Stormy Wedding

Kelli Scott

Rachel McAllister tried to dissuade Rory Callahan’s interest, she’d been hurt by love too many times before, but Rory had been as relentless as a dog after a bone. She gave in, but made one thing perfectly clear from the start—no sex until she said, “I do.” If Rachel knew one thing about men, it was that you gave them what they wanted—sex—and they’d be out the door before the sun came up. Rory has passed all her tests and jumped through her hoops to prove his love. They’re ready to say, “I do”, and Rachel’s ready to erase any of Rory’s lingering regrets about waiting to have sex.

Rory fell head over heels for Rachel at first sight. Getting her to date him was another matter altogether. He’d followed all her rules and has barely complained about her strict moral code. Now he’s going to marry her for better or worse. He’s about to find out his goody-two-shoes bride-to-be is a fiery vixen who’s too hot to handle.

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Stormy Wedding

ISBN 9781419931307

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Stormy Wedding Copyright © 2011 Kelli Scott

Edited by Meghan M. Conrad

Cover art by Valerie Tibbs

Electronic book publication January 2011

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Stormy Wedding

Kelli Scott

Dedication

To Guillermo, my overworked and underpaid research assistant.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

America’s Funniest Home Videos: American Broadcasting Company, Inc.

Coke: The Coca-Cola Company Corporation

Family Feud: FremantleMedia Operations

Harley Davidson: H-D Michigan, Inc.

Incredible Hulk: Marvel Comics, Inc.

iPod: Apple, Inc.

Jiffy Pop: Mennen Food Products, Inc.

Jumbotron: Sony Corporation

Prada: Prefel S.A. Corporation

Superman: DC Comics

The Three Stooges: C3 Entertainment, Inc.

Valium: Hoffman-LaRoche, Inc.

Weight Watchers: Weight Watchers International, Inc.

Chapter One

One more toast to the bride and groom and Rachel McAllister would fork someone in the heart. Simple as that.

“To Rachel and Rory,” her dad said. Everyone in the hall raised their glasses. “To Rachel and Rory!”

Rachel’s face warmed from all the tributes, attention and toasts. But she couldn’t fork her own dad. Rory must have read her mind because he squeezed her finger like a Chinese handcuff. He knew her so well—and still wanted to marry her. The waiter took her empty plate, fork and all. Maybe he had read her mind too.

Her Uncle Jimmy stood and cleared his throat.

Rachel groaned down low in her throat. Him, she could fork, spork or butter knife to death.

Everyone had sage marital advice to offer the bride-to-be. Where were they when she needed an ally for her elopement scheme? “Hey, let’s run off to Stone Cliff Lodge—and get hitched,” she’d suggested to Rory only two short months ago after his über-romantic Valentine’s Day proposal, complete with flickering candlelight, fragrant flowers and bubbly champagne. If she’d expected him to pop the question at all, she had pictured a mid-inning proposal on the big Jumbotron screen at a baseball game, including a celebratory beer and a hot dog chaser.

“Great idea, Rach,” he’d replied at the time. “You, me and our closest family and friends.”

Looking around, she suddenly realized she’d had no idea how many close family and friends they had, or how much food they could scarf and liquor they would guzzle.

Uncle Jimmy raised his glass high. “It seems like just yesterday I was refusing to change your poopy diapers and telling you to go play in traffic.” Everyone laughed. “Tomorrow you’ll be getting married. I’m glad you didn’t listen to me.”

Rachel raised her glass. “You and me both, Uncle Jimmy.”

“And,” Rory added, “we will not be needing your babysitting services in the future.” More laughter.

Babysitting! Damn skippy we won’t, not anytime soon.

There was a lull in the toasting as dessert was being served, because it was just rude to toast with a mouth full of tiramisu. Rachel leaned in to whisper in her fiancé’s ear, “I need some air.” Boy, did she ever. Air and solitude and a shot of tequila.

Rory winked. “I could use some too.”

Rachel read between his lines. He could use some necking and a cheap feel to carry him through until the honeymoon night.

Her chair legs screeched along the polished floor of the Stone Cliff Lodge’s dining room, which their combined family and friends tested the capacity of. Rory was already up and moving away from the pre-matrimonial meal mêlée, as she’d dubbed it. Say that three times fast.

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” some jackass sang out.

Rachel faked a laugh. Like killing you with my bare hands, for instance. Rory took possession of her hand and pulled her toward the clearly posted exit. He pushed through one side of the double glass doors to an expansive veranda overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

The Stone Cliff Lodge was just as advertised—a stone lodge perched on a cliff above the ocean. Romantic. Elegant. Picturesque. Waves crashed against the rocky shore with thunderous power. The photos on their website didn’t do the place justice. With both their families there, it resembled a cross between a failed Weight Watchers meeting and an episode of Family Feud. Name for me a wedding disaster. Top five answers are on the board.

Wind hit her face in the most refreshing way. Freedom. She closed her eyes, opening them when cool lips butted up to hers. “Uhm.” She saw stars, but also clouds and a thumbnail moon. “Are those people in there planning on hibernating?” They ate like they were storing fat for the long winter, but winter was over.

“What do you care?” he growled against her lips. “It’s your dad’s dime.”

If by dime you mean ten grand or more, sure. “Yeah.” She smiled at the thought, but the money would be better spent feeding the hungry or housing the poor, her passion and occupation in life. At least it made her mom happy to see Dad letting loose of some hard-earned money. It was ten or twelve grand his new wife couldn’t spend.

“What exactly is it your cousin wouldn’t do, just so I’ll know what not to do?” Rory wrapped his arms around her, warding off the chill she’d found refreshing only a moment earlier.

“My cousin, Brent? Was that the loudmouth?” She burrowed into Rory’s warmth and sighed, avoiding the question. Hopefully Rory wouldn’t date his second cousin—not that it was illegal, but let’s just say Brent would. “Are you sorry we waited, Rory?”

“For sex?” He swayed her in his arms. “Every damn day. Sometimes twice a day.”

She looked up into his sparkling green eyes. He smiled that lopsided grin that told her he was content, if not satisfied. Towering over her tiny five-foot-three-inch frame, she wondered why he’d waited for her. Being a tall, dark and clichédly handsome up and coming architect, he could have had any beautiful, flexible, big-boobed bimbo he chose, probably including his second cousin if he were so inclined. “Well, at least this is the last day.”

Rory picked her up and spun her around. “That’s exactly what I told my reflection in the mirror this morning.”

“You’re not just marrying me to get laid, are you?” Rachel teased him.

It was like asking if he was marrying her for her money, of which she had very little. But her high school boyfriend, Michael I-can’t-even-recall-your-last-name-that’s-how-over-you-I-am, dumped her after she’d served nearly eighteen months of what felt like a prison sentence with him and the beginning of the end was sex. The relationship spiraled out of control within days of the deed. She’d thought they were in love, but looking back, it turned out to be something akin to the flu, resulting in losing her virginity in his basement bedroom on dirty sheets while his parents were in Reno for a long weekend. Very romantic.

“Yes, Rachel. Am I that transparent? I hounded you for a solid six weeks for a date, thinking the only word in your vocabulary was no, and here we are only a year later with a hundred or so dates under our belts. If I only knew then what I know now, which is that it was as simple as marrying you.”

Rachel laughed. “And no bachelor party.” She patted his cheek. “Poor baby.”

“I knew what I was getting into.” He kissed her temple. His hand skimmed lightly over her breast. Accidentally on purpose if she had to guess. She couldn’t wait for it to be his lips floating over her skin. His other hand cradled the curve of her ass. He loved to see how much he could get away with. His wasn’t the only resolve tested by their celibacy, although she’d had the power to end their misery at any time by saying the magic word yes. “Besides, who in their right mind would want to watch half-naked women bump and grind and shimmy and strut around a shiny pole?” He exaggerated a shiver at the prospect.

“Uh-huh.” She looked up at him skeptically. “I can feel your shiny pole poking me in my navel just from talking about it.”

He swatted her butt playfully. “So let’s stop talking about it and go back in where it’s warm.”

“I love you.” She pushed up to her tiptoes and kissed his chin.

There was a sharp change in the weather of scattered showers and gusty winds since they’d arrived the previous day, and fouler weather in the forecast. The Channel 7 weather guy, who had predicted partly cloudy weather with a chance of sun in his seven-day forecast, was going to single-handedly ruin the fancy-schmancy wedding ceremony she never wanted. High winds and pelting rain nixed their plans to wed on the expansive lawn of the lodge with the roaring waves as a backdrop. But they’d taken the luck of the draw, snatching up the first available weekend. The lodge had actually been closed for remodeling, but opened a week early to accommodate the wedding party. It was either that, wait until autumn, or pick another venue. “The sooner the better,” Rory had said. It had been his neglected penis talking. Her lonely vagina hadn’t objected.

He led her back into the posh, marbled lobby. Peeking into the dining hall where they’d had the rehearsal dinner, Rachel spotted only a few folks lingering over coffee and conversation.

“Check the bar,” Rachel said dryly. It’s our family and friends, after all. And it was her dad’s dough they’d been chowing and chugging on. Hopefully he’d left his generosity and credit card at the heavy mahogany door of the bar and made her guests finance their own hangovers.

Rory pulled her to the bar, where dark woods met polished brass and muted candlelight. Ferns spilled out from oriental pottery. Glasses clinked. Ice cubes rattled. The buzz of conversation floated and swirled in the air around them. Outside the picture windows, the wind rustled through the treetops.

She squeezed his hand. “I’ll catch up. I see Gram.”

“Give the old bat a peck from me.” He held her hand until distance made the connection impossible. He double tapped his heart with his fist and pointed at her. I love you. She in turn put her fingertips to her lips and then toward him. It wasn’t quite as hokey as blowing a kiss, but darn close. Rory drifted across the length of the bar to his pals, the same ones who would continue to rib him about not having a bachelor party.

