 Photo by Jochen van Wylick on Unsplash  LAYLA
“Porta qui i tuoi fichi!” The booming voice of the fruit merchant rings out as I laugh, pressing my hat firmly on my head, my hand gripping Ryan’s as we weave through the busy marketplace. Our honeymoon in the Seychelles was magical, but this is our first proper holiday since then. It’s been a busy year at the office since our wedding. Well, a busy seven months. Ryan planned this trip and sprung it on me. I was never going to say no. Four weeks in Italy? Yes, please. Tim and Angie came to Tuscany for their honeymoon. They bought a villa, and we’re staying in it. I love it. Italy is magical. Now I know why Angie says that if Tim could live anywhere, it would be Tuscany. They plan on coming back every year, and William can even say a few words in Italian. “I want to buy figs!” I call to Ryan, but he shakes his head, still dragging me through the crowd. “Later! I want to show you something first!” Okay, but we’re definitely coming back for those figs, they look mouth-watering, and ever since I first glimpsed them when we arrived at this marketplace, I’ve been craving them. The sky is bright blue, and the sun beats down on us as we make our way through the thronging crowds. Italian is being shouted all around us, and it’s sensory overload. I’m relieved when we walk into a small café. The sound drops away almost immediately, replaced by the lower, quieter buzz of smaller conversations. Ryan steers me across the flagged stone floor, seating me at a vacant table by the window. He calls something out to the waiter, dropping into the chair across from me and plucking up my hand as he grins. “You wanted to show me the view?” I guess, tipping my head toward the window. It’s pretty spectacular. The café looks over the top of the ancient wall that runs around the city, down over the green trees and fields spread out below. “That and the menu.” My eyebrows shoot up. It’s ten o’clock in the morning. He can’t have ordered wine. Surely. Besides, we only arrived last night. One glass, and we’d be out cold. Well, he would be. The waiter arrives, placing two small cups in front of us. The aroma of coffee teases my nostrils, not smelling as unpleasant as it usually does. “Coffee?” “Espresso,” Ryan corrects before the waiter can have a heart attack. The man leaves us with a flourish, and I eye the small cup with trepidation. “It’s not iced.” “No. Nor is it sugary, cinnamony, or any other ‘ie’.” I make a face at his judgmental tone. Maybe if he tried iced coffee, he’d realize it is superior and give up this fruitless exercise. I fix Ryan with a disbelieving look. “You brought me all the way to this café to show me coffee? We could have stopped and bought those figs.” Ryan grins, plucking up his tiny cup. “Oh, babe. I brought you all the way to Italy to introduce you to real coffee.” Wow, that’s rude and also dedicated. I’d expect nothing less from my husband. Well, there’s nothing for it. With a sigh, I pick up my cup, tapping it against his and sniffing the liquid. Again, not as gross as it usually smells. With a grimace, I sip. It is taking everything I have not to hold my nose as I do. I blink in surprise as the coffee warms down my throat. Hey, that’s not bad. Ryan grins at the look of surprise on my face. “Not as bad as you thought it would be?” “No. But that’s probably because it’s a million times better than the swill back home.” “Duh, that’s why I brought you here before I got you to try it.” “Fine, but I’m only having one.” “I’ll take what I can get.” Laughing, I sip my coffee, letting Ryan trace circles on my palm with his thumb. After this, we are getting those figs and stopping back at the villa to eat them on the balcony. Maybe Ryan can rub my feet. That’s my idea of heaven. I only have to battle my way through the hell that is this coffee first. My eyes catch Ryan’s twinkling blue ones. Ah, who am I kidding? I’d walk through hell every day to be with him. Totally worth it. RYAN Layla clutches her bag of figs to her chest like it’s an Olympic gold medal. She sure has fixated on them. I lead her through the villa to the balcony I found her on this morning, looking out over the vineyards as she sipped cold water. She looks fantastic as she sinks into the same seat, removing her straw fedora and flinging it back through the open door. Tuscany agrees with Layla. She’s practically glowing. Dropping into the other chair, I laugh as Layla’s foot lands in my lap, a sure-fire way of her asking for a foot rub without even opening her mouth. Slipping off her sandal, I work the ball of her foot with my thumbs as she eagerly bites into a fig. “Is it as good as you were imagining?” I tease. Layla doesn’t take the bait, tipping her head back, her eyes closed as she savors her fruit. “Better.” Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. “Better than your coffee?” “Oh my stars, so much better. There isn’t even a comparison.” Well, that’s just rude. “Come on. The coffee wasn’t that bad. You didn’t even turn your nose up at it.” “It wasn’t that bad,” she agrees grudgingly. “It’s just not something I plan on drinking every day, even in Italy.” “Not even a small cup?” Tipping her head forward, Layla smiles at me, her head tilting to the side. I know that look. She’s planning something. “And exactly how much coffee a day is a pregnant woman allowed to drink?” Wh-what? My tongue has swollen in my dry mouth as I stare at her, my lips moving and absolutely no sound coming out. Layla watches me mimic a guppy with amusement, taking another bite of her fig. “You’re pregnant?” I manage to splutter out, my brain still not fully computing. Slowly, Layla nods, shrugging and giving a little grimace. “Sorry. Not much wine and coffee for me on this trip. A bit of a waste, really.” I drop her foot, surging out of my seat to scoop her up and carry her inside. Layla shrieks, laughing as I set her down on the bed with infinite care. “I’m pregnant, not breakable,” she scolds me. “And I’m only, like, just pregnant. Like nine weeks.” Shaking my head in disbelief, I tug her striped linen maxi dress up, exposing her slightly rounded stomach. It’s barely different from normal. No wonder I didn’t notice anything. I pepper her stomach with kisses as Layla squeals with laughter, trying to shove my head away. “What are you doing?” “Kissing my wife and baby.” “You’re such a sap.” “Yeah, but I’m your sap, and you wouldn’t want me any other way.” Layla holds my gaze, rolling her eyes, though her giggles somewhat ruin the gesture. “That’s very true.” Lowering my face to her stomach again, I press another kiss right below her belly button. “This is the best vacation of my life.” Layla grins, but it’s a little absent. Oh, right, she’s here in Tuscany, in the middle of a working vineyard, and she can’t drink any wine. Maybe it’s not the best vacation of her life. I grin back at her, waggling my eyebrows. “I’ll bring you back next year so you can enjoy it too.” Well, when I make that promise, she reaches for me eagerly. I chuckle as I slide up her body, my lips tickling her ear. “Are you going to be a good girl?” “You know I am.” The End.  Photo by Ryan Spencer on Unsplash  BEAUMONT
My eyes drink in the sight of my gorgeous wife picking her way across the polished deck. A gust of wind blows her flimsy wrap up, exposing miles of tanned, shapely legs that have my mouth dry. She ignores the flapping wrap, laughing as she grabs at her oversized sunhat. She drops onto the sun lounger beside me, stretching out and reaching eagerly for the fruity cocktail that has recently been delivered. “How is Granny?” I ask. Nic glances over at me, dropping her oversized sunglasses down her nose so we are locking eyes. “She asked if I was pregnant yet,” Nic deadpans. I choke on my cocktail, earning a mischievous laugh from my wife. “We’ve been here for two days!” “Hey! The woman managed to get a marriage promise out of you after a few hours. I think she’s trying to plant the seed of suggestion.” My eyes drop to those gorgeous legs again. “I don’t mind the trying.” Laughing, Nic rolls her eyes, reaching for her cocktail. “You just like the idea of me not working in a school anymore.” I grin, tapping my glass against the side of hers, holding my tongue. Nic is still teaching Kindergarten at Bay Area Elementary, but she’s right. I would prefer her not to work in a school. I can’t go through that shit again, and I don’t want her to have to live through it. One lockdown and bomb scare was more than enough for my heart. Nic purses her lips, lowering her glasses to study me. “And what would you have me doing, instead of teaching?” I shrug, sipping my drink. “Come work for Haven Publishing.” “And do what?” “Whatever you want. Head up our cozy mysteries staff. Start a charity arm organizing events to give free books to kids and do library readings.” I’m throwing out options off the top of my head, but I can see that last one intrigues her, so lean into it. “We could work out an annual budget for you. You’d still get to help kids, but you’d get to work with me every day. It’s the best of both worlds.” “Maybe….” Nic sounds pensive, sliding her glasses back on and turning her eyes to the stunning blue Aegean Sea. I let her sit and think. Soaking up the sun’s rays, I watch her out of the corner of my eye. I have no idea how I got so lucky, but I’m glad I did. This is the life. Greece, cocktails, sun, sea… Nic. I can’t think of anything better. Well… my eyes slide over her legs again, and I picture them wrapped around my head as she writhes on the king-sized bed in our spacious bedroom here on the yacht, I can think of one thing better. Maybe when she’s finished her cocktail, I’ll suggest it. NICOLA Tracing slow circles on Beau’s chest, the white sheets settled over our lower halves, I sigh with contentment. The man sure knows how to use his tongue. “What are you thinking about?” Beau’s voice rumbles above my head as his hand comes up, his fingers closing around mine, stopping the circles. I lift my head, propping my chin on his pec as I look up at him. “Were you serious about the Haven Publishing charity arm thing?” Beau would be within his rights to grin and crow – after all, me not working in a school is exactly what he wants – but he doesn’t, looking thoughtful and nodding. “I was serious. I think you’d be amazing at it, and it would be a fantastic promotion for Haven Publishing, while still helping kids and libraries.” “And you think your uncle would back you to the board to find the funds for it?” Again, Beau looks thoughtful. “I think if we drafted up an amazing proposal, he would eat it up.” “And it wouldn’t be too hard on the budget?” Beau snorts, rolling his eyes as he toys with my wedding and engagement rings. “Babe, the profit margin for Haven Publishing is obscene. It wouldn’t even make a dent.” Well, when he puts it that way…. “I think I like the idea.” Beau’s grin flashes across his face as he rolls on top of me, his thighs nudging mine apart. “I