 Photo by Taylor Gray on Unsplash  SHELLEY
Amity got the maid of honor pick. I suppose I should be annoyed or whatever. Sophie and I have been besties since middle school. But I can’t find it in me to be upset. Amity is the right choice. I hate every decision Sophie made for this wedding – from the flowers to her dress – because none of them are what Sophie from last year would have picked. I don’t know what happened when that ring hit her knuckle, but it clearly transplanted a WASP’s brain into my vibrant, gorgeous friend. Standing in my silky, forest green gown, clutching the stereotypical wedding flower bouquet with too much baby’s breath in my hands, I watch with more than a little sadness as Sophie glides down the church aisle on her father’s arm, her layered satin skirt swirling around Mr. Martindale’s legs. For the last eleven years, the Sophie I have known wouldn’t have been caught dead in that dress. The Sophie who asked Amity Hamilton to be her maid of honor is beaming, looking like all her Christmases have come at once. Ugh. Kill me now. Can you mourn someone who isn’t actually dead? I mean, the Sophie I love pretty much is dead. Now there’s just a facsimile copy of her mother standing in front of me, smiling blandly at Hugh Sharpley as they join hands. For the first time, I’m not upset that Sophie is moving an hour and a half away to LA. She can’t go far enough. If she was closer, I might be tempted to visit her and torture myself some more with the Sophie who used to be. Their custom vows are corny, all about being soulmates. They couldn’t have been more different two months ago, but looking at the two of them now, with their bland smiles and slicked-back hair… yeah, they’re totally the same. I’m sure they’re in love, but I can’t help but think of how Palmer and Lisa look at each other… like they can’t tear their eyes away. Palmer looks at Lisa like he wants to devour her. Hugh looks at Sophie like he wants to put her in a glass case and charge people an entry fee to view her. Finally, it’s over, and we’re ushered out of the church and into cars to be taken to a three-hour photoshoot. Sophie is on the dancefloor, laughing and dancing with Hugh. For a brief second, our song came on, and her eyes lit up, finding mine. But before we could break out our self-choreographed dance, someone spoke to the DJ, and the song abruptly cut out. I thought Sophie – as the bride – might have demanded the song come back, but she simply shrugged and turned to dance with Hugh again. So I’ve retreated to the bridal table, drinking champagne and watching Sophie morph into her mother – who is dancing a few feet away from her – and wishing I was anywhere else. I catch Amity’s smug smirk thrown in my direction, wrinkle my nose, and dig my phone out of my purse. SHELLEY: Want to fuck? I stare at my phone, lying on the table in front of me, sipping another glass of champagne. It’s a satisfyingly short time later that it buzzes. MERCH: Always down kid. Where are you? That’s more like it. SHELLEY: Society wedding. Pinedale. The Nathan. MERCH: You got a room? SHELLEY: I’ll go organize one now. MERCH: Text me the room number. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Draining my flute, I stand, ignoring the called protests as I slip out of the room, making my way to the reception desk. “What can I help you with tonight, ma’am?” The young man in his shiny vest behind the counter smiles at me. “Yeah, I need a room for tonight, please.” He bites back a smirk. I may be playing up how buzzed I’m feeling. That way, everyone will think I’m getting a room because I need to lie down. I do need to lie down… in a bed with Merch going to town on my body. “And my bag is being stored here. Can you have it brought up?” “Of course, ma’am.” Taking the key from the smirking hotel employee, I tuck it into my purse, making my way to the elevator bank. As soon as I’m alone in the elevator car, I dig my phone out of my bag. SHELLEY: Room 674. Sixth floor. I’m not expecting him to answer. He’ll be on his motorbike. Stowing my phone again, I step out of the elevator, find my door, and let myself in. The room is nice, and I close the curtains, crossing to the phone. Picking it up, I call for room service. “Ma’am?” “Can I get a bottle of champagne and a fruit platter brought up with my bag?” “Of course, ma’am.” MERCH Parking my rig down the street from the Nathan, I make sure my leather jacket is zipped up to my chin and stride through the marble-filled lobby, beelining for the elevator bank. This time she’s on the sixth floor, not the eighth, but this place is the same. The same plush carpet and the same eerily silent hallways. I left the clubhouse to come here, but I