In Rachel’s opinion, if a man needed a strip show performed by a stranger while in the company of hooting men and overpriced beer, that man wasn’t ready to settle down and get married. Rory’s stag party entailed a basketball game with friends from work and college buddies. They got a good drunk on afterwards— in other words, it was his normal monthly guys’ night out.

“Hi, Gram.” Rachel slid into the recently-vacated seat next to her grandmother. It was no well-kept family secret that Gram needed constant monitoring and not for her health. A toddler was less likely to get into trouble than Gram. The terrible twos had nothing on the terrible eighty-twos. “Whatcha drinking?”

“Tea.”

Tea, my dying ass. Rachel reached over to pick up the dainty, hand-painted teacup. She sniffed it. Whiskey. “Isn’t that on your no-no list?” Along with operating a moving vehicle, online gaming and, more recently, Internet dating. Basically anything to do with the Internet.

Gram squared her shoulders. “Not my no-no list. Your mother’s.”

Who was Rachel to deny her Gram that one small pleasure? “Your secret’s safe with me.” If she believed in nothing else, she believed in quality of life over quantity, especially when it came to her own wicked pleasures. Chocolate ice cream under a thick coating of chocolate syrup. Coffee. Coke. Candy. The four Cs. And she knew firsthand how unforgiving her mother could be about decadence in any form.

Gram patted her hand. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” The biggest. “Any words of wisdom?” As long as they weren’t don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Since Gram was a terror in the nursing home, pinching orderlies’ asses, organizing high-stakes poker games in the recreation room during quiet time and wandering off to catch the bus to the nearest bar, Rachel wasn’t sure what or who it was that she wouldn’t do.

Although Gramps had passed on to the great golf course in the sky, if there was a God, he and Gram enjoyed over fifty years of marriage. Or they looked like they’d enjoyed it, always teasing each other. They were inseparable. Gramps kissed her whenever he left and again upon his return. Not a sloppy kiss, just an affectionate peck. Anything else wouldn’t have been remembered fondly. Yuck. He called her Ma and she called him Pa. Cute. I’d shoot Rory if he called me Ma.

“Men love their whores,” Gram said, quite out of the blue.

“I…uh…excuse me?”

Rachel knew her dad loved his whore. He’d married her after a torrid affair that had ended her parents’ marriage. Which reminded her. She did a quick visual inspection to make sure her mother remained a good fifty feet from the whore in question. There was no official restraining order or anything like that. It was simply a good policy.

Fifty feet didn’t separate them, but with the many obstacles resting between the two women, tables, chairs and people, it was the equivalent of fifty feet. Next Rachel found Rory leaning casually against a round pillar with a beer in his hand. By his stance, he could be debating only one subject with his best man. Green technology. His passion. Better you than me, Greg.

Too bad his best man Greg, a childhood friend, was not the intellectual equivalent of Rory. He was nice enough, but Rachel suspected he’d need to remove his shoes, socks and pants to count to twenty-one.

“Find the whore within yourself.” Gram sipped her tea, pinky extended, elegant as you please.

Rachel swiveled her head and her attention back to the conversation at hand. Alzheimer’s?

First of all, Rachel had kicked the whore within herself to the curb after her college boyfriend of six months kicked her to the curb. That was shortly after her walk of shame back to her dorm room still wearing her not-appropriate-for-day-wear dress. Short. Low-cut. Glitzy. She’d burned the sparkly second skin in a sacrificial fire with all other evidence of the jerk’s existence. It had smelled rank, like flaming, synthetic love. Second of all, Gram had no knowledge of the existence of the whore within Rachel, which Rachel had excised from her life to embrace the beauty and simplicity of celibacy.

Rachel slid the old lady’s whiskey-laced tea away. “You are officially cut off, Gram.”

Gram glanced at Rory. “He’s a nice boy. Polite. Attentive. Good provider.”

This wasn’t post-World War II America. She didn’t need a man to take care of her. Rachel had a nice job working with low-income and indigent clients at the housing authority. She wasn’t getting rich, but could comfortably afford her one bedroom apartment and economy car, including full coverage insurance and a little shopping spree every now and then. She socked ten percent of her gross income away for retirement and never missed a dental cleaning. You couldn’t put a price on good oral hygiene.

“Nice tush too,” Gram added. “How is he in the sack?”

“Gram!”

She pointed her arthritic finger at Uncle Jimmy. “Jimbo likes the bimbos. His wife sleeps down the hall. Claims it’s because he snores,” she whispered, wrinkling up her nose. “Of course there’s your father.” She pointed her divining rod of infidelity in his direction, no explanation needed. “Your cousin Brent, well…”

“Yes, I know.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “He likes to keep it all in the family. But Rory isn’t like that.”

“No.” She patted Rachel’s hand in one of those poor-misguided-you taps. “Of course not, dear. You asked for my advice. Examine the evidence.” Her finger swung around the room like a dysfunctional compass of misery and self-loathing. “Do your mother or Aunt Tilly look happy to you?”

Rachel “examined the evidence”. Her mom glared red-hot razor blades of hatred in the direction of Rachel’s dad and his current wife. Aunt Tilly was three sheets to the wind, working on four. Probably because she’d had to bail her hubby out of jail after he’d solicited an undercover cop for sex. Uncle Jimmy, who had obviously not learned his lesson, couldn’t have been scrutinizing the waitress any closer without physically taking his eyeballs out of his head and shoving one down her blouse and the other up her skirt. Dad looked…happy. Same with his new wife, a woman Rachel wanted to hate but couldn’t, at least not entirely.

“What are you saying, Gram? That it’s Mom and Aunt Tilly’s fault they were cheated on?”

“No, no, no.” She reached across the table to rescue her precious tea. “I’d never say that. A good marriage is ninety percent…sex,” she whispered the word sex after looking both ways for foot traffic. “The way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach. Have you ever tasted my meatloaf?”

Yes I have. But what Gram told her went against everything Rachel had learned in her sexual experimentation phase. It was a short phase. She was a quick study. No need to beat her over the head with the fact that men were dogs on the hunt. Relentless. Always sniffing where they shouldn’t. Once they went in for the kill, they found new hunting grounds. Fresh meat. Except Rory, although they’d never sealed the deal. And Phillip. Another failed college romance, also not consummated. But for an entirely different reason. He’d turned out to be quite gay. Still a dear friend, though.

“So what are you saying, Gram?” Rachel asked again. “All men cheat, deal with it?” Some men were the cheat and run variety. Others just ran. Or in her dad’s case, he ran off with the cheatee. “No way.”

With a far-off twinkle in her eye, Gram said, “All men want the flower of your loins, sweetie. Often.”

The what? Too many romance novels from the eighties lined Gram’s shelves. Rachel sought out Rory again. Her college roommate, Ashley, who, since Phillip was out of the country, was Rachel’s maid of honor, hovered close to her fiancé. Too close. And Rachel knew all too well what a slut Ash was then and still was to this day. It looked like Rory was trying to explain his save-the-planet-for future-generations theory to her. Ashley was a live-for-today sort of girl. Screw future generations. Seeing how Ash was a cougar in the making, she no doubt would screw future generations.

“Give it to him,” Gram added, making a circle with the thumb and index finger of her left hand and poking the index finger of her right hand through the circle in the most disturbing way possible. “Give it to him a lot.”

“I’m going to give it to him, Gram.” Tomorrow. And the next day. And once or twice a week thereafter. Unless she was cramping, stressed from work or mad at him for some reason or another.

Gram sipped the last of her tea. “I’m pooped.”

You’re plastered. There’s a difference.

“I’ll walk you to your room.” Rachel needed her beauty sleep anyhow. Her wedding day would start early with a workout in the gym, followed by an appointment for hair and makeup, then dressing for the big event. There’d be a million little details. Wrestling with a hangover and fatigue would haunt her for a lifetime in the form of wedding photos.

She waved in Rory’s direction and used hand signals like she was a baseball catcher and he was her pitcher. Team Rachel and Rory. Her message—Gram needed to sleep it off. He nodded his acknowledgment and then put his thumb and pinky to his ear and mouth, respectively. I’ll call you later, babe. The bar crowd had thinned, but Ash clung to one of the groomsmen like he was a Prada bag at a half-off sale.

“Go be with your sweetheart,” Gram said.

“He’s fine.” Rory enjoyed hanging with his buddies, but not in the same way Phillip had.

They ambled quietly down the first floor corridor. At the door, Gram said, “Sex him up,” before closing the door in Rachel’s face.

“Gram! Really,” she protested through the door. Her objection fell on deaf ears.

Walking alone in the hall, the lodge was eerily quiet, but felt alive with all the guests watching Pay-per-view porn, brushing their teeth and, yes, probably making love. Guests who came to watch her and Rory marry. They filled the lodge to capacity, booking the entire thirty-five double occupancy rooms and half the cheap motel in the nearby town. Rachel hiked up the stairs as a substitute for her missed workout.

Alone in her room, she reflected on her Gram’s words of whiskey wisdom—or dementia-induced ramblings, whichever the case may be. Her mind wandered to the bar, recalling Ash sandwiched between the groomsman and Rory, looking from one to the other like she couldn’t choose between a salty chip and creamy dip so she’d just have both. It would be just like Ash to blow one while the other did her doggy style.

Rachel shook the notion from her head.

Rory isn’t like that.

All men are like that.

Not Rory.

“No, of course not, dear,” her grandmother had said. Her dad had always warned Rachel that boys wanted one thing only and then he’d gone and proved it by boinking a flight attendant. He was a walking, talking advertisement for a Beware of Boys campaign.

Rachel plopped down on the bench at the end of her bed. She reached into a gift bag and pulled out a sexy teddy and matching G-string panties—a gift from her surprise shower that morning. The theme had been naughty nuptials. The hostess, of course, had been her maid of honor, Ash. Ashley’s gift, a vibrator that laughed at all other vibrators. It was a prank, a joke. A big joke. Ha ha. Very funny.

She pulled the monster from the gift bag to read the box. Boring! She used her imagination. Warning—do not operate while driving. Beware! Do not penetrate anally without a spotter. Choking hazard. Rachel chuckled at her own wit, but seriously it did have a 1-800 passion control number for questions, concerns and recommended uses—like she couldn’t use her imagination.