more than like it,” he breathes, kissing his way down my neck, his lips closing around one of my nipples as his cock slips inside me, moving slowly. My fingers thread through his hair, my mouth falling open on a sigh as my head tips back. “You’d be in the office almost every day. I think I’ll get them to make some structural alterations. I want you next door to me, with an adjoining door. Then, I could do this all day, every day, whenever I felt like it.” I moan, sliding my legs up the outside of his. Okay, I’ve never really thought about having sex at work – mainly because I have always worked in schools, with kids – but now I’m thinking about it, it seems like a fantastic idea. Lifting my hips lazily in time with Beau’s slow thrusts, I cling to him, sighing as my nipple slips from his mouth, but mewling when he shows the other one some love. “I could definitely get on board with that,” I gasp. The yacht rocks gently on the waves as I lose myself to the sensations of Beau’s mouth, fingers, and cock. A honeymoon sailing around the Aegean Sea, a possible new job, and Beau all day, every day? Moving into his house in Seattle is the best thing I ever did. I come with a gasp, slumping back on the bed as Beau lifts his head, grinning at me. “Let’s see if we can get two more orgasms out of you before dinner.” I giggle, cutting off into a moan as Beau lowers his head again, still thrusting, his teeth nipping at my tender flesh. Two more orgasms sound good. The perfect way to prepare for dinner out on the deck, looking over the water and back at the stunning view of Santorini. Beau’s fingers find my clit, and I’m not thinking of dinner, or work plans, or anything, I’m too busy losing myself in my gorgeous husband. How did I get so lucky? The End.  Photo by Steven Van Elk on Unsplash  MAXWELL
The cheers follow us out of the room, but all I can hear is Sam’s low, throaty voice, tinged with excitement. “Uh, where are we going? It’s not time to leave yet.” “We’ll go back.” Not for a while, and maybe not looking the same, but… eventually. Sam giggles as I drag her into the elevator. There is another couple in there, who share a knowing glance and slip out. Sam’s face flames and she calls after them, “You don’t need to leave, really!” “Enjoy yourselves!” the woman calls back, while the man lets out a piercing wolf whistle. Sam’s cheeks are cherry red, but I share a wink with the guy as the doors close between us. Finally, a moment alone. I tug Sam into my arms, lowering my head to tease her lips with my tongue. As much as I’d love nothing more than to get on my knees and get my head under her floaty dress, these things have cameras, and I have no intention of giving anyone a story to sell to the press. A ding alerts us to the fact that we’ve reached the top floor. I reluctantly lift my head, scooping Sam up and carrying her out of the elevator, in search of the honeymoon penthouse suite. It’s where both Timmy and David spent their wedding nights – and they’ve both happily knocked up their wives, so it’s clearly a good luck charm. Shrieking as her feet leave the ground, Sam clings to my shoulders, wrapping her arms around my neck. “What the hell are you doing? You’re crazy.” “Carrying my wife over the threshold.” Isn’t it obvious? Sam pouts, frowning at me. “You said we’d go back down.” “We will. But it doesn’t count if I carry you over the threshold the second time.” She rolls her eyes, but obviously sees sense, because she falls silent, craning her neck to see when I manage to extract the keycard from my pocket. Sam watches me fumble a few times before giggling. “Give it here, genius.” I poke my tongue out at her, but surrender the keycard, holding her tightly as she unlocks the door, and I shove it open with my shoulder and hip. “Ohh, fancy.” Sam’s eyes are wide as I carry her inside. They’ve done a rose petal trail to the bed, which is also covered in red rose petals, with candles lit around the room, and a bottle of champagne chilling. Hmm, maybe we won’t be going back downstairs. Hell, we could FaceTime to say goodbye to everyone, surely. I set Sam down, waggling my eyebrows expectantly. She arches a brow at me. “What?” “I would like to see my surprise under your dress, please.” Giggling again, Sam rolls her eyes, turning as she holds her hair out of the way, exposing the back of her dress. “You’ll need to unzip me.” I don’t need to be told twice, hurrying across the room to her, my lips tease her bare shoulder blades as I unzip the dress, holding it as Sam steps out of it. My breath catches as she slowly turns around, the flickering candlelight caressing her like a glorious bath. My tongue darts out to wet my now dry lips. Fuck me. Getting married is amazing. I highly recommend it. We should do it every month. Sam smolders at me, standing in nothing but a blush pink strapless corset that matches the color of her dress. My gaze trails down, my mouth drying up again. The corset flows into barely there, see-through lace panties, offering a tempting glance of her bare pussy, and matching garter belt holding up her stockings, her long, slender legs finishing in strappy stilettos. I’ve died and gone to heaven. Officially. “You’re the most stunning person in the fucking world, babe,” I breathe. Sam smiles, her eyes hooded as she strikes a pose. “Can I put my dress back on and we go back downstairs to our guests now?” What? No! My eyes tear away from her tantalizing pussy, flying back up to her grinning face. My words are almost a whimper, torn from me. “You can’t show me the most amazing sight I’ve ever seen and then take it away from me. That’s against the Geneva Conventions.” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, but I think my reasoning impresses her a little bit. “The Geneva Convention. You think it has a whole section related to being a cock tease?” “No. I think it has a whole section on cruel and unusual torture.” Sam rolls her eyes, making sure her dress is carefully laid over the back of the couch, and disappears into the bathroom. No. I wasn’t done looking at her! Where’s she gone? Thankfully, she appears quickly, tying her hair back in a barrette. Okay, that’s an idea I can get behind. Finally, she sits carefully down on the bed, stretching her legs out, leaning back on her wrists and pouting sultrily at me. My tongue darts out to wet my lips again as she spreads her legs, the barely there lace not moving as her pussy lips spread, displaying the treasure there to me. “It’s all yours, Max.” Her throaty voice is back, my cock throbbing painfully in my trousers. I kick off my shoes, losing my belt, socks, and tie before I land on my knees in front of my gorgeous wife. “Fuck yeah, it’s all mine.” Tearing her panties off, I discard them on the floor, my fingers spreading her pussy lips further as I lean in, delving into my prize. My tongue laps at her folds, licking up to flicker at her clit as I eagerly shove two fingers into her now dripping pussy. “Max!” she squeals, her fingers digging into my hair as she curls her body forward, holding my head right where she wants it. That’s it, babe. Come for me. I did promise we would go back to our guests, so I’ll have to take my time later. I’ve booked our month-long Caribbean honeymoon, so I’m going to take my time a lot. I suck Sam’s clit into my mouth, nibbling it and she squeals again, her fingers tightening in my hair as her pussy grips my fingers, fluttering as she comes with a gush. She slumps back on her wrists, her glorious chest heavy as I rock back to sit on my heels, slowly sucking her tasty juices off my fingers. Our eyes burn together as I stand, releasing my aching cock, and flipping Sam over until she’s on her hands and knees, in her stunning lingerie, amid the white sheets and rose petals. I eye her ponytail thoughtfully. Yeah, I can work with that. Gripping her ass, I position my dick at her dripping entrance and reach forward, my hand wrapping around her ponytail. I slam balls deep into her pussy at the same time I tug her ponytail back toward me. Sam squeals again, her pussy pulsing tightly around my cock as she moans. “Fuck, Max! Do that again.” “Happy to oblige, babe.” I keep my hold tightly on her ponytail, keeping her head tipped back as I hammer into her. After the glorious feast I just had, I’m not going to last. Thankfully, neither is Sam. Her pussy is fluttering again, and she comes, hard, right as I tip over the edge, slamming into her a final time. I slump over her, my lips trailing the back of her neck. “You’re amazing, babe.” “That was amazing,” Sam gasps, moaning a little as I slip out of her, my hand releasing the hold on her ponytail. She’s a little wobbly-kneed as we climb off the bed, but heads straight into the bathroom. “Get dressed! We need to get back downstairs.” Seriously? Ah well, we ditched our guests, and if we go back downstairs, we get to come up again, and I get to have two wedding nights. What more could a man ask for? Sam emerges, her hair billowing again, her makeup fixed, still dressed in her lingerie, minus her torn panties, that are lying on the floor in a tiny heap of lace. She steps back into her dress, holding it against her tits as she smiles over her shoulder. “Can you zip me up?” I wet my lips – dry again. “You’re not wearing any panties.” “I didn’t bring a second pair. Hurry. I want to make sure no one has left before we can say goodbye.” Fuck. Me. This is the best night of my life. I zip up Sam’s dress, sneaking in another kiss to the back of her neck and stepping away. She grins, leading me out the door as my eyes are glued to the floaty skirts of her dress. She’s completely bare under there. Best. Night. Ever. SAMANTHA It feels naughty to be making our way back down to our guests, having just had wildly hot sex – my scalp is still tingling, as are my lady bits – and wearing no panties. I’ve walked away from Max a few times with no panties on. But that was to go back to my hotel room, not to return to a room full of family and friends to smile, and laugh, and drink. Max’s eyes are burning into me whenever I catch his gaze. Hell, I feel crazy powerful right now. He takes my hand, tugging me against him as the elevator takes us back down to the ballroom. His lips are tickling my ear as he breathes a long, dirty list of everything he’s going to do to me and my body, tonight, and the entire month-long honeymoon he has planned. My pussy clenches and by the time we walk out of the elevator, I’m so slick between my thighs it’s like a water park. Maybe this wasn’t the best plan I’ve ever had. My thoughts are taken off Max’s naughty words as we slip back into the ballroom to more cheers than when we left. Max immediately snags two flutes of champagne off a waitress, handing me one and swatting my ass as he strolls away with a wink. I glare after him but flash a smile as Ani approaches. She waves a hovering David off. He leaves, but mutinously, his gaze never leaving her as he joins his cousins, who are all