Attempts to get off work early never went well. Worse if you had somewhere important to be, with important things to do. Thatcher tried to get off work early, but in the end he only managed to shave an hour off of his day when he honestly needed more time than that. But he wasn’t expecting Ruth to also leave early that day when she suddenly fell sick. Thatcher wasn’t going to force her to keep going like that, not with things as hellish as they were now, so he sent her home while he picked up her share of the work. Hours flew by. The minutes whizzed by twice as fast when he found himself in a rush to get caught up on the onslaught of paperwork, the stack of unfinished forms shrinking while the finished pile grew taller and taller. Whenever he thought he was making good time, a glance at the clock told him otherwise.
He had to leave some unfinished. What was the harm? He could put it aside one more day, for a single very important day, the most important day of the year.
Their fourth anniversary of being together was more important than any paperwork. The last stack of missing persons reports and suspected homicides could wait. With Ruth waiting for him, sick in her bed all alone, there was nothing more awful to him than leaving her to fend for herself for long. He would go home and take care of her for as long as she needed. Paperwork could pile up for months on end for all he cared, if that’s how long it took to nurse his precious woman back to health. For now he had to leave, and take care of some business on his way home.
Marigolds were her favorite. Thatcher always remembered her favorite things. Favorite flowers, favorite foods, favorite songs, favorite colors; she’d never have to tell him twice what her favorite movie of all time was, or her favorite day of the week.
There was a perfect little flower shop at the corner of the nearby street, one that Ruth could never resist peeking in through the giant glass windows. Once or twice Thatcher took her inside so they could look together. Ruth would swear up and down that she wasn’t into flowers one bit—what was the point of flowers, anyway? You couldn’t eat them or do anything with them besides watch them die—but the longing look in her eyes told a different story. Why did she have to act tough? What, just because she’s a cop? No, Thatcher knew she deserved beautiful flowers the same as any other lady, and he knew she secretly loved them no matter how much she pretended she didn’t.
That wouldn’t be enough though, not by itself. So he made sure to also come home with a bottle of her favorite wine. Their favorite. When the two first got together and started dating, they were stunned and elated to discover that they both liked the same cheap white wine. There would never be a discussion or argument over what to order when they went out to eat or when they were just looking for something to enjoy at home after a long day of work in the ever-worsening hellhole that was Mandela County.
He didn’t make it very far past the front door before he noticed that something was off. He closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off of the room in front of him, lights dimmed down and eerily quiet as though empty. Wouldn’t he have heard Ruth coughing, or groaning from a migraine?
“Ruth?” he called out, his steps on the wood floor echoing throughout the house. Peering into the kitchen, he saw… candles? And dinner, already on the table, still piping hot as if it was just put out moments ago.
“Welcome home!” Ruth shouted behind him, nearly making him jump out of his skin as he spun around. Surprises were generally a bad idea in Mandela now, but there was Ruth, her face perfectly bright and healthy. “Don’t give me that look. I’m sorry for lying, but I needed some time to put this together.”
So she wasn’t sick. And she had the same idea as him, to take off from work early to prepare an anniversary surprise. Looking at the perfectly cooked steaks and vegetables ready for them on the table, he felt like he’d just been one-upped. But he didn’t mind it.
With a smile, Ruth stepped into the kitchen, toward him. “Are those for me?” Her eyes softened when he nodded. “Marigolds. You remembered.”
His mouth was dry and he stumbled over his words. “Well, I… I’d never forget.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
Could his silly little flowers really mean that much compared to what Ruth did? Not only did she take care of dinner—a task that Thatcher always helped her with—all by herself, but those steaks looked expensive. How much of her own share of their earnings did she have to save up to buy those? What dark, hidden corner of the freezer did she store them in so that he wouldn’t find them? Or did she buy them today, on the way home from work, just as he’d done with the flowers? So many questions, but he had no idea which to ask first, or if he even should for the sake of not ruining the moment. He had a whole playbook ready for their special night, and Ruth, his dear lovable Ruth, went and flipped the script upside-down on him, leaving him stuttering and floundering like a love-stricken idiot.
Thatcher stood frozen while Ruth gathered up the bouquet in her arms. She rummaged through a few cabinets until she found a vase and filled it up with water and the flowers. She set it in the center of the table, looking over it with a sense of satisfaction, as if it was the last thing she was waiting for for everything to be in its correct place.