Where have you been all my life, big daddy?

Chapter Two

Rory paid his bar tab and rubbed his arm where Ashley had been squeezing his bicep. Eric, his groomsman probably had a similar bruise—opposite arm. He’d made no secret of the fact he was going back to her room. So good chance Eric would have many more bruises in various places. Weddings were breeding grounds for desperate women looking to get laid.

He was so glad those days were over. No more bars, blind dates or fix-ups by well-meaning friends with ugly cousins and co-workers with nice personalities.

He’d met Rachel while the architecture firm he worked for was demolishing a dilapidated building. It was a shame, really. The structure was architecturally stunning, if not broken, battered and neglected. And inhabited by the indigent. That’s where Rachel came in—angel to the impoverished. God love her.

Rory had popped into her office seeking relocation services for the building’s squatters, Howard, Phil and Bob. Or was it Fred, Joe and Leo? All he knew was his firm wanted them gone and, as the low man on the corporate totem pole, the job went to him. Rachel could make them disappear, thereby making him look good to the guys in glass offices. She did and the rest was history—except she wanted to invite Larry, Moe and Curly to the wedding. Her mother put her size-ten foot down so he wouldn’t have to, since he found it impossible to say no to his fiancée. Rachel, on the other hand, loved saying “no”, as well as “don’t” and “stop it”. Sometimes with an accompanying swat for good measure.

The first time he’d pushed through the door of her office she’d been insanely busy. Her long, chestnut hair was pulled up in a messy bun held in place by a couple crisscrossed yellow number-two pencils like antennas growing out of her skull. Another pencil rested behind her ear. Her half-eaten lunch littered her desk. She was on the tail end of a copy-machine fiasco, her fingertips stained with toner. He got a hard-on now just like he had then.

Anyhow, she’d been completely unimpressed by him and his problem, actually berating him for destroying a beautiful building instead of recycling and remodeling it, as if it were up to him. He couldn’t have agreed with her more. Then there was the matter of Groucho, Harpo and Zeppo. She acted like he’d single-handedly caused their homelessness. He’d convinced her it was a safety issue. He was concerned for their well-being. It took him only six more weeks to convince her to go out with him for coffee and conversation, which she insisted on paying for.

Rory bounded up the stairs two at a time. He stopped at the soda machine for a Coke and proceeded to his room. He threw himself on the bed and picked up the phone. My last night sleeping alone. He punched in her room number, just a few doors down the hall. So close and yet so far away.

“Hello,” she answered, sounding dazed. Probably he’d woken her.

He heard a buzzing noise on the line that ended abruptly. Poor reception, he decided. “Hey, baby. Nervous yet?”

“Not at all,” she replied with zero hesitation.

What a girl. Sensible. Responsible. Dependable. She made the best hamburger ever and refused to tell him her secret ingredient. Rory had to marry her. He could not wait to make her the last woman he ever fucked. “How’s Gram?”

“Off her rocker, I think, or not at all. She might be brilliant.” It sounded like Rachel switched the phone to her other ear mid conversation. “The next Dr. Ruth.”

Who? “Hitting the booze again, was she?” he asked, as he flicked on the TV with the bedside remote. Without waiting for an answer, he asked, “You wide awake? I am.” He was stoked about making her his wife and all that entailed. Sex, sex and more sex.

“I’m…I’m…yes…wide awake.”

Rory breathed heavy into the phone. “Whatcha wearing, little lady?” He channeled his inner pervert voice.

Silence. Maybe he’d gone too far. She usually had a pretty good sense of humor about his sexual frustration, actually enjoying his torment a bit too much. But he respected her position, actually finding it refreshing. Most of his relationships had been based on some sort of heated sexual chemistry that fizzled out when he found out the girl had chemistry with multiple partners.

“Funny you should ask,” she said.

“Rachel? Are you parading around in your wedding dress?” Busted. She couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Rory Callahan. He couldn’t wait either.

“I was modeling some of my bridal shower gifts,” she admitted. He pictured his bride-to-be biting her lip with guilt about the minor infraction. She’d never cheat on him, he was one hundred percent sure of that. The woman was nearly incapable of being bad and if she were bad, she wore the guilt on her face and in her voice. Like now.

“The naughty nuptials gifts? No fair. Those are for us, not just you, Rach.” He looked forward to a fashion show for one in—he looked at the clock next to the bed—approximately twenty-four hours.

“I’ll share.” There was a little something different in her voice, an air of mystery like she kept a mischievous secret. Me like.

He tilted his head and flipped off the television. “How so?”Silence. “Rachel? What are you wearing, sweetheart?” Rory ran his hand along his zipper. His cock was thick with need. Touching it only made it thicker, harder. “Honey? Talk to me.”

“A pink lace teddy.” The words came out rapid fire, like from a machine gun. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Who…who bought it?” If it were her mother, it was a flannel, turtleneck teddy with a chastity belt. No key. He’d need a twenty-four-hour emergency locksmith service.

“My sister-in-law.” She paused for a beat. “Melanie.”

Promising. Mel was hot. Rachel’s brother, Mark, had excellent taste in women. Mel would be the runner-up next to Rory’s future wife. “Tell me all about it. Spare no details.” He thought about stripping down to his skivvies, but expected to hear a click any second. It was inevitable. Rachel could be pushed just so far. A lesson he’d learned the hard way. Over and over.

“It’s sheer,” she finally said after another short pause.

“Like you can see right through it?” He pictured her finger-painting little circles on and around her nipples. In reality, she was probably wearing her old faithful pajamas, but he was off to Fantasy Island, where the girls were naked and outnumbered men two to one.

“Yeah.”

“Hang on, babe. Don’t hang up.” He clamped onto the phone in the crook of his neck and yanked his pants off in one swift motion. Laid out in the middle of the bed, he said, “I’m back. Go on.”

She giggled. “What do you want to hear, you naughty boy?”

Everything. “Can you see your nipples through it?” On a few rare occasions she’d let him see them, touch them, suckle them. Rory closed his eyes and recalled the look, feel and taste of them—pinkish brown—hard and soft—sweet and salty. One well-placed kiss brought those babies to life. Deep inside of Rachel lived a vixen he’d only seen glimpses of. Her body always reacted to his touch, from her eyes to her nipples to her damp panties. It was her frontal lobe that pulled tight on the reins and said whoa.

He listened to her short, quick breaths. “Yes.”

“Baby.” He rubbed his cock again like scratching an itch. “Where are you?”

Rachel giggled again. “In my room, silly.”

He took a swallow of his soda to wash down a dry lump of desire. He glanced at the full-length mirror on his wall. “In front of the mirror?” Please be in front of the mirror. Pretty please.

“Yeah.” He could hear her breath now falling heavy into the phone. “Do you want me to…touch myself?”

Is that a trick question? “Yes. Hang on a second.” He peeled his shirt off and flexed his pecs. Why? Why not? If you can’t love yourself, how can you expect anyone else to love you? And he’d done a lot of loving himself since he met Rachel. “I’m back. Carry on.”

“Rory,” she breathed into the phone, “my nipples are so hard.”

“I’ve got a similar problem.” He reached his hand into his boxer shorts and stroked his problem a couple times. Only a couple times, then he forced himself to stop. He wanted to savor the call, her words and where this night might take them. “What’s under the teddy?”

“Nothing, really,” she whispered. “A sheer thong. It’s completely disappeared up my ass.”

He pictured her turning to assess her round, firm ass in the mirror. Maybe she’d glide her hand along the curve of her hip. He could pretend her fingers might caress her inner thigh. “Oh my God.” Turn around for me. “Can you see hair?” He closed his eyes and pictured a little triangle of diaphanous pink fabric over her sweet pussy. He’d touched her a couple times down there when their necking had become heated, but he’d never seen it—tasted it. Rory imagined the hair was a golden brown like the silky hair on her head.

“I got a bikini wax.” She sighed. “But yeah.”

Now she was fucking with him for her own pleasure—and he liked it. If she were padding around her room in flannel, her hair in curlers and a avocado-green moisturizing mask smeared all over her face, she’d pay. He’d pound her hot pussy tomorrow night until she begged him to stop. Or not stop. Whatever the case may be.

Wait! He couldn’t think like that about his future wife. The mother of his future children. Go ahead, mind fuck me. That he could do. What happened in his head stayed in his head. “Brazilian?”

“Nearly.” She chuckled. “Looks like my coochie got a Mohawk. Should I…”

“Yes! Skim the thong off, slowly.” He wrapped his hand around his erect cock and stroked in a steady rhythm, paying particular attention to the sensitive head, squeezing and twisting the way he wanted her to do. “Well?”

“You said slowly.” Her voice dripped sex like melted butter on lobster. “Be patient. There.” He envisioned her twirling the thong around her finger before tossing it aside. “Happy now?”

You have no idea. He wondered what she’d do, or pretend to do, for him. Sit spread eagle in front of the mirror and describe in detail her folds and layers and depths to him? If he asked nicely would she spread her pussy lips with the V of her middle and index fingers? Could he talk her into exploring the depths of her sweet pussy with her fingers if he said pretty, pretty please? Prob’ly not. No sense asking.

He switched hands. He’d always been a switch hitter at baseball and masturbation. “What does your pussy feel like?”

“Soft,” she purred. “What about you?”

“Hard,” he managed to say with his jaw clenched.

“I’m so wet, baby.” She moaned.

Oh I knew it. How wet are you? He heard a strange noise over the phone. “What is that?”

“It’s Vic.”

“Vic?” He stopped rubbing. Vic who? “Sounds like your phone is on…”

“Vic is my vibrator.” Silence followed—except for the steady rumble of Vic. “It was a gift. The gift that keeps on giving.” She giggled. “He feels so good on my tits,” she moaned again, “my nipples. He’s making them so hard. Oh Rory.”