drinking whiskey and laughing. I follow Ani to where Angie Westerhaven – Timothy’s heavily pregnant wife – is seated at their table, sipping on a glass of water. “Not long to go now,” Ani tells her cheerfully. Angie sighs, rubbing her protruding belly. “I can’t wait. The heartburn is rough.” I wince as I take my seat. I’ve never had heartburn before, but I’ve heard it’s bad. “When are you due?” “Two more months.” Angie sighs again, rolling her neck. “Nine months is way too long.” Ani is cradling her barely there bump. “Don’t tell me that.” Angie laughs, taking another sip. She eyes me speculatively. “I heard a month in the Caribbean awaits.” I make a face. “I know this probably sounds bad, but I don’t know if I can do a month of vacationing.” Ani shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. “You two are crazy. I would live on vacation six months of the year if I could.” Laughing, Angie nods to me. “A year ago, I was with you. But Tim has taught me a thing or two about relaxing and taking a vacation and I have to say, I’m a convert.” “Where did you take your honeymoon?” “Florence, and Paris. It was amazing,” Angie smiles dreamily. I turn to Ani, who flashes me a grin. “The South of France to look at art galleries.” “Those both sound amazing.” “So does lying on a yacht or beach in the Caribbean,” Ani reminds me. True. It sounds nice. Mom crosses to me, taking a seat and drawing my hand into her lap. “Happy, Sammie?” “More than I’ve ever been.” “Me too. I expect you to learn properly how to relax and enjoy yourself. Our Christmas LA trip is going to be even more amazing if Max has already done all the hard work to get you ready for it.” Rolling my eyes at her, I lean my head against her shoulder, my eyes finding my husband, where he laughs with his twin and cousins. Sharon has joined us, and she, Mom, Ani and Angie are discussing a possible Christmas party here in Chicago. I smile to myself. Before I went to New York to fight that lawsuit, I had no friends, no family but Mom, and a life that was work and little else. Now I have a full, large, loving family, Ani lives in New York, so I can see we’re going to be firm friends, and Angie and I have already exchanged WhatsApp details. Max might have filled my life, but everyone he has brought with him has definitely made it complete. Meeting Max was the best thing that ever happened to me. My eyes meet his burning hot ones and I smile lazily, even though my pussy clenches. I’m looking forward to tonight, the next month, and hell, the rest of my life. It’s going to be amazing. The End.  Photo by Nick Karvounis on Unsplash  ANICA
Sighing contentedly, I fold my arms on the windowsill, resting my chin on top of them. Spring in the South of France is amazing. My eyes move back to the fancy train carriage, where David is lounging on the seat across from me, reading a creased paperback. The Great Gatsby. “Your favorite book?” I tease him, still remembering our clash when I pushed that first week about his favorite color. David looks up from the page, a half-smile playing across his full lips. “I read it at least once a year.” “Seriously?” “Yes. Surprised?” Am I? Honestly? Jazz, the suits he likes wearing, how much of a gentleman he is unconsciously. “No. It suits you.” He closes the book, sitting up in his seat, eyeing me with intrigue. “If you had known it, would you have done the Haven Property design differently?” I purse my lips, studying him carefully. He’s not in a suit at the moment, wearing jeans and a polo shirt. He looks relaxed. More relaxed than he ever looked in New York. “No. I think I captured that aspect of your personality.” David grins, vaulting out of his seat to drop on mine, tugging me into his lap and teasing my temple with his lips. “You know my personality better than anyone else on earth.” My cheeks flood with heat. That’s so sweet. I don’t know how true it is, but it’s a nice idea. My eyes find the green landscape rolling past us. “Why the South of France?” “Why not? I asked where you wanted to go on our honeymoon, and you said I could pick wherever.” “Yes, but why did you pick here?” “Because they have some of the loveliest art galleries in the world, and I want to show them to you.” My heart thuds in my chest. “That’s so incredibly sweet.” “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to ruin my reputation as a complete asshole back in New York.” “Your secret is safe with me.” David chuckles, his lips finding mine. “Did you want to fuck me here in this seat with the wind tangling in your hair?” My heart isn’t the only thing pulsing now. Oh my. Yes, please. My arms slide around his neck, and I twist in his lap, shifting until I’m straddling him. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he murmurs appreciatively against my lips, his hands kneading my ass. I’m glad I’m wearing a sundress. It will make things easier. David’s fingers skate up my thighs, under my dress, raising goosebumps as I grind down on him. “I need to be inside you, sweetheart,” David pants against my mouth. I won’t argue with that. “Please.” I set my knees on the plush seat on either side of David’s thighs, lifting off him slightly. With a groan, David releases his cock, shoving my panties aside and stroking my folds. The sun is shining in through the window, and the lovely breeze is ruffling my hair. This is heaven. His hand grips my hip, guiding me down until he is fully sheathed. I sigh against his lips, rocking my hips gently. No, now this is heaven. “That’s it, sweetheart. Ride me.” I don’t need to be told twice. Sliding my fingers through David’s thick, tousled hair, I find my rhythm, breaking our kiss so I can press my forehead against his. Our eyes burn together as I bounce on his cock, chasing my release. David’s hand cups my cheek, his thumb stroking softly as I pant and gasp. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Ani. Did you know that?” I don’t know if that’s true, but the fierce way he says it, with his eyes shining into mine, I almost believe it. My inner muscles clench and I come, unable to fight the look on David’s face and his intoxicating words. “I love you, David.” “I love you, Ani. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Now look who's stealing my lines. DAVID Ani dances across the hotel room, a strawberry in one hand, and a glass of champagne in the other. She’s wearing my polo shirt, and nothing else. She’s an absolute vision. With a giggle, she settles down on the bed beside me, popping the rest of the strawberry into her mouth, and chasing it down with some bubbles. “Thank you for bringing me here. The art is out of this world.” Outside our hotel room, Nice is shutting down for the night. My arms snake around Ani’s waist, anchoring her to me. “What do you think Tim and Angie will call their baby?” Ani asks. I grin, nuzzling her neck with my nose. Tim told me the morning after the wedding that Angie is due in October. I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of Timmy being a dad, or me being an uncle. “They’ll name him William if he’s a boy.” “After your uncle? That’s sweet.” “It’s very Timmy. And Angie, actually.” I lean back, stroking Ani’s hair out of her face as she sips her glass of champagne, watching me. “What?” she laughs, setting her glass down on the nightstand beside her and turning back to me. “Have you thought about kids?” Ani frowns, her lips twitching. She fidgets with the hem of the polo shirt. “Thought what about them?” “Whether you’d like them?” “Oh.” Ani’s frown clears, and her cheeks flame. I trail my thumb over one, feeling the heat against my flesh. “I mean… I guess… I hadn’t… what are your thoughts?” “That you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Ani scoffs, slapping my bare chest with her open palm. “Uh, ouch.” “Man up.” “Stop distracting me. We were having a serious conversation.” Ani’s giggles disappear and she eyes me carefully. “And what was your answer?” My answer to what my thoughts are about kids? “I want to have kids with you.” “Oh.” She flushes again, looking adorably pleased. “Uh, when? I mean… what’s your timeline?” My hand drops to her stomach, smoothing over it. “I want my kids to be close in age to Timmy’s. Like all us cousins are.” There is silence as Ani stares at me, her lips slightly parted. I hold my breath. Shit. I didn’t realize until right now how important this is to me. What if she doesn’t agree? Ani wiggles out of my arms and my heart thuds in my chest. Fuck. My mind goes blank as Ani strips the polo shirt over her head, letting it flutter to the ground as she eyes me, completely naked. “We’d better get trying then.” I growl, launching myself at her. Ani giggles, as she tumbles back, and I land on top of her, my lips finding hers. I know that she is on birth control, so having sex right now won’t have any effect on a pregnancy, but there’s no harm in practicing. Ani moans as my fingers slick through her folds, entering her, my lips teasing her throat. Maybe, if I try really hard – and we visit a doctor while we’re over here – I’ll have her pregnant before we return to New York next month. I’ll certainly do my best. The End.  TIMOTHY
Angie has been glued to the window since we climbed into the car, leaving Florence. Paris was incredible. I know the honeymoon has to end at some point, but the month we spent in our fifth-floor walkup near Notre Dame was magical. Angie was right. Waking up to the bells every day was a gift. Florence was a whirl of museums and art galleries, but now we’re headed to the main event. A month in a small villa, complete with its own vineyard. I’ve already arranged for an in-depth tour tomorrow with the owner. I want to turn my hand to wine-making. I realize that being here in March isn’t the best for that – September and October are the harvest months, but maybe I can learn the blending process. The car turns off the road through a set of wrought-iron gates, and I mirror Angie’s pose, almost pressing my nose against the window as we drive through the rows of vines up to the villa. “Oh, Tim, it’s gorgeous!” Angie sighs, climbing out of the car, her eyes glued on the Tuscan villa towering over us with its distinct red stone walls and red-tiled roofs. “Yeah, it is,” I agree, my eyes glued to the vines spread out before us, surrounding the villa on all sides. “Did you want to look inside or stay out here?” I turn at Angie’s giggle, rolling my eyes as I round the car, dropping an arm around her shoulders. “All right. We’ll have a tour inside and then lunch on the terrace.” “Overlooking the vineyards,” Angie agrees, still laughing at me. Oh, she’s going to pay for that. Angie turns with a smile, and I follow her up the stairs to the huge wooden front door, which is propped open, the owner standing just inside, shaded from the Tuscan sun, already making its presence felt in March. “Welcome, welcome!” he cries, opening his arms and kissing both of Angie’s cheeks and mine. “Come in, come in!” We follow him through the