John!” You emit an undignified squeak, and he presses you into him, palms slip under the buttocks, his lips on your clavicles.

“You will be thinking of how I will spread you on the bed, and will eat you out, again and again, until you are so weak from screaming my name that you won’t have voice to plead.”

“John, we are in church!” He chuckles into your neck that he is currently sucking on.

“You don’t even believe in God, Wren.”

“I have respect for other people’s faith.” You try to sound haughty, but oh bollocks!.. One of his hot palms cups your breast under the tee and the bra – and how did he even get there? And he does that thing… Oh the thing… Your nipple under his thumb’s ministrations perks up, and you moan. Oh sod it! You catch his mouth, and stick your tongue down his throat. It is for greater good – you are doing it to stop living in sin with him, even the vicar would approve of it.

You’re making out for a bit, and then you push him away.

“Totally inappropriate, John. Very, very bad behaviour!” He blinks couple times, you do know how to achieve this dazed look on him. Ha, who needs to focus now?

You two straighten up your clothes, and you exhale a long tragic breath.

“Well?” He’s looking at you, eyes laughing, and you nod.

“I will do it. Just one time. And then we will go home, and we will talk about it.”

“Agreed.” He gets up, and he needs to adjust his crotch. “Perhaps, I need a moment.” He closes his eyes, and you chuckle.

“But don’t forget about it completely, you just made some wicked promises here, John.”

He opens one cerulean eye and looks at you.

“I am aware, Wren.” You giggle.

He gives you his hand, and you walk out together. Maybe you can do it. You just need to focus on him. No biggie, just a wedding rehearsal, no biggie.

Oh poop.


“Oh god… Oh god… Oh. My. Fucking. God!”

He’s sucking at your clit, and then a finger slides into you – again – and you’re screaming. That would be the third round, and after two orgasms you have to agree – when he promises, he delivers.

While his index finger slips in and out of you, his thumb and his lips caressing your fanny, you suddenly feel his other hand slide under your bum, and its index finger presses in your other hole. He makes a soft circular movement, and you honestly cannot understand anymore where one sensation stops and another starts. He pushes both fingers in; the caresses unite in a harmonious melody; and you come with a coarse moan. He was right. You have no voice left. You fall on the sheets, and he halts all movement – which you are very, very grateful for – and presses his cheek to your stomach. The scraping of the beard is delightfully familiar; and in your endorphin flooded brain tenderness and love explode in an intoxicating cocktail. He is so good…

“Right now, John, I am thinking a wedding is a lovely idea…” You’re staring at the ceiling. He chuckles and presses a kiss above your hip bone. You have a pulse beating there, he really loves this spot.

“That is why I am not asking now. You are hardly impartial at the moment.”

He gently pulls his hands from between your legs and slides higher. He presses a few kisses on your ribs and breasts, and you sigh. He kisses the very peak of your nipple, and you giggle.

“As cheap of a trick as it is, I am going to make us a bath now, Wren, and we will talk in it.” You hum in appreciation, and he rolls off the bed and disappears in the bathroom. You stretch on the bed and stare at the Kandinsky above your head. You wiggle your toes, they are on a pillow somehow, and listen to muffled sounds coming from behind the closed door.

And then you think that if you go through with it, you will have to listen to these noises all your life, till death do you part, so to say, and you will have to live together, and have breakfast together, and he didn’t even let you have your own shelf in his closet.

You properly aren’t sure what you’re thinking about it. On the other hand, you don’t have to talk about it now. You can just soak, and make bubble wigs with him, and pretend everything is fine. You are good at it.

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