He listened to her symphony of moans and gasps. He kept time by stroking his own instrument. “Keep talking, baby. What’s Vic doing to you?” He thought it was cute how Vic was doing it to her. She couldn’t admit doing it to herself. Whatever works.

“He’s…he’s…oh…it feels so good on my…my clit.” She gasped. He’d never heard her say clit before. If the subject arose, she’d point to the area in question and say, “down there” or “downstairs”.

“Say it again,” he begged. Rory could not wait to meet her clit, see the sleek curve of her mound, touch the warmth and softness, taste what lay between her folds for himself. Closing his eyes, he imagined swirling the tip of his tongue around her pleasure nub until she screamed his name. A pipe dream. Every guy’s fantasy, to hear his name cried out during the precipice of a woman’s climax. “Please, baby.”

“What? Mound? Muff?” Rachel giggled again, toying with him, torturing him. “Vic’s on my…my…oh…oh…my…”

“Say it,” he begged.

“I can’t.” The roar of her new-battery operated friend ebbed and flowed as she explored the mystery of her body. He imagined her testing the feel of the vibration on her lower belly, the crease of her legs and the smooth flesh of her ass. Every location near and around her pussy. She had more control than he did.

She wasn’t pretending. It wasn’t a pre-wedding joke. Her friends were not all sitting around laughing at him whacking off on speakerphone. She wasn’t fucking with him—she was fucking with him. Reach out and touch someone had just taken on a whole new meaning.

“Say hot, juicy pussy for me.” If she did, he’d come all over his shorts, so he jerked them off and resumed jerking himself off.

“Pussy.” The word came out in a whispered puff.

That was a good effort, a valiant start. He admired her for trying.

“He feels so yummy on my…pussy. Ah.” The melody of her moaning mingled with the pitch of the vibrator’s hum to create a sexy song. The longer Vic lingered, the louder and longer she moaned. “Do you like it when I say pussy?”

“Oh yeah.” He pictured her spread out on the hotel bed writhing beneath him, all the while he pretended his dick plunged into her warm, wet, tight pussy over and over instead of into his own palm.

He’d have to thank Ashley later for the gift. Did they make thanks for the vibrator greeting cards? There could be no other culprit than Rachel’s slutty friend Ashley.

Rory closed his eyes and pictured his sweet Rachel with her heart-shaped face and pouty lips straddling big bad Vic, riding him like a bronco. Her thighs clamping down around it as she rubbed her throbbing clit back and forth along the trembling shaft. He imagined taking the rod from her and driving it into Rachel’s dripping pussy while she rubbed her clit in tight little circles with her fingertips. “Deeper,” she’d say to him. “Faster,” she’d demand. In his mind she grabbed her tits and licked the nipples to hard little peaks while he continued to thrust her with the vibrator.

Where was a nun when you needed one? He needed his knuckles popped with a ruler. I’m going straight to Hell. This was the woman he loved. The woman he would marry. Tomorrow. Tonight she was his secret dirty whore.

“God, I wish you were here,” she said between moans and gasps and the growling of the vibrator.

Rory bolted up in bed. “I’ll be right there.” If he could make it down the hall without literally running into anyone with his giant boner, that was.

“No!” Vic fell silent.

“Okay, baby.” He felt like he was talking a jumper off a ledge, only he wanted her to take that leap. Do not step away from the ledge. “Vic can have this one.” He settled back into the bed and the rumble resumed. “What are you doing?” The buzzing was so close to the phone it sounded like…

“Licking Vic.” She moaned. “It tickles my tongue, my throat.”

“Can you taste yourself?” Rory groaned. He was so close to coming. He could imagine the jizz traveling through his cock like a roller coaster slowly clicking into position before the wild ride.

“Yes,” she whimpered. “But I want you inside my pussy. Now.”

You and me both, sweetheart. “Pretend Vic is me, baby.”

“But he’s so big, Rory. I can’t. It’s too big.”

So am I, baby. Get used to it. He tightened his hold on his cock and broadened his strokes, rubbing faster while the rain and wind beat the window outside his room. “I’m going to explode.”

“Wait for me,” she begged, followed by raspy pants and moans of pleasure.

“Rub it against your clit,” he said.

“Oh my. Aah. I am.”

“Oh fuck me!” he exclaimed as warm cum spurted out over the head of his cock.

He heard her moans and mutterings and whimpering in his ear as they climaxed together. It was his name she called out, not Vic. They both breathed heavily into the phone, but the awkward silence hung even heavier between them.

“That was amazing, baby.” If she were there with him, beside him, he could hold her. “I love you.”

“Good night,” she said, before the line went dead.

Okay. She was embarrassed. He put the phone back in the cradle and rolled his stiff neck. He wondered if he should call Rachel back to reassure her, or go down the hall and knock on her door. Maybe she’d curled up next to Vic for a little post-coital cuddling.

A flash of jealousy burst through him.

* * * * *

Rory handed the menu to the waitress. “Two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, English muffin and large OJ.” He smiled brightly. “Oh and a side of hotcakes. Extra syrup.”

Life is good. He hadn’t expected to feel this damn relaxed until the morning after the wedding night. He had also sort of expected to be smiling into the face of his lovely fiancée this morning.

“That’s quite an order,” his dad said.

“I’m starved.” He flashed a peace sign to a table of his coworkers on the other side of the room. It was tough to divide himself up between family and friends, but he’d hung with his buddies last night. His folks deserved his attention at breakfast, at least.

“We expected Rachel to join us,” his mother said.

They were tag teaming him. He could use Rachel on his side. She had a gentle way of defusing any tension between him and his parents. In a way, Rory suspected they thought she was too good for him and he agreed. He couldn’t explain her tough-love way of handling people. It probably came from dealing with the income challenged, the homeless and bureaucrats. She took no prisoners. She smooth-talked people into submission before they knew what hit them.

Submission. Last night flashed like a montage through his mind. His dick pulsed at the memory. He took a deep breath. Now was not a good time for an unwanted erection.

“Me too, Mom.” He couldn’t reach Rachel on her cell phone. Her room phone went unanswered. Likewise when he had knocked on her door earlier. “She’s crazy busy today. We’re getting married, you know.”

“Don’t be smart.” His mother rolled her eyes. “I saw her in the exercise room earlier.”

“I think she had a hair appointment this morning.” He couldn’t or wouldn’t commit her schedule to memory, but she always made a mental note of his important meetings and engagements, going so far as to call him during the day to ask how a meeting or doctor appointment went. He made a mental note of his own to be a better listener in the future. “I’ll catch up to her later.” We have the rest of our lives.

“I’m going,” his mother said. “Cal, talk to your son.” She scooted out of the booth, her job complete. She’d broken the ice. His dad’s job was to crush it. She did lean in and kiss them each on the forehead. “I’m so proud of you, Rory. She’s a good girl.”

No she’s not. Not the girl he’d had phone sex with last night. She was bad in the best possible way. He’d hoped she’d thaw a bit on the wedding night and be able to reach an orgasm. That didn’t seem to be a problem. Rory hadn’t had any idea how red-hot she was. Hopefully they could recreate the passion while in the same room together. “Thanks, Mom.”

She looked towards the row of windows being battered by the wind and rain. “You couldn’t have picked a worse day for a wedding.”

I don’t control the weather. “And thanks again.”

“Are you sure you can’t talk her into a ceremony at the church?” she added. It was a battle they rehashed often. “Something small, informal.” For the sake of your eternal souls, she didn’t say.

“She’s not Catholic, Mom.” For the tenth time.

“If she loved you…” she began.

“Mom, please.” He loved Rachel too much to force that issue. Respected her position on the matter. Actually enjoyed watching his feisty fiancée explain her thoughts about religion to his speechless mom. Priceless. Rachel would scold God himself for all the world’s suffering if he’d only show up. “See you later, Mom.”

She crossed the room to a table of relatives and took a seat. Rory turned his attention to his father. Calvin Callahan Sr. Thankfully, Rory’s big brother got to be junior. “What did I do now, Dad?” Speak of the devil. Rory’s brother, Calvin Callahan Jr., crossed the restaurant to join them before Rory could get an answer from his dad, who was a man of few words. Let the tag teaming continue.

“Bro.” C.J. plopped into a chair.

“C.J., what’s up?” His brother would be straight with him and pull no punches. It’s what he lived for.

Senior cleared his throat. “It’s about Rachel.”

If they were about to tell him she cheated on him with a busboy or something, they’d be dead to him. She was perfect. Loyal. Rory took comfort in the knowledge that she stood her ground and wouldn’t sleep with him. If she refused him, stood to reason she refused everyone.

“Listen, bro.” Junior cleared his throat much the same way his dad had. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it.” He looked toward Senior for guidance. He got a nod. “Speaking from experience, you’ve got to treat your wife like a…like a…what am I trying to say? Like a wife.”

“Are you two giving me the talk?” His eyes darted from one to the other. “It’s a little late for that. I’m twenty-eight. Rod A goes in hole B. Screw tightly. Add lubricant if necessary. Repeat as needed.”

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about, son.” His dad searched the floor thoroughly, probably looking for someone else to do what Rory’s mom had dispatched his dad to do. “There are women you…date.” He probably meant bang, but didn’t seem to be able to use the term except after a few shots with his old Navy buddies. “And there are wives.” In other words, women you make sweet love to in order to have a home and family. The American dream. Wife. Home. Children.

In cruder terms, bury your perverted fantasies in the deepest recesses of your mind.

“I know the difference,” Rory said. Case in point, he’d found a keeper, behaved like a near-perfect gentleman for over a year and his plan included slipping a ring on her finger. “Did I bring a hooker home for the holidays or something? I’ve had only one,” he held up one finger, “count ’em, one one-night stand. Five years ago. Other than that mistake, I’ve been searching for Mrs. Right. Found her. My plan is to marry her. Make her happy, too happy if that’s possible.”

C.J.’s brow drew together. “Bro.”

Rory rolled his eyes. “Go ahead.” Why fight it? His brother had in the past and would now force him once again to listen to his special brand of idiocy.