well-kept villa. The interior is faithful to its setting, with landscape paintings dotted around the wall, all of the local area. The furniture is from another time, and if the look on Angie’s face is anything to go by, she is as in love with the place as I am. We follow Piero through the historic rooms, finally reaching our bedroom at the top of the villa on the third floor. It, and a bathroom, are the only things on this level, and the windowed doors open onto a small balcony that overlooks the vineyards. This is going to be as nice to wake up to as the Notre Dame bells. Our bags were brought up ahead of us, sitting at the end of the bed, but Angie steps past them to open the doors and stand on the balcony, looking out with a soft expression. I wave Piero off, watching Angie with a smile. The bedroom door closes, leaving us alone. Angie turns, her eyes landing on me as they crease into a grin. “What?” I saunter over to her, tugging her into my arms. “I’m just thinking that I’m the luckiest man in the world to be here with you.” “You’re certainly a sweet talker.” Spinning Angie around, I walk her back into the room, my eyes landing on the wrought iron bedhead. “It’s no four-poster, but it will do.” Angie cranes her head to look at the bed as well. “It will do for what?” She cuts off with a squeal as I swing her into my arms, coming down on top of her on the bed, my lips finding her neck. “It will do to fuck you on.” “That’s less sweet.” “I was going for dirty.” Angie giggles, her fingers finding the buttons of my shirt, plucking at them. “I like dirty Tim.” “He likes you.” Her giggles turn to moans as I open her linen shirt, tugging down her bra cup to latch my lips around her nipple, and suckle. Angie’s fingers slide into my hair, holding my head against her chest as I work her trousers off, tugging off her panties as well. “Tim,” she gasps as two of my fingers enter her, pumping slowly. She’s ready for me. More than ready for me. Lifting my head, I smile down at her as I free my cock, positioning myself and sliding home. Angie’s legs come up to hug my hips, her hands finding my biceps, gripping as her head tips back, another moan escaping her lips. God, she’s so fucking beautiful. I am the luckiest man alive. This honeymoon is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Angie has relaxed the whole time. She has taken to vacationing like a duck to water. I’m going to ensure she doesn’t have another bad one in her life. Not if I have anything to say about it. Taking my weight on my forearms, my face nuzzles the side of Angie’s as I thrust firmly. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, babe.” “What happened to dirty?” “I’ve gone back to sweet.” “I’ll take it,” Angie sighs, bucking her hips as she chases her release. “I’ll take it all.” And I’m happy to give it all. Angie is a dream come true. Thank God Uncle Bill insisted she come to the UK for Christmas. Imagine if I’d never noticed her. That would have been a travesty. I definitely need to get Uncle Bill a gift. Angie will know the perfect thing. I’ll ask her later. Right now, I’m planning on making her come twice, and then explore the villa with her. ANGELA Tim waves as he strides off with Piero, dressed in jeans and a sweater, a broad-brimmed hat slapped on his head. He was practically bouncing off the walls this morning. He’s so excited about this vineyard tour. It’s cute. It’s even better that I don’t have to accompany him. I have other plans. Secret plans. As they move through the vines, the car I called pulls up. “Mrs. Brooks Westerhaven?” It’s been over a month, and I’m still not used to hearing myself called that. I slide into the car, waiting as the driver firmly closes the door, rounding the car and climbing in. “Into town?” “Yes, please. To the marketplace.” I wave to Tim as we pass them, and he raises a hand in reply, turning back to Piero, who is pointing to one of the vines. I settle back into the buttery leather seat, watching the trees and vineyards whip buy as we head into town. It’s a walled city, though it’s so tiny, I would call it a small town. It’s renaissance, and I love it. The marketplace is thriving, heaving with people, and I smile at the driver as I climb out of the car. “I’ll meet you back here in three hours?” “Of course, Mrs. Brooks Westerhaven.” I sling my purse over one shoulder, gripping my woven shopping bag with the other hand, and wave as I slip into the crowd. There are many market stalls, but I have another destination in mind. I’ll come back to the market. I want to get some antipasti to have for lunch today. I stop at the pharmacy, ducking inside and making my way to the “feminine hygiene” aisle. Most of the packaging is in Italian, but what I’m looking for is a distinct box. My hand lands on it and I grab two. Just in case. The cashier ringing my purchases up eyes my left hand and beams. “Good luck, signora.” I smile absently, tucking the boxes into my shopping bag and leaving the pharmacy. I turn away from the marketplace, walking to a small boutique hotel. “Buongiorno, signora,” the staff member manning the reception desk beams at me. “Hi, I was wondering if I could have a room. Do you have any availabilities?” “Si, signora.” I hand over my brand new black Amex, that Tim insisted on getting me. He scans it, handing me an old-fashioned key, and gesturing to the stairs. “Second floor, signora.” I head up the stairs, locating the room quickly and slipping inside. Leaving my purse on the bed, I take my boxes into the bathroom, closing the door. Here goes nothing. The car rolls up the long drive, parking in front of the villa. I clutch my woven shopping bag full of antipasti and slip out, making my way inside. Tim is there, walking out of the kitchen with a bottle of wine opened. He beams as I walk in, gesturing toward the terrace. “You said to set the table for antipasti. It’s ready.” “Perfect. You head out, and I’ll plate it up and bring out the platter.” Tim continues outside to pour the wine, as I hurry into the kitchen, plating the bread and antipasti on a lovely glass platter. After hesitating for a second, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, tucking it under my arm and taking the food outside. Leaping out of his seat, Tim grabs the platter off me, setting it on the table as I sit, placing the bottle of water on the table beside the wine. Ignoring my glass, I reach for the food, filling my plate as Tim chatters about his vineyard tour. When our plates are full, Tim plucks up his wineglass, saluting me with it. “I have some news.” I glance across at him, my eyebrows shooting up. What a coincidence. “I have news too.” Tim grins, setting his glass back down and leaning across the table. “One, two, three, and at the same time?” He’s so ridiculous sometimes. “Sounds like a plan.” “Okay. One. Two. Three,” Tim recites. “I’m pregnant.” “I’m buying this villa and vineyard.” He’s… what? I blink at him. “What?” “What?” Tim stares at me, his eyes wide. “I’m pregnant.” A smile tugs at his lips, and he reaches over, plucking my wine glass up and setting it away from me. “You won’t need that. More wine for me.” I roll my eyes. Of course that’s his reaction. “You’re buying this villa and vineyard?” “Yeah. I spoke with Piero. He’s looking to sell, so I made an offer. Mario, the vineyard manager, is going to stay on. He lives in a small house on the property. We can come back once or twice a year for a month at a time. I thought it would be nice. Hell, maybe we’ll get an apartment in Paris too.” Tim falls silent, his eyes, shining with excitement, drop to my stomach. “Maybe instead of a studio, we’ll get a few bedrooms.” My lips twitch. “Are you happy about being a father?” “Even happier than about buying this place.” I shoot him a look. He better be happier about being a father than buying a house! Taking my hand, Tim leans across the table, brushing a kiss over my lips. “I love you, Angie.” “I love you too, Tim.” He sits back, still holding my hand on the table as he turns to look over the vineyards spread out before us. I have to admit, coming here for a few months a year… it’s going to be magical. “I can’t wait to run through the vines with our kid,” Tim sighs happily. Yeah. I can think of some other good things to do here too. “I can’t wait to sit right here sipping wine as I watch you.” Tim turns back to me, his eyes still shining, his lips stretched into a wide grin. “I look forward to making your dreams come true.” I squeeze his hand, my heart thudding. “Oh, Tim. You already have.” The End.   Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash MARGOT
“Hello?” Craning my neck over the back of the couch, I call along the long hallway that runs the length of the condo to the kitchen and front door. “Margot,” Charlie calls back. “Have you heard from Ari?” “Uh, no. Should I have?” I’m about to haul my not-inconsiderable bulk off the couch when Charlie and Jax appear. Charlie notices I’m getting ready to stand up – it takes a bit of prep these days – and places a hand on my large baby bump. “Don’t stand up. You stay there with your feet up. We’ll find her.” “Uh, it’s Toronto. The woman managed to live in LA for years without coming to harm. Hell, she hitchhiked across Mexico.” “Don’t remind me,” Jax growls, his face darkening. “We’ve had words about that.” “She’s probably getting her hair done.” “Vicky does her hair,” Jax replies promptly, frowning as he looks at his phone. I think that’s someone back in San Remo, where they live. “Okay, maybe she’s just gone shopping?” Honestly, these two fuss over that woman worse than old hens. If I were her, I’d be deliberately winding them up. Hell, maybe that’s what she is doing. “No, her last text to me was that she was on her way home.” Jax is still frowning at his phone, and now Charlie’s expression matches his. As they stare at the device, it beeps. Jax swipes to read the message, his eyes widening and his face darkening. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he breathes, shoving the phone at Charlie in disbelief. “What’s happened?” I swing my legs off the couch again, but Charlie catches them with one hand, setting them back on the throw pillow I was using as a footrest. “Ari’s gotten into one of her scrapes. We’ll sort it out. You stay here.” “What about dinner?” “We’ll order in when we get back.” Jax has already retrieved his phone, tugging his jacket on as he hurries down the hallway. “Hurry up, man,” he calls over his shoulder. “I know my wife. If we don’t get there, she will try to fix it herself, which will only make things worse.” Okay, I’m officially confused and a little intrigued. Personally, I think Jax and Charlie go over the top with “fixing Ariel’s messes,” but that’s their business. Also, I think they enjoy it just a bit. As the front door slams behind me, I settle back against the couch, picking my book up with a smile. I like it when Jax and Ari visit. There’s never a dull moment. I also like how much Charlie looks out for his sister. He’s going to be an amazing dad when our daughter arrives. I only feel sorry for anyone she meets in eighteen years. Rubbing my swollen stomach, I hum, turning my attention to birthing facts. I can’t wait to meet our daughter, and I can’t wait to see Charlie holding her. It’s going to be a beautiful sight. CHARLIE “You never should have let her go off on her own,” I snap at Jax as he pulls the Jeep he hired at the airport into traffic. His eyebrows shoot up. “It’s Toronto. I thought she’d be fine. It’s been a while since she’s needed bailing out. I thought she was getting better.” I snort, rolling my eyes. Ari doesn’t get better at not getting into messes. This is just who she is. You’d think her husband would know that. He’s shaking his head, gripping the steering wheel tightly, and muttering. “When I get my hands on her, I’ll paddle her ass.” “Uh, dude. That’s my sister. TMI.” “Then you shouldn’t have let me marry her.” “Just because I think you two are good together doesn’t mean I need to know about your sexual punishment methods.” Jax flashes me a grin, throwing his phone into my lap. “Call her.” “What if she doesn’t answer?” “Call her again.” I stare at him. Is he an idiot? Has living full-time with my sister rotted his brain? It can happen. Too many dance workout videos will do that to you. “If she doesn’t answer the first time, what makes you think she’ll answer the second?” Jax shrugs. “We have an agreement. If she doesn’t answer three times in a row, I’m allowed to turn on the Find my Phone app.” He’s had that option this entire time, and I’m only hearing about it now. Why? “Uh, fuck that. I’ll just turn it on. We’ll find her without having to waste time calling three times.” Jax snatches at the phone, his eyes glued to the traffic as I hold it out of his reach. “No. Call Ari three times. I’m not about to invade her privacy without following the stipulated rules.” “But we already know she totaled Margot’s car.” “Do I butt into your marriage?” “Uh, no. But I’m not married to my trainwreck of a sister.” “Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about.” “That doesn’t make my statement any less true.” He grumbles but doesn’t argue. Sighing, I quickly try calling three times. Every time, it goes to voicemail. Rules followed. Can we finally be sensible now? “Okay, now can I just fucking find her?” “Yes. Turn it on.” Finding the app, I tap it, enabling the locator device. It pings immediately. “She’s less than a mile away.” Jax steps on the gas, following my directions. Sure enough, Ari is sitting on the side of the road, waving sheepishly to us as we pull up behind Margot’s car. Jax is out of the Jeep, pulling her to her feet and checking her over carefully as I stare at the car in front of us. The back is caved in. How the fuck is Ari standing there looking like she doesn’t have a scratch on her? Jax tugs Ari into a tight hug, kissing her fiercely before leading her to the Jeep. They stop at my window. I gesture at the car. “How the hell aren’t you laid out on the sidewalk? The trunk is practically in the back seat!” Ari winces, glancing around Jax’s bulk at the car. He has her anchored to his side like he’s never letting her go. “I wasn’t in it.” “What?” I ask, gesturing again at the car. “Where were you?” Jax asks. “And why did you think it would be okay to text me, ‘I’m totally fine, but Margot’s car is undrivable’?” “Well, it’s the truth. I am fine, and there’s no way that car can be driven.” “Next time you’re in a car accident, I expect a phone call, Trouble.” Ari glares up at him mutinously. “I wasn’t in a car accident. I was standing near it.” “That’s even worse.” I cut through their bickering. “What happened to the car, Ari?” She sighs, gesturing at the vehicle. “There was this lady pulled over and looking under her hood. I pulled in behind her, leaving plenty of space, and went to make sure she was okay.” Jax groans, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. "Trouble, Trouble, Trouble. How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t get out of the car if you’re alone. It could have been a plan to jump you.” I nod in agreement, but Ari is already rolling her eyes, drawing a growl from Jax. “But it wasn’t. She really was having engine trouble. I was calling her a tow when this guy came barreling around the corner and hit the back of my car. So, it wasn’t my fault.” “He wouldn’t have hit the car if you hadn’t stopped when you were alone, which I told you not to do,” Jax points out. Ari pouts, pressing herself against him as he glares down at her. “But if I stopped helping people, I wouldn’t be me.” He growls something too low for me to hear, and she blushes, giggling. Gross. I don’t need to know that stuff about my sister and best friend. Digging out my phone, I glare at Margot’s car. We were considering upgrading to an SUV now that the baby is close to coming, but I didn’t need the vehicle written off to arrange that. “Oh, here.” Ari hands me a piece of paper. “I got the guy’s insurance details. They were going to organize a tow once you arrived.” “Why didn’t you call us? Or answer our calls?” Ari shrugs. “I texted to let you know, but then I talked to the guy, his insurance, and the police. I knew you were coming.” “You didn’t tell us where you were,” I point out, the insurance company hold music playing in my ear. Ari rolls her eyes. “Uh, Find my Phone?” Jax bites his lip to stop laughing while I glower at them. This is the last thing I need. I want to be home with Margot, sitting on the couch, rubbing her feet. I finally get through to the insurance, organizing a tow. Jax and Ari are making out on the sidewalk while I ignore them. Honestly, those two. It’s dark by the time we get home, Jax piggybacking Ari up the stairs. Margot is laying out the takeaway Thai food as we step into the kitchen, her eyes roaming over the three of us. “Did you get everything sorted?” Ari blushes, stepping up to her, looking shamefaced. “I wrote off your car. I’m so sorry, Margot.” Margot blinks at her, dropping the serving spoon and looking her over. “Are you okay?” “Oh, I wasn’t in the car.” Margot blinks, shrugging her shoulders. “Then it wasn’t you who wrote it off. We were thinking of upgrading to an SUV anyway.” Jax and Ari disappear to wash up for dinner, and Margot carefully sits on my lap. I wrap my arms around her, resting my head in the crook of her neck as my hand strokes over her bump, our daughter kicking beneath my hands. “The car got written off?” “Some kid lost control around the corner and smashed into the back where she was parked. She was helping a woman call a tow truck.” “Thank goodness she wasn’t in the car.” “Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about you two getting into trouble every time you leave the condo.” Margot snorts. “It’s hardly her fault someone rammed into her. You said she wasn’t even in the car. That’s just bad luck.” “Yeah, and it follows Ari like a bad smell. I think she might be cursed.” Margot rolls her eyes, hooking her arm around my neck. “There’s no such thing as curses.” “Oh yeah, tell that to Ari’s constant bad luck. Everyone else in the family is extremely lucky.” Margot looks pointedly at my chair. “You got blown up and have no legs.” “Yeah. And that’s how I met the most amazing woman in the world, who is about to have my baby. That’s extremely lucky.” With a giggle, Margot presses a kiss to my cheek. “Okay, well, Ari’s bad luck landed her Jax. Isn’t that lucky?” Hmm. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Maybe she’s not unlucky. Maybe it is the universe drawing her to Jax. “You’re right.” “I usually am.” “Jax is the one who's cursed.” Margot’s giggles cut off as I capture her lips with my own. That poor sod might be cursed, but I’m blessed and wouldn’t change anything in my life. Not when all the best things are currently balanced in my lap. The End.  Photo by krakenimages on Unsplash  THELMA The town car pulls up out front of the modest, two-story home. It’s nothing like the luxurious condo between West Queen Anne and Uptown I grew up in. I love it on sight. The house is between the White Center and Highline neighborhoods and is only a fourteen-minute drive frown our Downtown condo. Jimmy slides out, holding the carrier bag full of fancy wine and whiskey that I insisted on bringing. His hand appears to help me out as I cradle the ridiculously huge bunch of flowers I got for his mother. The driver nods, pulling away from the curb as Jimmy tangles his fingers with mine, leading me up the paved driveway, past Trey’s truck and his parent’s Volvo wagon. So, this is where Jimmy grew up. It suits him. The front of the house on the ground level is a single-car garage, which is closed, so Jimmy leads me through a tall wooden gate, alongside the cream clapboard-sided house, to the front door, on the side near the back. Pulling open the decorated grill, he hammers on the blush pink wooden door, opening it before anyone can answer. We step directly into the kitchen, and Lucille, Jimmy’s mother, turns with a huge smile, wiping her hands on her flowered, ruffled apron. “You’re here!” she cheers, wrapping Jimmy into a tight hug. Releasing him, she accepts the carrier bag, sits it on the counter, and turns to me. “I’ll just blow kisses at you,” she laughs, kissing her hand and waving it at me, turning to use a damp cloth to wipe the flour off Jimmy’s shirt that transferred from her apron. Once he's clean, she drops the cloth into the sink, taking the flowers from me with a huge smile. “Oh, they’re gorgeous, Thelma! You didn’t have to. I love them!” “Hey, they’re from both of us!” Jimmy protests, earning a look of shade thrown his way. “Oh, hush. You are no more responsible for these flowers than your father is for your birth.” Jimmy smirks, holding up a finger. “An inch of credit is still credit.” He laughs, snatching a beer from the fridge and retreating out of the kitchen as she throws a tea towel after him. Stooping, I pick it up, hanging it on the towel rack over the cabinet door under the sink. “Is there anything I can help with?” I look awkwardly around. Mom caters these things. I’m not a useless cook, but a pumpkin pie from scratch or an enormous turkey like Lucille is basting is a little out of my expertise. “Not at all. I’ve got this. I only need to finish basting and pop it in the oven, and then I’ll be right through. Why don’t you pick a nice wine, pour us a glass and take them through to the living room? I’ll be in shortly.” Flashing a grateful smile, I unpack the wine carrier, selecting a nice Semillon and pouring two glasses. Lucille points her turkey baster at the archway Jimmy disappeared into, and I offer a smile as I steel myself and walk through. Five faces turn to me as I take another deep breath. Jimmy grins, holding out his arm from where he stands near the maroon leather couch, and I walk right under it, snuggling against his side. Trey vaults out of the matching maroon easy chair he is