have no regrets. The groupies can’t take a fucking hint, so they were all over me. I was half an hour away from texting Shelley about a hookup when she texted me. Locating room 674, I hammer on the door, my eyes fixed expectantly on it. A society wedding? She’s going to be dressed as Michelle. I remember my last encounter with Michelle… it’s a good memory. The door swings open, and I blink. She’s not just dressed as Michelle. She’s like Michelle but supercharged. Stepping into the room, I kick the door shut behind me, drinking in every inch of Michelle. Her hair is elegantly piled on top of her head, diamonds sparkling at her ears and wrists. Her body is covered in a dark green, silky dress, which leaves one shoulder bare and sweeps the floor. “You look like a princess,” I smirk. Shelley grins up at me. “I was a bridesmaid.” “You look good.” “Thanks.” A small smile tugs at her lips, a blush covering her cheek. Tearing my eyes away from her, I glance around the room. The same as last time – except for the room service trolley with champagne and a fruit platter – that’s different. There is also a small black suitcase on the luggage rack. My eyes stay glued to it, my eyebrows raising. “Are you staying the night?” “That’s the plan,” Shelley agrees, pouring herself a glass of champagne. Good. That means I can fuck her as many times as I want before leaving. No time like the present. Spinning, I pluck the champagne glass out of her hand, drain it, and set it down on the trolley beside where the bottle is sitting in an ice bucket. “Hey! That’s was mi-.” Shelley’s words cut out as I grab her, hauling her against me, my lips crashing down on hers. Moaning, she opens her mouth, allowing my tongue in to plunder. She tastes like strawberries and champagne. Walking her to the wall, I press her against it, lifting her and pinning her with my hips. As our tongues clash, our mouths fused, I shrug out of my leather jacket, dropping it on the floor and bunching her skirt until it is around her waist, gathered between our stomachs. She’s wearing a thong and moans against my mouth as my fingers rub her clit through the barely there lace. “You want my dick, kid?” “God, yes,” she pants, clinging to my shoulders, pressing her hips forward, grinding against my fingers. I think I can oblige. Still rubbing her clit, I retrieve a condom from my back pocket, tear the packet and roll it on, positioning Shelley and thrusting in hard. “Shit! Yes!” Her head tips back, resting her fancy bun against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed. God. She’s so fucking beautiful when I’m inside her. “Hold tight, kid,” I mutter against her ear, nipping her earlobe. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember where you are.” “I am so on board with that plan, Merch,” she murmurs back, gasping, her words catching when I keep my promise, gripping under her thighs as I hammer into her. Clinging tightly to me, Shelley gasps and mewls as I suck on her pulse point, occasionally swirling my tongue. Her back slaps against the wall in time with my punishing thrusts. “Shit! I’m gonna come,” she gasps, her eyes flying open. Her pussy is fluttering, clenching down on my dick. Fuck yeah. “That’s it,” I coax her, groaning as I thrust deep and come. Shelley’s silky green dress falls to the floor, covering up her gorgeous legs and that lacy thong I want to get better acquainted with at some stage tonight. Throwing me a smirk, she walks across to the room service trolley, pouring another glass of champagne. There is a second unused glass, so I dispose of the condom, zipping my dick away and moving across to pour my own drink. Shelley turns to me with wide eyes. “You aren’t leaving?” Smirking back at her, I kick off my motorcycle boots, get comfortable on the bed, and flip the TV onto some football game. Shelley is still standing beside the trolley, studying me with raised eyebrows. I salute her with my champagne, taking a sip. “Oh, I intend to fuck you at least twice more before I leave, kid. Get comfortable.” A slow smile crosses her face as she sets down her glass, slowly shimmying out of her dress while my eyes drink in the sight of her strapless lace bra and matching lacy thong. She kicks off her heeled sandals, collects her glass, and slides into the bed beside me. I can’t keep my eyes off her legs or pussy, visible through the lace. “I can’t wait,” she murmurs, her eyes glued to the touchdown happening on the TV. Me either. Setting my glass down, I slide a hand up the soft skin of her inner thigh, loving the way her breath catches. Maybe I’ll fuck her three times before I leave. We do have all night. THE END |
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