“You haven’t had the best track record with the ladies.” Leave it to C.J. to point out the obvious.

Okay, so he’d been cheated on once or twice. One girl gave him crabs. Another tried to kill him with her car. His problem was he loved too much. He couldn’t see past the cloud of infatuation to notice the indentation of a recently removed wedding ring. That got him beat the hell up by an angry ex-husband. He was done with all that. No more drama.

“Wives these days are different,” C.J. said. “They make their own money. They want to be an equal partner, yada, yada, yada. They want respect. They don’t want to be objectified except when they do want to be objectified. Point is, bro, they don’t need you.”

Rory rubbed his temple in tight little circles. “I think I missed your point.”

His dad reached across and patted Rory on the shoulder. “Treat her like the lady she is, son.”

“Put her on a pedestal.” C.J. winked like they had a private understanding. Do what I say, not as I do. “They won’t put up with our bullshit, bro.”

“Dude.” Rory glanced at his watch, wondering where his food was. “You’re divorced.”

“Right.” C.J. nodded. “I’m speaking from experience.”

“Dad.” He took a drink of ice water. “Rest assured, you and Mom raised me right. I don’t know where you went wrong with C.J., but I love Rach. I treat her like a queen and that won’t change after the wedding.” That won’t change, ever. “Are we done?” Hope so. They were ruining his appetite.

His food arrived. His family left. The storm outside raged on. His friends Eric and Greg filed in and joined him to complain about their respective hangovers.

Rachel had yet to return his phone messages.

Chapter Three

Rachel’s mom yanked up on the cream-colored bustier. “Your breasts are spilling out.”

Rachel pulled her short robe tight around her. “I think that’s the point.” It wasn’t like she planned on strutting down the aisle on three-inch heels, satin underclothes and thigh-high stockings held up by magic fairy dust. She intended to wear a wedding dress over it all. A really nice one. Expensive. Lovely. Elegant.

Out of guilt, she’d paid for the designer gown herself. It was that extravagant. You only get married once, right? Cross fingers. Rub your lucky rabbit’s foot.

“Mom, could you go check on the food?” Rachel asked. She needed a moment. Alone. To think.

“Of course.” Her mother air kissed Rachel’s cheeks to spare her makeup. Then she retreated, mumbling something about the bimbo—also known as his new wife—Rachel’s dad had brought to the wedding and what sort of tasteless frock she might wear to the ceremony.

“Ash.” Rachel blew out a breath that sent her bangs floating up like a feather on the wind. “Why don’t you go see What’s-His-Name? Eric.” I should have asked Melanie to be my maid of honor.

Ashley, who had been a puddle of lifeless uselessness, suffering from a sexual hangover, suddenly sprang to life. “Sure. See you out there.” More air kisses.

Rachel relaxed her shoulders and stomach. If her mother told her one more time to stand up straight, she’d beat her with the bouquet. Too bad they’d removed the thorns. She tossed her robe on a chair and swiveled right and left in front of the full-length mirror, rehearsing smiles for photos and well-wishers. She was sex personified, like a lingerie model in this sexist getup. If not for the threat of nervous perspiration on her pristine wedding dress, she’d toss on the gown.

Outside her dressing room, the storm punished the trees, leaving green debris littering the manicured grounds. A storm of confusion and desire raged within her. Rachel picked up her phone. Eleven messages. Seven were from Rory. If I ignore him, he can’t call off the wedding, right?

What did he think of her after last night? She’d simply explain to him it was first and foremost her Gram’s fault. Next in line for a serving of blame was Ashley, for gifting her with the vibrator recommended by porn stars everywhere. It was huge, with multiple speeds and lifelike synthetic skin. Her belly rippled and warmed just thinking of Vic. Maybe he’d marry her when Rory no-showed for the ceremony.

There was a light rap on the door. “Mother, go check the…the flowers, please.” Rachel needed more than a moment. She needed a dose of reassurance with a Valium IV drip.

The door eased open. When Rory poked his head in, she slapped one hand over her chest spillage and the other over her still-warm-and-damp-from-the-memory-of-Vic panties. He slipped in, shutting and locking the door behind him. Her panties got warmer and damper. Flashback to last night. Mortification slapped her in the face, leaving her cheeks pink.

“Wow!” he said. He looked dashing in his tux. Long. Lean. Smooth. “I don’t know what to say except wow.”

She wanted to rip the buttons off his dress shirt with her teeth. It was Vic making her think that way. He’d changed her. He was a bad influence. If Vic were a real guy, he’d wear a leather jacket and drive a Harley. He’d call her his bitch and she’d like it. “A dress goes over this.” Duh. “Don’t just stand there gawking at me. Am I fat?”

Hand up in protest, he said, “No!”

She turned around to see for herself. He was sex starved—his opinion couldn’t be trusted. Her hands flopped down by her sides. He might as well see what he’s getting. He crossed the room slowly, like she was an injured bird and he didn’t want her to fly away.

Squaring her shoulders, she asked, “Did you come to call off the wedding?”

“What? No!” Standing inches away, he leaned in and placed his lips gently on the back of her neck directly below where her hair was swept up and held in place by combs and pins and hair spray. “I missed you. I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since…I can’t remember when. I kinda thought maybe you’d be making a run for it.” His lips came down just below her earlobe.

She tried to control a tremble his kiss caused. “Watch the hair and makeup,” she warned him. She sounded like her mother. And while you’re at it, eat all your veggies, don’t slouch and, FYI, masturbation will make you go blind.

His knuckles dragged along her exposed spine. The surge of electricity she felt didn’t end where his touch did. It ended with a zap in the crotch of her undies. Rory’s fingertips cut a path from her shoulders to her wrists. She shook off the sensation.

“What’s wrong?” He laced his fingers with hers, thumbing the rock on her finger as he was so fond of doing. His claim on her. He’d branded her with a marquis-cut diamond.

“Jitters.” She bounced on her toes. She stopped bouncing and breathing when he peppered kisses on her neck and shoulders. Zap, zap, zappity, zap. Her panties were bursting like Jiffy Pop on a red-hot burner. Extra butter.

“Last night was amazing,” he said between kisses.

She glanced away, biting the inside of her lip. “Last night?”

“You, me, Vic.”

Clearing her throat, she said, “I don’t know what you mean.” Spontaneous amnesia defense probably wouldn’t fly. Do you like it when I say pussy? Seriously. Had she said that out loud? That’s something you say in your head. It’s so wet, baby. She’d sounded like a low-budget porno. And yet the words had made her wet then and now.

His knuckles ran a course down her sides, making her giggle and fidget. His fingertips made the return trip. “Don’t play dumb.”

She could pitch a fit about him calling her dumb, just to start a fight and distract him. Their eyes connected in the mirror. His emerald eyes always had a calming, drug-like effect on her. They were hypnotic. Her head fell back against his solid shoulder. Her bosom heaved in the tight bustier. His eyes left her eyes to watch her chest rise and fall. Her mom would kill her if she messed her hair.

“I’m not playing dumb.” She choked the words out between labored breaths. “I don’t recall. Remind me.”

“I phoned you last night.” His voice was so seductive. Nearly as hypnotic as his eyes. “You answered. We…talked.” Rory cleared his throat. “Ring a bell?”

“Maybe it was a wrong number,” Rachel whispered.

“I don’t think so.” His kisses lingered on her skin. His hand reached around to feather the burgeoning flesh escaping her satin prison.

“What time is it?” she asked.

His other hand boldly skimmed the fabric of her panties. “We have an hour.”

He tested her, like checking for a weak spot in an electric fence. He’d been testing her for a year. For the most part, her fence had remained strong…until now. She’d nearly succumbed to his lips and hands and smoldering eyes on a few occasions. To her, giving in meant losing him. Men moved on to the next conquest. Out loud the theory sounded ridiculous. In her head, nothing else made sense.

She wasn’t a tease, really she wasn’t. Rachel had told him from the start she didn’t want to date him, if only because the subsequent loss of him would be too painful. She’d left that part unsaid. He persisted, bombarding her with kindness, compliments and charm. On date one, after he’d worn her down, she told him she wouldn’t have sex again until her wedding night. She’d meant it as a deterrent. He’d smirked then just like he smirked now.

“If you think I’m going to walk down that aisle dripping cum instead of flower petals, think again, Rory Callahan.” She challenged his smirk with a smirk of her own.

Rory grabbed her hips and pulled her backside firmly against his erection. Her smirk vanished. She found it physically impossible to smirk and gasp at the same time. He dropped his softer-than-a-kitten approach, reached around and pressed his hand firmly against her mound. His hand moved back and forth, pressing, rubbing, alternating pressure between soft and firm.

“You’re already wet for me,” he mumbled in her ear.

Not for you, for Vic, she wanted to say, just to spite him, but she feared he’d stop massaging her pussy. Rachel moaned when his fingers slipped under the elastic into her panties. She struggled to stay standing, held up only by shaky legs and his arm around her waist. What she wanted was to flop down in a chair, grab her ankles, spread her legs and let him have at her in any fashion he desired. With his tongue or his fingers or his dick. All three in no particular order.

Quick as you please, before she could protest, he peeled her panties off. He finessed her legs apart with his leg. From behind her, with the mirror in front of them, he said, “You are beautiful.”

She was afraid to look at her exposed sex reflecting in the mirror, but did. Rachel expected to look like a dirty street corner whore, but the image staring back at her, complete with professionally done hair and makeup, looked hot. And Rory resembled a young James Bond. Sexy. Refined. A little bit dangerous.

He spread her labia with one hand, exposing the pink bud of her clit. The pad of his thumb caressed her clit. She actually quivered at his gentle touch. Every few seconds, he’d drag his index finger along her pussy lips, collecting her wetness. She moaned at the titillating pleasure of his lubricated finger swirling deliciously around her throbbing clit. Then his thumb again. He was an efficient machine of gratification. This process repeated itself over and over.