lounging in, relieving me of Lucille’s wine glass, which he sets down on a cute World’s Best Mom coaster near the easy chair. I wave to Hogan and Gayle Houston, Jimmy’s grandparents, and they beam back at me, Hogan turning his attention to the football game on the TV while Gayle continues to grin at me. Ed, Jimmy’s father, stands and kisses my cheek, turning to bellow at Trey, who has sunk into his fabric Lay-Z-Boy. “I paid for that chair. Get your sorry ass outta it, boy!” “I believe you’ll find that Jimmy and I bought you this as a Christmas gift five years ago, Dad. Find another seat.” Hogan shakes his head, striding into the kitchen, muttering about ungrateful brats and needing another drink. Gayle rolls her eyes, shuffling over on the couch until she’s seated in the middle, closer to Hogan, and pats the empty end spot. “You come and sit here, Thelma. I want to hear all about the trouble Jimmy has been getting himself into. I’m sure there’s lots of it.” Giggling, I leave Jimmy as his mouth drops open and cross, sitting beside Gayle as she pats my leg. Her eyes drop to my wine, and she laughs. “I owe Lucille twenty dollars. I was hoping for a happy holiday announcement, but she thought you’d still want to focus on your career for a little while.” Oh. Oh. My cheeks burn as my eyes meet Jimmy’s. He is also red with embarrassment, although he looks like he’s trying not to die from laughing. She’s talking about my getting pregnant. How mortifying. At least she’s being good-natured about it. “Yeah,” Trey pipes up, saluting Jimmy with his beer. “Why haven’t you knocked your wife up yet? You’ve been married for over six months. Get on with it.” Jimmy flips his brother off, but Trey winks at me while his grandmother glares at him. “It’s cute when a senile old lady like me asks. You just sound like an idiot,” she scolds him. I can’t help the giggles busting out of my lips. This is nothing like Thanksgiving with my family. We never have the football on. Dad and Artie usually sneak into the den to watch portions at a time while pretending to use the bathroom. And no one laughs and teases this much. It’s a much more somber affair. JIMMY
Shit. Thelma will never agree to come to a holiday event with my family again. They’re grilling her about babies, about work. She’s going to bail and refuse to come back. I meet her gaze across Pop’s head, my eyes stricken, but she’s giggling, pressing her fingers to her mouth to try to stifle the sound, and I relax. Thank goodness Mom and Dad come in to break the tension. Mom drops into her easy chair, snatching up the wine and saluting Thelma before taking a sip. Her eyes flutter closed as she smiles. “That is the best wine I have ever tasted,” she sighs happily. “You’ve been cooking. I’m glad you have a moment to sit and enjoy it,” Thelma offers, sounding nervous. “I’ll second that!” Dad agrees, shooting Trey a glare. “Last chance, boy.” Trey studiously stares at the TV, pretending not to have heard. Dad shakes his head, handing his beer to Mom and crossing to the Lay-Z-Boy. This is typical for when we all get together, but Thelma watches with wide eyes as Dad unceremoniously drops into Trey’s lap, squashing him into the chair. “Help!” Trey calls, his voice muffled by Dad’s back. “You were asking for it,” Pop calls back. “Now pipe down. I want to listen to the commentary.” Thelma giggles again, sipping her wine and turning back to Nanna. “We haven’t talked much about kids,” she admits. Mom is listening carefully now – so am I. “But I would like to keep focusing on my career for another few years. Maybe when I’m closer to thirty.” Nanna and Mom managed to hide their disappointment well, and I sag with relief. Thelma is twenty-eight in February. Thirty gives me two years to selfishly have her to myself before I have to share. I can live with that. Mom beams, holding out her hand to Nanna with a gimme gesture. “Pay up, Dolores.” Thelma blinks in surprise, a confused frown crossing her face as Nanna grumbles, digging into her purse at her feet and pulling out a crisp twenty, leaning forward over the coffee table to slap it in Mom’s hand. With a smile, Thelma stands, coming to stand beside me, slinging her arm around my waist. I lean my head down to hear what she is going to say. “I thought your grandmother’s name was Gayle?” she murmurs, taking another sip of wine. I bite back a grin. “It is. Mom calls her Dolores, and she calls Mom Alma. No one knows why.” Thelma nods. Whatever she was about to say is cut off when Trey gives another half-hearted yelp, and Dad finally gets off him. With an exaggerated gasp for breath, Trey stands, shuffling out of the way so Dad can claim his chair back. He moves toward us, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at me. Mom catches the look and speaks before either of us can. “No wrestling in the house. You take that outside!” Thelma’s head whips around, her eyes darting between Trey and me. “Wrestling?” she whispers. Trey grins cockily, cracking his knuckles. “Oh, it’s not wrestling. It’s Jimmy’s punishment.” I smirk back at him. Trey usually beats me. The man coaches a middle school wrestling team. But I have a secret weapon this year. I got Grady Quinn from the Rothwell Agency to show me some moves. Trey isn’t going to know what hit him. Dropping a kiss on Thelma’s cheek, I move to follow Trey outside. “You sit and enjoy your wine. Don’t let them give you a nickname!” Thelma sinks into the seat next to Nanna as we leave the room. I’m in the kitchen when I hear Mom’s bright exclamation. “What do you think of Beryl? I think it suits you.” The door to the backyard swings shut, cutting off Thelma’s giggles. Beryl? Ah, I can live with it. If it makes Thelma giggle, it’s okay in my book. Trey lets out a war cry, and I spin, ducking out of his grasp before he can take me to the ground. Right. Time to put these new moves to some use. I have a twin to wipe the floor with. THE END.  Photo by Ashley Winkler on Unsplash  CHAPTER 1
NAOMI Viper was laughing when he left, taking the sedan to the airport because I was scrubbing the skirting boards. They’re gleaming, and I had to give up my compulsive straightening and spot-cleaning campaign to shower and make myself presentable. Vicky laughs, swiping the mascara over my lashes and capping the wand. “You look amazing, but understated. She’s going to love you.” “We don’t want kids,” I blurt out, wincing as Vicky blinks at me in surprise. “We decided we don’t need to get married to be together, and we don’t want kids.” “And you think his mother will hate you because of that?” “Wouldn’t you?” Sighing, Vicky shrugs, packing away her hair and makeup kit. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t have kids.” Shit. My cheeks flame, and my mouth drops open. “Shit. Sorry. I mean -.” “Don’t stress, babe,” she laughs, straightening and picking up her bag. “I’m okay with it. I only mean, surely having her son happy would be enough for her, you know? And Viper sure as shit is happy these days.” “You think so?” “Babe, I have eyes. I know so.” Grinning like a maniac, I wave her off, smiling and continuing to straighten the flowers. I bought a few bunches to brighten the place up. Viper rolled his eyes. After all the flowers he bought me finally died, this place smelled like a florist shop for a week. I think he was getting used to having his house smell normal again, and okay, maybe I went slightly overboard. The garage door rattles, and I freeze. After he bought us the car, Viper had an automatic door opener installed, so I don’t have to mess around opening and closing it at night. It was super sweet of him. I’m like a deer in the headlights, halfway between the kitchen and the dining room, a dusting rag in my hand as the door to the garage opens. Shit. I drop the dusting rag onto the kitchen countertop, flashing a megawatt smile as Viper steps into the house carrying a suitcase, followed by an immaculately dressed blonde woman in her late fifties. I can see Viper around her eyes. Setting the suitcase down next to the table, Viper beams at us. “Peaches, this is my mom, April Martin. Mom, this is Naomi.” I stretch out my hand, blinking as I’m swept into a tight hug. “It’s so nice to meet you finally!” she cries, holding me tightly. “Damon has told me so much.” Stepping back, April Martin keeps her hands on my arms, looking me over from head to toe. “You’re even more stunning than the picture he sent through.” My cheeks flame. Viper sent a picture of me? I hope it was a nice one. Viper gathers the suitcase again, walking it through to the spare bedroom. April looks around, her eyes sweeping the open-plan living space before coming to rest on me again. “I’m glad you made the space your own. When I took all my things, I tried to make it only seem like half a bachelor pad. It looks much better now.” Sagging with relief, I offer her a smile, remembering the manners Mama taught me. “Would you like some sweet tea?” “I’d love some.” Viper reappears, slinging his arm around his mom’s shoulders. “Come on, Mom. We’ll have it out on the back porch.” They move through the house as I fetch the sweet tea I made earlier, setting it out on a pretty tray with glasses and some cookies. Picking it up, I take a deep breath, walking through the house and out onto the back porch, where April and Viper are seated on the comfortable patio furniture, looking out over the back garden. I’m growing flowers. I used cuttings of some ones Viper bought me the night of Lisa and Palmer’s wedding. The night he told me he loved me. “It looks amazing out here!” April beams, reaching for her glass of sweet tea. “That’s all Peaches. I hate gardening.” Viper grins, saluting us with his glass. I laugh, rolling my eyes at him. “He mows the lawn.” “As he should,” April agrees, clinking her drink with mine. Her eyes linger on my bare left hand and the claiming tattoo there, tightening a little, though she doesn’t mention it, talking about her flight instead. VIPER Mom is dancing around the subject, and I wish she’d get to the fucking point. Finally, she looks pointedly at Naomi’s hand, at the viper head laying on her left ring finger, and sighs. “You aren’t thinking of getting married?” And there it is. Naomi opens her mouth, but I beat her to it. “No. We’re not.” Silence reigns as Mom’s lips tighten. “I see. May I ask why not?” Snorting, I roll my eyes at her. “Because marriage doesn’t mean shit to me.” Mom looks scandalized, pressing her hand to her chest. “Damon! How can you say that? I apologize for my son,” she says to Naomi, who looks mortified. “You don’t have to apologize for me. Peaches knows the score.” “That you’re stringing her along without hope of a ring?” Mom’s voice is rising in volume and pitch, a sure sign she’s getting agitated. “I’m not stringing shit. Peaches knows I’m all in. Forever. We don’t need a fancy party, a piece of paper, or a priest to make this more real.” “You don’t need it, no. But every woman wants it.” Naomi’s eyes widen, and