“Come on. Sit down and eat. I think you had a longer day than you expected.”
He went to sit in his chair, but rather than keep the chairs where they were with one on each end of the table, Thatcher dragged his across the floor to sit directly beside Ruth. Looking at her face-to-face was nice and all, but right now he wanted to be right at her side where he could lean into her and tell her that she’s a goddess in the kitchen and the ruler of his heart. She would laugh and tell him that maybe he’s already drunk from the wine and that he doesn’t need anymore.
Once finished, she cleaned up, with Thatcher insisting he help. He wouldn’t ever make her do that by herself. She’d never have to. Not with him around.
Dinner wasn’t the only thing she had waiting for him. She held him, his hands in hers, kissing both of his cheeks and asking him to stay put for just a minute. She came back with her hands behind her back. She revealed them to show him… a tiny box. A box that, when opened, contained a ring, one of a sturdy gray metal and a tiny diamond fixed in the center. Thatcher’s eyes went misty and he barely heard Ruth utter the words asking him to marry her. He didn’t have the words to say back to her. He grabbed her by the arms and kissed her with a ferocity that he hoped would be enough of an answer. Ruth? As his darling wife? This had to be a dream. She had to rip him off of her body just to get him to hold up his hand so she could slip the ring onto his finger, both of them feeling a surge of love and pride when Thatcher had to take almost a full minute to stare at it and process that this was really happening, he was really about to get married to Ruth Weaver. The badass hotshot cop who was so much rougher and tougher than he was. But that’s what he loved about her. He loved her ruggedness.
He had no business being the lieutenant. It should have been her. She didn’t think so. She always denied it. But Thatcher knew.
Then she took him by the hand and led him to their bedroom, and he couldn’t believe his eyes: lights turned way down low, dimmed down even more than they were throughout the rest of the house; candles, rose petals scattered on the newly-made bed. They fall into each other’s arms, dotting kisses against each other’s faces, Ruth taking the lead and showing a sort of dominance against Thatcher. That’s okay with him, more than okay, and he lets her slowly move him toward the bed until she’s falling on top of him, her sleeve dipping teasingly off of her shoulder to reveal a hint of lace.
Thatcher brushed a hand over it. It was soft, smooth, and cool to the touch. “Dear, is there another surprise that you’ve been hiding from me?”
Ruth sat up with a chuckle in her throat. The strap fell further down her arm. “Looks like you caught me.” She pulled it over her head, revealing the sheer satin lingerie underneath, a deep red color that complemented her skin in a way that left Thatcher starstruck. Ruth kicked off her pants, revealing the matching red satin panties underneath, in their equally lacy glory. Thatcher couldn’t believe it. Was this really all for him? What did he do to deserve her? He’ll never know. But she was here with him right now, and soon she would be his wife.
Some other force moved his body, because it sure as hell wasn’t him doing it. He was gone. Thatcher’s consciousness? Left the building. Gone with the wind! Out into orbit!
His fingers were moving by themselves, tucking themselves under straps and elastic bands to feel the supple skin underneath. Ruth pulls his shirt off for him and he goes right back to touching her. He hopes that she doesn’t plan on taking her clothes off tonight, because he’d much rather make love to her while she was wearing them. They were something special, a sight for sore eyes as she always was. She reached down and started working his pants off next, until he was naked and feeling a little out of place underneath Ruth and that delectable lingerie and her beautiful, glowing skin. Those two things were a match made in heaven, two things to be savored together, and he would have a temper tantrum like a whiny little toddler if she even suggested taking her clothes off.
Ruth took her turn to touch and feel Thatcher. He whined, both from the contact and the desire to do more for her, to let her lay back and enjoy the moment while he took the lead and did his share of the work. He wanted her to let him touch her, let him feel her, let him make her feel good. But Ruth would only let him have his moment when she was ready to give him control, and right now she was too busy kissing his neck and running the edges of her fingernails up and down his sides and enjoying making him moan and squirm. She kissed his chest and down his centerline. Threatened to go all the way down, but stopped just before getting there. Was she teasing him, oh, dear, beloved Ruth… it made him want to scream, but if this was what she wanted, he’d have to put up with it. She was always stronger than him.