She managed to kick her panties away. His cock continued to press tight against the curve of her back. She imagined him easing his cock into her from behind and her pussy throbbed in anticipation. Rachel pressed solidly against his hardness. He, in turn, pressed his thumb firm against her clit.

“Rory,” she begged breathlessly, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do that he wasn’t already doing. Fuck me. That’s what she wanted to say. The possibility of his cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy possessed her mind, controlled her body. He willed her to rub against his hand like some sort of animal in heat, the same way she’d thrust against Vic last night. But Vic wouldn’t judge her harshly for her wanton ways.

She wished Rory would just bend her over the back of the chair by the vanity and stick his dick in her vulnerable pussy. He’d win. She’d lose. He’d probably leave her standing at the altar dripping semen on the carpet afterwards. But he didn’t whip out his dick and give her what she desired and feared. He left his cock in his trousers. From his reflection in the mirror, his pleasure was watching her pleasure. She didn’t even see him blink. Not once. But she was preoccupied.

Her only indications of his arousal was the erection propped against her ass, his dilated eyes reflecting in the mirror and his steady breath dancing against her neck.

The doorknob turned. “Rachel! Open up.”

“Go check the table settings, Mom!”

“I already did,” she objected, rattling the door.

“What…what about the…the…I can’t think.” She reached up and around to clasp her hands around the back of Rory’s neck, grinding her ass into his stiff dick. “Go…go tell Dad his check bounced.” That would keep her busy for a while.

“What?” She pounded on the door. “Let me in.”

“Audrey!” Rory shouted. “We need a minute.” He locked his fingers together as a single unit and rubbed faster, pressed firmer in big circles that spread heat throughout her body.

The door rattled more. “You…you can’t see the bride in her gown. It’s bad luck.”

Rory began to lose focus, laughing deep down in his chest. Rachel felt the vibration and began to laugh too. She found his earlobe in the mirror reflection and tugged. “Focus.” She needed this, more now than ever before.

“I’ll be back with a passkey,” her mother said.

“I know I’m no Vic, but I’m confident I can make you come,” he whispered, nibbling at her ear while he spoke. His lips traveled along the curve of her neck.

“Vic who?” she said, her body writhing against his touch. “Don’t stop, baby. That feels so good.” A wildfire of warmth cut a path between her legs. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Only more. Faster. Harder. Before she comes back.” Did I just say all that?

If she could say that, why couldn’t she say, lick my pussy. Fuck me, baby. He did everything she asked, rubbing her clit faster and harder. Pressing and caressing, alternating intensity. And more. His teeth and lips nipped at the back of her neck, and she felt it in her pussy as if the two were connected by an invisible cord.

A branch of a tree slapped against the window from a strong gust of wind. A flash of lightning stabbed the sky in the distance. Seconds later a clap of thunder shook the windows.

“I love you so much,” he murmured. “I’m going to love you forever, Rach.”

Just don’t stop. “I’m so close, Rory.” She felt as if she were hanging onto sanity by a thin, weak thread. If she’d just let go of reason, she could spiral into the pleasure he was offering. “I can’t reach it.”

“That’s what I’m here for, baby.” His words came out smooth like honey.

Her climax was right there but like a logjam of propriety and guilt, she couldn’t dislodge it. She could, if he weren’t there. Rachel was torn between two worlds. The world of wife and whore. She wasn’t a wife yet. “Talk dirty to me,” she begged.

“I…I’m going to drill you like you’re filled with oil.” His words tumbled out more like an awkward question.

“No, never mind.” Her head thrashed around. “Just shut up.” She reached her hand into her corset contraption of discomfort and thumbed her exposed nipple.

“Oh jeez. Do that again.” He eased her closer to the mirror. “Look at yourself.”

She couldn’t see herself so wanton with desire. It was bad enough that she felt so insatiable.

“Look,” he demanded. “If looking at yourself, face flushed with desire, legs spread, with your beautiful pussy taking center stage doesn’t make you come, I don’t know what will.”

She did look. Poor guy was working it hard. Harder than anyone should have to. “Oh,” she moaned as the stumbling block before her climax suddenly dislodged. He was right. It was like live, 3-D, interactive porno. Rachel pinched her nipple. “Oh Rory.” She moved against his fingers. The tightness built. The warmth spread. “Don’t stop.”

“Help me help you, Rachel,” he breathed the words into her ear. His tongue shot into her ear, reinforcing his words.

She shook her head, but placed her hand over his, guiding him, showing him what she needed. “Yes. That’s it.”

“Yes,” he echoed, still lapping at her ears.

“Rory.” A whimper of submission escaped her lips as she let go to the waves of heat and madness that washed over her mind and body like a warm, crashing surf battering her clit. She felt and watched her pussy pulsate beneath his fingers, their fingers working together. Her knees buckled, the only thing holding her upright was him.

“Oh man.” His palm pressed against her clit again, squeezing out another round of quakes like an after shock. So many pulses she couldn’t count. “You are an engineering marvel.” Rory peppered her neck and shoulders with soft kisses. “I am going to spend my life exploring you, discovering your secrets.”

Still breathing heavy, she said, “You couldn’t have said that instead of drilling me like a dirty oil well?”

Slowly he eased his hand away. “You put me on the spot. The last thing I ever expected you to say to me was ‘talk dirty to me’. Actually, you’ve surprised me a few times in the last twenty-four hours.” Rory stepped into the bathroom and washed his hands. He had a lot of hand shaking to do later.

Rachel continued staring at her throbbing crotch, waiting for the ripples to fade away.

Her mother returned to bang on the door. “Rory Callahan! I have your mother here.”

“Rory! It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” his mother echoed her mother’s sentiments. The pounding began in stereo.

“Don’t worry, Mom!” He strolled out of the bathroom, obviously very pleased with himself. He’d serviced his blushing bride. She feared he’d be off to get a few high fives and knuckle bumps from his pals for a job well done, but reminded herself that Rory wasn’t like that. “I guarantee I did not see Rachel in her wedding dress.”

“Did you learn nothing this morning?” she wailed.

Rachel slipped her robe back on. “I can’t find my panties.” She wobbled around to scan the entire room. If she weren’t limp as a rag doll from satisfaction, she’d be embarrassed.

“They’ll turn up.” He gently clutched her shoulders and kissed her sweetly. “I’ll see you shortly?” He posed his statement more like a question. Probably because he sensed her impulse to curl up in a ball and cry.

She bit her lip and nodded. “What are you going to do?” Leave town? Leave me?

It sounded like some sort of debate was being waged outside the door. Their mothers were planning an attack strategy to break down the door or find a master key.

He centered himself in front of the mirror, adjusting his tux to hide his erection. “Find a quiet place to jerk off.”

She stood behind him and brushed her hand along the length of his jacket. “Don’t get any on your tux.”

He ambled to the door in no hurry to meet the enemy.

“Love you,” she called to him. Could he still love her after the spectacle she’d made of herself?

He double tapped his heart and pointed at her before flipping the lock and opening the door. “Audrey. Mom. She’s all yours.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “For now.” A ripple of residual pleasure coursed through her as she anticipated more of the same later.

* * * * *

The ceremony was a blur of faces and words and the scent of roses mixing with piano music to create a stew of marital bliss. All Rachel remembered was Rory standing at ease, his hands clutched in front of him with a subtle grin on his face. He must have found a quiet place to masturbate.

No one objected to the union. Why would they? She spoke on cue. I do. I will. He echoed her pledge. Or maybe she’d echoed his. They each read words they’d written themselves, words she’d inked onto her clammy palm. They kissed.

Rachel never found her panties. Photos were snapped regardless of the absence of underwear. No one would ever know besides her. And Rory. She smiled, her insides warming from what she hoped would evolve into a running joke between the two of them. That’s what marriage was, a daisy chain of inside jokes, precious moments and shared memories linked together like a charm bracelet.

The receiving line was a nightmare and too formal for her small wedding, but her mother insisted. Rachel felt vulnerable, like one of those dreams where you’re naked at your class reunion, naked at your birthday party or naked at your wedding. She considered hiding behind a dinner table. She feared everyone knew of her secret liaison in the bride’s dressing room. So what? It was worth it. Only the aching in her loins was back. She wanted him again.

“You look amazing, Mrs. Callahan,” her husband leaned in and whispered. Her husband.

She felt the heat of a blush on her face. “You look dashing, Mr. Callahan.”

“Why don’t you two get a room?” Her brother Mark took her hand and kissed her cheek.

His wife Mel smacked him in the arm. Rachel crossed her legs. Getting a room sounded like heaven. Getting out of her heels appealed to her, too, and her face hurt from smiling. Her pussy ached from longing.

After a dinner consisting of a choice of either crab cakes or chicken, the band warmed up.

She felt a million miles rested between her and Rory even though they sat together, thighs touching, fingers entwined. Close would never again be close enough. She wanted him in her.

The band played At Last and he led her out to the dance floor. He pulled her firmly into his arms.

“You remember how this goes?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m going to get my toes crushed.” If her dress survived without him tripping all over the hem it would be a minor miracle. Suddenly she flashed to the future. Her and Rory sitting, holding hands in the front row in the audience of America’s Funniest Home Videos. They’d show a wedding disaster clip of him stepping on her dress while they danced. The bodice would rip apart. The skirt would fall to the floor at her ankles. They’d blur her from thigh to navel for the censors. “I hate this.”

“Just think how happy it makes our mothers,” he winked, “and how broke it makes your father.”

“You’re evil, Rory.” His wicked sense of humor was one of the things she liked most about him. Marriage wasn’t about sex like her grandmother insisted. It was about companionship, laughter, family and happiness. Of course, that didn’t explain the throbbing of her bare pussy.

“They should play this song in our honeymoon suite tonight.” He began mouthing the words in her ear and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I never found my panties.”

“I know.” His index finger made little circles in her palm. “They’re in my inside jacket pocket. I’ve had a hard-on since I left you this afternoon.”

She peeked inside his tux jacket. “You beast.”

“I’m going to hang them from my rearview mirror.” They both looked up and around when the lights flickered.