she stands abruptly, knocking over an empty sweet tea glass in her haste. Blushing, she quickly picks it up, loading everything on the tray and hightailing it back inside, mumbling something about not wanting to get involved. Fuck that. She is involved. The person who isn’t is my fucking mother. Turning to the woman, I shoot her a venomous glare. “I’ll thank you for not getting involved in my relationship.” “What kind of relationship do you expect it to be without a hope of a wedding? Why are you so against it, anyway? Naomi seems like a lovely woman.” What does that have to do with anything? “Naomi is lovely. That’s why she’s mine. That’s why this is forever.” “So, marry her?” “No.” “Why not?” “Why would we? So we could be as happy as you and Dad?” Mom shrinks like a balloon I just burst, pressing her lips together and blinking rapidly, trying not to cry. Fucking hell. I shouldn’t have let her get to me. “Things between your father and I were… complicated.” Bullshit. “Complicated? Mom, he cheated on you at your wedding reception, kept cheating, and left after three years. That’s not complicated. That’s fucked up.” “That’s life.” “Not my life. Not with Peaches.” Mom sighs, shaking her head and running her hand over her eyes. “Damon, you are not your father.” “No? I was a legacy prospect to the Hawks. I patched in, same as him.” “And you’ve risen higher than he ever did. He died in jail, Damon. He was miserable so much of the time.” “Oh, great. Something else for me to look forward to.” “Are you expecting to die in jail?” What? The snort escapes me before I can stop it. “No.” “Are you planning to cheat on Naomi?” Fuck that. “God, no.” Mom shrugs, settling back in her chair and fixing me with a hard stare. “See. Nothing like your father.” Yeah, I already knew that. I have no desire to be like that man. I like to think I modeled myself after Archer. The old secretary was a good man, loved his wife, was loyal to the club, and kept his nose clean. He was also more of a father figure to me than my dad ever was. I shrug. Exasperated, Mom sighs again. “So, there’s no reason not to marry that girl.” “We are happy not getting married. She’s mine. I’m hers. That’s all we need.” “And when kids come along? Are you going to have those fashionable hyphened surnames?” Ah, fuck. I was hoping to have these conversations separately. I shift in my seat as Mom narrows her eyes at me. “We don’t want kids.” “Naomi is a young woman. You can’t know that for sure.” “She seems certain.” “Oh? As certain as she is about not getting married?” Yeah, as certain. Peaches is fine not having either of those things. We’ve talked about this. There were fucking rose petals involved. “Yeah. She’s certain.” “Because she sure took off in a hurry instead of staying to defend your position.” “Maybe because she just met you and wants to impress you, and you don’t seem happy with our life choices?” Mom harrumphs, turning to look at Peaches’ flower gardens again while I stew in silence. She’s sure… right? CHAPTER 2 NAOMI Hugging my knees to my chest, I stare at the bedroom door, willing it to open. The house is quiet. Dinner was weird. Everything felt awkward after that scene on the back porch, and Viper has been distant and moody. I have no idea what is going on. Maybe his mother not liking our choices has him second-guessing being with me or something? I hope not. That would kill me. The door creaks open, and my eyes lock on Viper as he slides into the room, dropping his sweats and crawling into bed, looking up at me as my eyes find his. “You okay, Peaches? I’m sorry about my mom.” “I’m okay,” I whisper back, my heart clenching as his fingers stroke my bare arm. “Are you okay?” In an instant, he is sitting up in bed, drawing me against his chest, his face buried in my hair. “Do you want to get married, Peaches?” I… what? Drawing my head back, I stare at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “Was that supposed to be a proposal?” He shifts awkwardly, sighing and releasing me to scrub his face. “I don’t know. Mom’s all up in my head. I need to know if you’re only saying you’re happy with not getting married because you think that’s what I want to hear. I don’t believe in marriage, but I’d get married for you. If that’s what you wanted.” The sincerity is bleeding through his tone, and my heart cracks for him. Kneeling on the bed, I wrap my arms around his neck, sighing with relief when he wraps his around me too. “I don’t want to change a single thing in our life. Marriage made none of our parents happier. We’re happy. Having rings and a party isn’t going to change that or make us happier.” Viper sighs, resting his cheek on my shoulder as his arms tighten around my waist. “And kids?” “You know I have no intention of having them. I change diapers all day. I sure as hell don’t want to come home and change them.” He snickers. “There are other aspects of having kids that people like.” “They smile at me and hug me all day too. I get the nice aspects. I also get to sleep until I wake up in the mornings.” Viper’s lips press against my neck, and I smile into the dimly lit room. That’s a sure signal this conversation is almost over. “No marriage, no kids?” “No marriage, no kids. Just us, forever.” “Forever,” Viper whispers, his hands sliding up my back, taking my silky pajama top with them. “Now, stop worrying about what your mom thinks, and kiss me already, Damon.” “I aim to please, Peaches,” he breathes, his lips clamping down on mine as he tips me backward, covering me with his body and pressing me into the mattress. I can live with this forever. I’m looking forward to it. THE END  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   CHAPTER 1
LISA My wedding dress is nothing like my mother would have picked. She would have gone with ivory, sleek lines, very in vogue right now. I haven’t. My dress is head-to-toe lace. A sheath dress with a plunging neckline, high waist, and long, lacy sleeves. I love it. Stepping out into the church on Bullseye’s arm, Palmer turns at the other end of the aisle, looking so handsome in his suit. His eyes burn into mine, a flush creeping over my cheeks as I smile. He likes my dress too. I picked it especially for him. It’s very sweet. My eyes dart over Merch, who is dressed in a matching suit to Palmer and Shelley, looking gorgeous in a cream cocktail dress. Merch is smiling, not looking at anything in particular, and Shelley is glaring at the side of Merch’s face, trying to murder him with her eyes. Oh no. Sliding my eyes back to Palmer, who is smiling broadly at me, I fight the urge to glare at him. Shelley’s eyes can only mean one thing. They totally played a song I asked them not to, thinking because I can’t hear, I wouldn’t know. I don’t want to make a scene at my wedding. Palmer can pay later after Shelley tells me what song they played. PALMER Lisa glides toward me on Bullseye’s arm, looking like a vision in a cloud of lace. She looks so sweet my teeth actually ache at the sight of her. Bullseye is trying not to laugh as the last strains of Broke Ass Bitches fade away, replaced by the pretty piano song again. What Lisa won’t know won’t hurt her. She reaches me, smiling serenely as I take her hands, squeezing them in both of mine. Stepping closer, I make sure our noses are almost touching. I want her to hear every fucking word as I tie myself to her for life. Every. Fucking. Word. The priest talks, saying a lot of shit about love and God. I don’t give a fuck about any of that. I hope he gets to the bit about Lisa becoming mine forever quickly. That’s the part I care about. Finally, he gets to the fucking point. My eyes burn into Lisa’s as I recite my vows, pledging myself to her. A cute pink blush spreads over her cheeks as she listens to my words. She whispers her vows back, and I get to put my ring on her. Fucking finally. Lisa slides a matching ring onto my finger, whispering the additional vows. “You may now kiss the bride.” The best part of the ceremony. Tugging Lisa against me, I cup her jaw, teasing her lips with my tongue, sliding it into her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Just like candy. We break apart as the congregation cheers, but Lisa can’t hear them, her whole attention focused on me. “We’re married,” she whispers. “And we didn’t even kill each other trying to get here,” I mutter back. She giggles, but I’m fucking serious. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her mother and stepfather, sitting with pinched looks on their faces, glaring at us. They could at least pretend to look happy, for Lisa’s sake. What the fuck ever. She’s mine now, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she never feels a whisper of the disdain they are shooting her way. I shoot them a warning glare, tightening my hold on Lisa’s hand as I lead her down the aisle, enduring the backslaps and whistles the boys are sending our way. CHAPTER 2 PALMER Normally I would always be down to be the last one at a party, especially a party that is going off like my wedding reception currently is. But for the first time, I don’t want to be shooting whiskies with the boys. I want to be alone with my wife. The hotel we are at here in downtown took a large cash payment to look the other way for a Wild Hawks party. Lisa didn’t want to get married at the clubhouse, and I wanted to give her the wedding she deserved. Sliding my hand into hers, I tug her away from where she is laughing with Shelley and Vicky. My eyes slide over to Vicky. She’s dressed in the same color as Shelley. The dress is shorter and different, but they’ve made it fucking clear that they match. My eyes narrow. Vicky is the only groupie invited to the wedding. She’s tight with Lisa. I initially put my foot down, but my sweet Lisa is a cunning one when she wants to be. I was never turning down the offer she made. The memory of her tight ass stretched around my cock… heaven. Lisa calls out her goodbyes as I drag her away. Shelley shoots me a glare – probably for the stunt with the music earlier – but Vicky waves me off, her eyes dancing over to where Rooster is laughing with Aaron and Buster from the road crew. My lips find Lisa’s ear. “Why does Vicky always go for older guys? She’s your age. What’s the fascination?” Lisa looks up at me, an eyebrow arching. “If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?” Uh, sure. “Yep. Not really into gossip.” Lisa rolls her eyes. It hasn’t escaped my notice that I’m literally asking her to gossip about her friend, but I’m curious, so sue me. “She’s not into older guys. She’s in love with Rooster. He’d never do anything other than treat her like a groupie – she’s only a few years older than his daughter – but she sleeps with other members his age to make him jealous. Vicky thinks sleeping with younger guys won’t make him as jealous.” I snort. Fucking groupies. Fucking women. That makes no sense to me. But whatever she’s into, I don’t really care that much. I was always just curious. Shoving