Slowly she crawled up his body, until she could intertwine their fingers together. He wanted to touch her so bad. Being so close to her made him want to keep feeling her skin and the smooth fabric of her lingerie. She must have picked it out just for him; he’d never seen her wear it before. Was it new? Oh, to think that she went out and bought new clothes, fresh steaks, and a ring for him. No wonder she hadn’t been buying anything for herself recently!
But those soft palms were still tormenting him. He wanted to feel more of her. Ruth, as if reading his mind, started rubbing the cool satin of her panties against his aching cock. It punched a gasp out of him. That gasp got a giggle out of her, and she kept doing it, drinking in Thatcher’s desperate whines. There was a wet spot growing where the panties were rubbing up against him, leaving a cold and wet trail in its wake.
“Ruth…”
She silenced him by pressing her lips to his. Unless it was to ask her for more, she wouldn’t hear it. It was Thatcher’s night to be taken care of. For all of his hard work and everything he does for the police department. Everything he does for her. Thatcher would never think so highly of himself, but Ruth? She knew better. And she knew that Thatcher deserved to be given the whole world once in a while.
While she kissed him she reached down to push her panties out of the way just enough that she could line herself up with Thatcher’s cock and slowly seat herself down, the two both sighing out loud into the otherwise quiet air of the candlelit room. Thatcher realized he had a lot to be grateful for: that Ruth chose the route of birth control, because he loved nothing more than being as close to her as possible, and that she didn’t take any of the lingerie all the way off. Oh, he would have cried if she took it off now. He could feel the way the bottom of those panties strained tight against the side of his length as Ruth worked herself down and how her arousal had soaked all the way through the fabric and left it damp. It left his heart fluttering… all of this, being done because she loved him! She could have picked anyone else, someone tougher or more competent, but she chose to bless Thatcher by being in his life.
She rolls her hips against him, grinding, starting a steady rhythm that has Thatcher gripping the sheets. It’s slow and gentle. Thatcher, sentimental as he was, usually preferred it this way, and he was glad that Ruth felt the same. When they first took the leap together, they found that it was another thing they shared in common. Each tiny movement, no matter how small or how slow, sent ripples through Thatcher’s body, his skin on fire wherever Ruth touched him. And she was touching him everywhere, her hands wandering across his body while she kissed anywhere she could reach. Neither could hold back a laugh when she pecked a dainty kiss on the tip of his nose, and she fell forward giggling into his neck. All while grinding him into her, feeling his breath and his moans against the side of her head, her heart swelling with pride knowing that she was able to break down the police lieutenant who put on an air of strength and responsibility in front of countless people every day… but never for her.
She loves to see the moment where Thatcher snaps, where he’s moaning and begging for her to not stop. Where his body tenses up and he lets himself be vulnerable for her and only her. That’s the moment she’s been waiting for all day, the one thing that makes it all worth it in the end. She would do anything for Thatcher. She would give him her entire world, and she knew he’d do the same. So she lets him finish—but only because he asks politely—and the sound of those husky groans is enough to tip her over the edge with him. She wouldn’t have minded servicing him some more, this was all for him after all, but she decides it’s more beautiful that they finish together.
Ruth kissed Thatcher on the cheek one last time before she got up and started to put her clothes back on. “Now, you just stay there and relax. I’ll finish cleaning the kitchen.”
“What?” Thatcher’s eyes snapped open and he bolted upright.
“Thatch. Honey.” She turned around and gently eased him back down into the bed. “Every year, you’ve always gone above and beyond for me. Let me do something nice for you for a change.”
She left, and Thatcher waited until he could hear the sound of the kitchen sink before he got up out of bed anyway. Maybe it was true that he took the lead the last few years, but that didn’t matter! She worked so hard today, and all for him!
He put his clothes on and practically tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She’d whip his ass and put him right back in that bed if she caught him too soon. He knew once he started helping her it would be too late for her to toss him over her shoulder and haul him back to their bedroom, and maybe even take them through another round just for good measure. But Ruth gave him a sarcastic side-eye when he picked up a handful of dirty dishes and brought them over to the sink and started putting away the last of what was left on the table.
“I told you to rest.”
“I’m a bad listener.”
Ruth snorted. “Yeah. I know.”
Thatcher forced his way against Ruth’s side, plunging his hands into the soapy water. Now and then his hands would bump hers on “accident”.
“So,” he started, and he paused for some time, letting Ruth hang on it and stare at him while he pretended to have a shred of confidence. “Got a date planned for this wedding?”