“You do, you’ll die,” Rachel warned him once the lights returned to normal. “Did you ever find a quiet place to…you know?”

“No. I wish.” He sighed. “One crisis after another hit like dominos.”

A few other couples joined them on the dance floor, taking some heat off her. She hated being the center of attention. She was not bride material. “Crisis?”

“Calm down.” He ran his knuckles along her spine, reminding her of earlier that afternoon when he’d done the same and where it led them. “An awning blew away and then a tree fell on C.J.’s car. Cracked his windshield.”

“Oh my God,” she mouthed.

“Relax.” The song ended and he led her back to the table. “The biggest problem we have are my blue balls.”

“We’ll fix that as soon as we can,” she promised him, and looked forward to doing so.

There were more toasts, more dancing, followed by cutting the cake. Rory’s aunt slapped his uncle. One of her bridesmaids got plastered and fell on her ass. A small child she couldn’t identify threw up in the center of the dance floor. And Rory wanted to have one of those. All in all, it was a typical wedding fraught with unforgettable calamity.

Rachel fidgeted often without her panties. There was something liberating about her sex exposed to the open air, but above all else it felt distracting. All she’d recall about her wedding besides the bridal room tryst would be her pantiless predicament.

The band played their rendition of Daddy’s Little Girl. “Dance with me, sweetheart.” Her dad held out his hand to her after patting Rory on the back. Her mother and father both approved of her choice. Why wouldn’t they? Like her Gram had said, he was polite, attentive and a good provider. He was so much more.

How could she refuse her dad? It would be like a slap in his face if she didn’t dance with him. Rachel faked a smile and took his hand. He led her to the floor. Her mother blew some emotion into a hanky. How sad for her. Today should have been a treasured memory, but seeing him no doubt dredged up the reality of years wasted on reheating his dinners when he worked late, picking up his dry cleaning and entertaining his boorish clients.

And after all that, Rachel walked voluntarily toward matrimony.

“You look like an angel.” Her dad twirled her around like a ballerina in a music box. Her hem remained safe with him. Dad knew how to dance. Without fail, he took her every year to the Daddy-Daughter Dance at the country club, up until the split with Mom, long after Rachel had outgrown the ritual.

She feared she wore a permanent blush like a sunburn from all the compliments and attention. “Thank you.”

“Are you happy?” Worry reflected in his eyes.

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation, but wondered if Rory would tire of her after twenty-some years of marriage and two-point-five kids, leaving her with stretch marks, crow’s feet and a hysterectomy scar. “Why?”

“I heard there was some trouble this afternoon.” He spun her around. “You and Rory fight?”

“What? When? Oh. No.” She looked over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “No fight. Quite the opposite.”

He cleared his throat. “Oh I see. Good…that you’re not fighting, that is.”

“I’m sure we will.” It was inevitable, although they seldom disagreed. There was bound to be some period of adjustment once they merged their lives completely. After the honeymoon she was to move in with him, taking over half his closet space. They’d wrestle over bathroom time and negotiate the division of chores. “How about you, Dad? Are you happy?”

He glanced at What’s-Her-Name. “Yes.”

“Good.” Things had been quite awkward between her and her dad since the divorce. Strained. Rachel felt torn between her parents. She’d always been daddy’s little girl, but being a woman, a daughter and now a wife, she had aligned with her mother throughout the divorce, with the sanctity of marriage vows once said and too soon discarded. She wanted him happy, but he should have ended the marriage before boinking the flight attendant. “Thanks for all this. I know it was expensive.”

“You’re welcome. It could have been worse, but it was my pleasure.” He dipped her slightly. “I appreciate you keeping it small and reasonable. It’s perfect.”

She’d have preferred it be smaller and more reasonable, like on a beach in Hawaii. Her in a sarong, Rory in board shorts, the sun setting behind them, waves tickling their bare feet. Sex on the beach. Sand in all the wrong places. She shook the dirty thoughts from her mind.

The song ended. They clapped. Dad returned her to her husband with a parting kiss to her cheek.

Rachel bent over and whispered to Rory through a fake smile and clenched teeth, “I just danced around at my wedding with my damn dad with no underwear on.” He had the nerve to grin up at her. “I want my panties and I want them now.”

He reached his hand in his inside jacket pocket. “Right here? Right now?”

Chapter Four

“No, not right here, right now.” Rachel flicked her finger at the back of his head.

“Ouch.” Rory rubbed the sting from his skull.

“Somewhere more private.” Rachel sounded eerily like he’d expect the devil to sound right before he dragged you to Hell.

He liked the sound of somewhere more private though.

He watched Rachel grab two fistfuls of satin and crinoline and head for the exit as the lights sputtered from the storm outside. He faked a smile for their cherished guests as he followed. Without ever looking behind her, not even one glance, she marched over to the elevator and punched the up button again and again in rapid-fire succession.

“Let’s take the stairs, babe,” he called to her. He pulled up alongside of her, grasping an open bottle of champagne by the neck. “Babe, the stairs.”

“You take the stairs balancing on three-inch heels, swaddled in five yards of fabric and no underwear.” The door dinged open. She stepped inside. He followed. The door slid shut and the elevator lurched in the upward direction. Before he’d taken one more breath the car went dark and came to a jolting stop.

“Should have taken the stairs,” he muttered. Dull emergency lights came on.

Rachel pushed the button for the second floor over and over. “Shut up.”

He captured her hand to prevent a catastrophic nail breakage. She’d want them to last through the honeymoon. And he had a freakish fantasy of seeing her red-tipped fingers wrapped around the girth of his cock.

“Power is out.” Rory handed her the champagne and attempted to pry the doors apart, Incredible Hulk style, but he wasn’t green enough. “No use. I think we’re between floors.” He snatched the bottle and took a swig.

Disbelief reflecting in her stare, she said, “What are you doing?”

He offered her the bottle in a gentleman like fashion. Ladies first. She could use a drink. It might be a long night.

“We have no bathroom, Rory.” She threw her hands around wildly in the compact space.

He held up the bottle. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d peed in a bottle. It was one of the perks of being a guy.

“What about me?” she asked.

He had no answer. One problem at a time. “Power will come back on soon,” he assured her. Or not.

The lodge had a generator for emergency power, but they were also understaffed due to the renovation. Rachel was in charge of colors, flowers and seating charts. As an architect, Rory just naturally noticed things like load-bearing walls, emergency escape routes and whether fire extinguishers had been serviced recently. From what he knew about old buildings and emergency preparedness in general, they might be in for an extensive wait.

Rory flopped back against the cool stainless steel wall. Rachel paced as much as she could in the space provided.

Reaching for his pocket, he asked, “You want your panties now?”

She shot him the same heated glare her mother blasted her father with from time to time. Her eat-shit-and-die look. Rachel boldly stepped closer and he slinked away. I’m too young to eat shit and die. She clasped her hand on the back of his neck and crushed her lips against his. Not what he expected. Sweeping her up with his free hand, he returned her scorching kiss in a flurry of lips, tongues and teeth. It was the type of kiss they normally avoided in order to stay true to her “not until my wedding night” pledge.

Rory spun her around, pinning her exposed back against the wall. She gasped.

“Sorry, babe.” He hadn’t stopped to think about how the cold metal would feel against her skin.

She grabbed his ass and pulled his already stiff cock against her pelvis. “Do you think there’s a camera in this elevator?”

Glancing around, he decided no. And the power was out anyhow. For a split second he wondered if that sort of thing might appeal to her. He’d unleashed an animal the other night just by asking what she was wearing, and again today he’d played her like a fiddle until she sang. His brother and dad were dead wrong. His wife didn’t want to be treated like a wife. She wanted to be treated like a woman you…dated…banged. Only she’d still be there in the morning. Every morning. Rachel was every man’s fantasy. But she was his wife.

Without waiting for him to answer her question, Rachel began frantically unfastening his trousers like they were marked with a big red X on a treasure map. He chugged some more champagne. He heard his zipper go down like a sonic boom in the tiny elevator. Rory mentally began configuring how they were going to fuck in the closet-sized space.

Was this where he wanted their first time to be? More importantly, was this where she wanted their first time to be? Would she throw the incident back in his face in the heat of every fight? Did he care?

She reached her hand in the waistband of his boxer shorts and fanned her fingers along his dick. He stopped asking himself stupid questions. She cupped his balls and he groaned.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he muttered.

She looked up at him like a pixie-faced sex kitten. A contradiction. “You like?”

“Yeah.” He moaned when she wrapped those same fingers tightly around the shaft above his nuts. There was something strangely erotic about an angelic face with a sinful body dressed in virginal white, or off-white, at any rate, yanking his cock.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at this,” she said.

Good at what? So far as he knew, there was no such thing as a bad hand job. Just good, better and best. “You’re doing…fine.”

She dropped to her knees. He thought for a moment she collapsed because her corset thingy was too tight, or they were running out of air, or she drank too much and ate too little. Rachel jerked his trousers and boxer shorts down below his knees. He fell back against the wall. Is she going to blow me?

Part of the reason he’d waited so damn long to ask her to marry him was because he feared he’d never get another blowjob again. Ever. Partly due to her lack of experience. Mostly because of Rachel’s lousy track record with the men in her past. Life without oral was like life without parole. Hopeless. Not worth living.

Too many guys had done a number on Rachel. Punching each and every one of them appealed to him. In the end, he decided he’d take his chances with her, oral or no, and hope for the best. Jackpot.

Glancing down, his cock stood proud and tall, saluting everything Rory held dear.

“Oh my God,” she said, but there was no fear, only wonderment. Rachel looked up at him with wide eyes. She laid her hand out flat against his erection, pushing it against his abdomen.

“Oh man,” he muttered and took another swig from the bottle.

Suddenly she swiped her tongue along the under side of his cock like it was a cone dripping chocolate ice cream, her favorite. “Did I ever tell you I could suck the sap from a maple tree?”

“No. You. Did. Not.” But it was information he would have liked to know. They’d already be celebrating their first anniversary if she had.