Rooster and Vicky out of my mind, I lead Lisa into the elevator, tugging her into my arms, my lips teasing her ear. Lisa looks away at the elevator doors, a small smile playing across her lips. I nibble at her earlobe until a ding rings out, announcing our floor. We’re in the honeymoon suite, and Lisa giggles as we walk in. There are flickering candles, rose petals, and an open bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. I have other ideas first. I want to cut this lacy dress off her. My lips slide over her ear again. “I want to up against the window, your hands braced on it, facing out.” Lisa doesn’t move, standing stock still, looking up at me with an amused look on her face. A frown tugs my eyebrows down. Lisa has never not immediately moved to obey me in bed. What the fuck is going on. Fuck. A pit is growing in my stomach. Did something more happen to her hearing? “Sweetness? Did you hear me?” Fear threads through my voice. Lisa blinks slowly, shrugging. “I heard you.” Relief courses through me, followed quickly by confusion. “So…?” “So… no.” My eyebrows shoot up. Excuse me? “No?” “Yeah. No.” She’s looking defiant now. It’s sexy and fucking infuriating. Pressing my nose against hers, my eyes burn into her dark brown ones. “Is there a reason behind your no?” Lisa’s eyebrows raise to match mine. “No reason. This Broke Ass Bitch just doesn’t feel like doing what she’s told.” Fucking hell. Fuck Shelley for tattling. Fuck Merch for talking me into that shit. “You know about the song,” I murmur. Lisa steps back, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring up at me, looking furious. “I know about the song,” she snarks back. Oh, fuck. This is bad. “How can I make this right?” Apart from never fucking listening to Merch ever again. Thirty seconds of amusement isn’t fucking worth this. I’m a little worried she’s going to insist I sleep on the couch or something, which so isn’t fucking happening. But Lisa is looking less furious and more thoughtful. “You have to do what you’re told,” she announces decisively. My eyebrows shoot up. “When?” “Now. In bed.” “For how long?” Like, a once-off thing? I like how she obeys me in bed. I’m not willing to give it up forever. “Until I come.” Relief floods through me. Can do. Grinning, I spread my arms wide. “I am at your command, sweetness. What do you want me to do?” Pursing her lips, Lisa’s eyes slide over me. She tips her head to the side, a small smile appearing. I’m starting to feel a little nervous. Do I need a safe word? “Take off your jacket, tie, belt, shoes, and socks. And roll up your sleeves.” Okay. I can do that. Our eyes still burning together, I quickly follow her instructions, leaving my things on the small couch in the living area. Lisa’s eyes drop to my forearms as I roll up my sleeves. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, my dick twitching in response to the sight. Lisa turns abruptly, walking into the bedroom. “Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. I hurry after her, watching, my mouth dry as she lies on the bed, carefully folding her dress over her stomach, revealing silky white panties covered in lace and a garter belt. I lick my lips, taking a step closer to the bed. I’m glad Lisa didn’t take her dress off. I’ll have her coming in no time. Then I’ll have her up against the window like I want, cutting the dress off her. Lisa holds up one foot, looking pointedly at her little white heels. Right. Closing the distance between the bed and me, I slide off her shoes, unclipping the garter belt and slowly rolling down her stockings, stopping to press kisses along her legs as I do. A darting glance at her face confirms her lips have parted, her eyelids drooping with desire. Her chest is heaving. I’ll have her panting with anticipation before I get to the main event. She’ll come so quickly. Sliding her panties off, I drop them on top of the stockings and shoes on the ground, running my legs back up hers. “What now, sweetness?” I ask, my face turned toward her so she can see my lips move. I’m too far down the bed for her to hear me. Lisa giggles, spreading her legs, and presenting her gorgeous pussy to me. “Now you get to lick the candy.” Growling, I lower my head, hiding my smirk. This isn’t exactly a hardship. She had me by the blue balls. She could have gotten me to do almost anything. Licking her clit isn’t exactly a punishment. I’m not about to let her know that, though. I’m okay with her thinking this is an adequate punishment. It will get me out of a lot of things in the future. My lips close around her clit, sucking lightly as Lisa’s soft moans fill the air. I’ve gone down on her enough to know exactly what will get her off the fastest. I increase the suction on her clit, counting in my head. She’ll shatter soon enough. Her moans grow, but I find my lips moving. She sighs, straining her hips upward, chasing them. Avoiding her clit, I swipe my tongue around it, teasing the edges. I did break an agreement. I shouldn’t be taking the easy route out. That’s not fair. If I’m going to take this punishment, I will take it properly. Lisa deserves more than a quick and dirty orgasm. She deserves the eating out of her life, and I’m going to give it to her, making this a wedding night to remember. Her dress isn’t going anywhere. I can cut it off her at some stage. My tongue curls, still teasing her clit, as I slide a finger into her tight pussy, pumping slowly. Now I have set myself a challenge, I intend to see it through. LISA Palmer abruptly changes his technique. Not that I’m complaining. I was getting close to coming quickly, which was clearly his initial intention. Now he’s teasing me, letting me fall away from the precipice before slowly building me back up. I like this better. It is supposed to be a punishment, after all. His finger inside me curls, finding my sweet spot and jabbing it again and again. I moan louder, gripping the coverlet under my head, rose petals tickling my cheeks, crumpling under my writhing body, releasing their sweet scent as they crease. I’m going out of my mind with need. Palmer finally curls his tongue again, sucking on my clit. His teeth graze it, and I come with bucking hips and a breathy whimper. Lifting his head, Palmer’s face is full of the need consuming me a moment ago. “Punishment complete?” he asks. I nod slowly, anticipation building low in my stomach again, wondering what he wants to do with me over at the window. Or if he has something else in mind. Rising off the bed, Palmer smirks down at me. “Hands on the window, looking out.” My knees are trembling, and my lovely chignon has come loose as I climb off the bed, walk to the window, and rest my palms against the cool glass. The city is lit up around us, but no one would be able to see in because our lights are off. Palmer’s breath brushes my cheek, his heat against my back. His lips tickle my ear. “I’m sorry about the song. I should never have let Merch talk me into it.” “I know.” He chuckles, but the sound fades, and when he speaks again, his tone is very serious. “Don’t move a muscle. No matter what.” My breath hitches, but he has stepped away from me. One of his hands lands on my shoulder, and I stare out the window, wondering what is coming next. Something cold and hard presses against the back of my neck. I swallow roughly but freeze in position, not even breathing. Palmer’s hand moves off my shoulders, gripping my dress. The cold, hard nub moves down, tracing my spine, and there is coolness on my back like it has just been bared to the room’s air conditioning. Oh my. I think the cold, hard metal is a knife. I think Palmer is cutting me out of my wedding dress. I suck in a breath, my heart thumping in my chest, throbbing and slick between my thighs. This is so sexy. “Arms down.” I obligingly drop them. Palmer’s hands land on my shoulders again as he strips my dress off me. The cold metal presses against my back again, and my bra drops away. I feel it against my waist, and my garter belt disappears. “Hands back on the window.” They are trembling as I brace against it again. Thankfully, the next thing I feel is both of Palmer’s hands, warm and soft, stroking over my skin. One slides around my torso, palming my breast, the fingers pinching my nipple. The other slips between my legs, parting my folds as a finger spears into me, pumping slowly. My head tips back as my eyes flutter closed, Palmer’s beard tickling my cheek as his lips move against it. “You keep those hands on the window.” Swallowing, I nod eagerly. Palmer’s finger leaves me, his hand gripping my hip as the fingers of the other keep pinching my nipple. I can feel him at my entrance, and he groans softly against my face as he firmly slides in, burying himself fully in me. “So fucking sweet,” he breathes against my cheek, slowly pumping. My head tips forward, resting against the cool glass between my braced hands. Palmer doesn’t speed things up, taking me slowly, withdrawing fully, and sliding firmly deep again. “I’ve been dreaming amount this moment ever since you stepped into that church,” he gasps into my ear. Me too. His hand leaves my hips, pinching my clit as he tweaks my sensitive nipple. I come with a gasp, an answering growl rumbling into my ear. “Next time, when I tell you what to do, you do it immediately.” I nod, moaning and flushed from my orgasm. Palmer comes with a grunt, withdrawing and picking me up, carrying me to the bed. I lay with the petal-covered white sheet over my chest as Palmer fetches the champagne and glasses, sliding into bed and handing me a flute, tapping his against it. His arm snakes around my shoulders, anchoring me against his chest. “Why Spain?” I tip my head back, smiling at him. He let me pick our honeymoon. I knew exactly where I wanted to go. “I had a trip planned. I was supposed to leave three weeks after I got sick. I was going to spend the summer there. Maybe study abroad.” Palmer’s beard tickles me as he drops a kiss on my temple. “Do you still have your itinerary?” “No. But I know where I was going to go.” “Then that’s where we’ll go. I want you to see everything you wanted.” My heart aches in my chest. I believed a lot of things growing up about people like Palmer, and almost all of them have turned out to be wrong. I’m glad I was wrong, and I’m glad I’m with him now. I tip my head back and grin up at him. “Did you hate it when I didn’t do what I was told when we got in here?” “Yes.” He glowers down at me. “Don’t do that again.” “You took your punishment well.” “I deserved it.” “Yeah, you did.” I snuggle down in his arms, listening to his soft chuckles, sipping my champagne, my fingers tracing circles over his forearm. I slide them down, tapping his new wedding ring. It sits on the stripe of the candy wrapper he has tattooed there – for me. I love it, and I love him. Insisting on moving to San Remo was the best decision I ever made. Hashtag, no regrets. THE END |
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