She giggled. “I can’t, but I’ll try.” She licked his dick up one side and down the other, all the while she had a firm grip on the base. Multi-tasking was the key to a good blowjob, in his opinion. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better her free hand began to roam his body, caressing his thighs, ass and his balls. Where have you been all my life? He sucked a deep breath between his gritted teeth when she cupped his balls in her hand and gently massaged.

“Mmmmm,” she moaned between licks.

He reached into his pocket, coming back with her panties. He inhaled her sweet scent to engage one more of the five senses while she stroked his cock with her tongue.

Rory moaned and groaned. Suck me. Fuck me. He’d never say as much out loud to his bride, but he could say anything he wanted in his head. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair, but it was still in an updo. Eventually they’d be rescued—not any time soon he hoped, but when they were freed, she’d want her hair perfect. He settled for cupping his hand at the back of her neck, her panties still knotted in his fingers.

Rachel looked up. She smiled sweetly before her lips closed around the head of his cock. With his hand still on the back of her neck, he guided her mouth tenderly back and forth, farther and farther until his entire cock disappeared into her mouth again and again. Until now he had no idea, no clue, and not enough imagination to conjure up a scenario where she’d ever take his cock full in her mouth.

“I love you, baby.” He really did. Rory didn’t think he could love her more than he had an hour ago or yesterday, but he did. He was sure he’d love her even more tomorrow. “Do you like it?” Say yes. Lie if you have to. “Do you like to suck my cock?”

His dick slid slowly out of her mouth. She swirled her tongue lovingly around the helmeted head. “I love it.” She loved it so much, Rachel took the head in her mouth and sucked and licked. The tip of her tongue tickled the head of his cock.

“What does it taste like?” He didn’t care, but she was blowing his mind. No matter what she replied, he’d be closer to ejaculating.

“Yummy.” Her tongue swirled around the head again. “It’s salty,” she added before drawing the entire shaft in her mouth again. When she came up for air again, she said, “I love it.”

Rory closed his eyes. “And I love you.”

He was so close. The only thing stopping him from coming all over the place was fear of ejaculating in her face or on his tux. He guessed they frequently had rentals returned with stains, even cum. Rory couldn’t expect his wife to swallow his semen, could he?

Her grip tightened around the base. Her mouth and lips moved fast and furious against his erection. Ringlets of her hair bobbed and bounced in sync with her motion. From his bird’s-eye view, he could see right down her dress. Bonus.

“Baby, I’m going to come,” he warned her, his tone desperate from passion. “Oh—oh jeez.” It felt like a rocket shot out of his dick. He half expected Rachel to have the back of her head blown off from the impact. In reality, it was more than likely spurted rather than shot.

Her grip loosened, same with her lips, but she didn’t stop right away. Easing away from his cock, she looked up at him sheepishly. “Tell me the truth, was that okay?”

“Okay?” Rory rested his head against the wall of the elevator car. He let out a deep breath he forgot was in his lungs. “It was…I don’t know how to describe it. You blew me, you blew my mind.” When he looked down, she licked her lips. He handed her the champagne bottle and she took a drink. When she handed it back, he held up his hand. “It’s all yours.” Call me a prude, but I do not want my own spooge on my lips, thank you very much.

He pulled up his pants and fastened them, maybe a little too quickly. Rachel remained on the floor, resting on her heels, staring at the ground. He grasped her shoulders and helped her up.

She bit at her lip and wouldn’t look at him. Had he forgotten some sort of blowjob etiquette? Applause? Thanks? Accolades? “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I’ll buy you a car. She could get anything she wanted. A million dollars in life insurance, because he could die a happy man.

Casting her eyes down, she asked, “Are you sorry you married me?”

“Hell no.” Pulling her into his arms, he said, “I couldn’t love you more or be happier.” She wasn’t convinced. He could see it in her eyes, on her face. “We’re married, honey. There’s nothing wrong with what you…what we did.”

“What about this afternoon?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He lifted her chin with his finger. He’d take Rachel’s face in his hands if she weren’t made up for a photo shoot. Her lipstick could use a fresh coat, but other than that, she looked airbrushed. “I love you.”

She pecked at his lips. “I love you too.”

“I loved you this afternoon and last night. Those words we pledged today, the paper we signed, nothing but a formality to me. In my heart,” he touched his hand to his heart, “you’ve been my wife since the day I slipped that engagement ring on your finger—longer actually. It was love at first sight for me. You could have gone down on me that first day in your office in front of the Three Stooges. I wouldn’t have thought any less of you.”

She busted out a laugh. “Don’t call them that.” Her scolding was negated by her obvious amusement at his political incorrectness.

“You know what I mean.” He pecked at her lips, followed by licking at her lips.

She looped her arms around his neck and he pulled her tight against the erection she’d left him with. It wasn’t receding. If anything, his damn cock stiffened again. Before long they shot kisses at each other like bullets.

Rory began frantically gathering up fabric, digging through it to get to her pussy. The scent of her arousal filled the elevator, assaulting his senses. He braced himself against the wall, holding her against his body with one arm. His other hand found her pussy.

Relaxing once he found what he’d been searching for, Rory strummed gently on her clit with his fingertips, easing her toward arousal. His fingers cut a lazy path through the folds of her pussy. He wanted—no—he needed her to reach the same release she’d gifted him.

“Don’t torture me like this.” Her voice shook with desperation.

He eased one finger into her pussy. “You’re so tight, baby.” Rory couldn’t wait to slide his cock inside her, to feel the walls of her pussy snug around him like a warm glove. “So wet,” he whispered in her ear. One finger slid in and out while his thumb rubbed her nub.

“Rory,” she muttered. “Oh.”

That was his cue. He added a second finger, delving deeper, faster. Her clench around his neck tightened. He nipped at her earlobe, licked at her neck, explored her pussy for that one sweet spot that would make her come.

“Ah,” she whimpered.

The lights came on. The elevator began to climb. It dinged and the doors opened to the second floor. Rory maneuvered her to the door, bracing his foot against the open door to keep it open. A cold wind washed over them. He worked his fingers feverishly inside her, his lips toiling every bit as hard above the neck, dipping into her mouth, teasing her tongue with his.

“I’m going to fuck you all night long,” he said, since she’d asked for some dirty talk earlier that day. He knew it wasn’t easy for her to let go and be a slave to desire.

“Oh.” Her head fell back, eyes closed. “Mmmmm.” Tremors of pleasure shook through her, rippling against his fingers.

“That’s my girl.” He continued to hold her until she finished quaking.

They looked at each other like now what? The wind blew freely through the corridor. The temperature had dropped a couple degrees in a matter of a few seconds. Rachel wrapped her arms around her body.

“Stay back.” He eased out of the elevator to evaluate the situation. The window adjacent the elevator had shattered, littering the hallway with glass and debris. “Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on.”

She slipped her arms into his tux jacket.

“I think we should play it safe and take the stairs down.” He looked to her for agreement, because she was his equal partner. He respected her opinion—just like his brother had said, but hadn’t meant. Rory trusted her judgment, unless she wanted to brave the elevator again.

She nodded.

Rory offered her his hand. “Careful of the glass.”

The stairwell was a welcome relief from the hall, which felt more like a wind tunnel. Rachel stopped on the landing to put her panties back on. Might as well, since it was the reason they’d left the reception.

* * * * *

“Where have you been, young lady?” Rachel’s mother shook her finger at her. Along with the implied accusation in the form of a question, a lecture followed about how rude it was to leave their own wedding to have sex. How she knew they’d been having sex, Rory didn’t know. Good guess.

Rachel held her tongue, but Rory recognized the silent stewing in her juices. He’d been on the receiving end of her wrath.

“Hold on.” Rory held his hand up. “Rach had a wardrobe malfunction.”

Mrs. McAllister wagged her finger at him next. “Did you step on her hem? I advised you to take dance classes.” There was an unsaid “told you so” in her tone.

“No, I did not.” Surprisingly. It was another good guess though. Elaborating when he shouldn’t, Rory said, “We ran upstairs to…to get…” The word panties was on the tip of his tongue.

“A safety pin,” Rachel added.

“That’s right. A safety pin and got stuck in the elevator when the power failed. Thanks for your concern.” He could sort of see why her dad left her mom. He’d be concerned, but Rachel was nothing like her. And becoming less like her every minute.

“Oh dear,” her mother cooed. “I had no idea. Are you all right?”

Fighting back tears, Rachel said, “I’m a good person. I’m responsible. Give me some credit.” She stormed off in the direction of the ladies’ room.

Yes, they’d had sex, but that wasn’t the reason they’d left the party. Being trapped in the elevator was merely an unfortunate accident with a happy ending. He’d apologize to no one.

“She’s right,” he said. “Rachel is the best person I know.”

Her mother sputtered. “Well…yes…of course she is.”

He touched her arm. “Enjoy the party.” He walked away.

They’d sort it all out later. They were family. If Rachel didn’t show up for work, her boss would call the cops. That’s how reliable she was. He blamed himself, really. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t stolen her panties. On the other hand, he’d be in the record books for the bluest balls ever if they hadn’t gotten stuck in the elevator. No regrets.

Rory went off to find the night manager to report the broken window on the second floor. Sleeping upstairs would be a safety issue for their guests—a tree could crash through the roof or another branch could blow into a window. Thankfully all of the older guests were in downstairs rooms. Of course, at the moment, all the guests were fat, dumb and happy. The band played on. Empty champagne bottles littered the tables. The cake sat decimated.

Rachel’s brother Mark crossed the ballroom toward him with purpose. “What the hell is going on?” He threw his hands in the air the same way Rach always did when frustrated.

Looking around, Rory said, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You and Rachel are fighting.” More hands. Bigger waving. “Mom and Rachel are fighting.”

“Rach and I are not fighting.” She just blew him like a trumpet. “As for her and her mom, they’ll work it out. They always do.” Rory didn’t have time for this shit. “Walk with me.”

They searched for the manager. The wind blew so commandingly, the building rattled periodically. He noticed they’d had some of the larger windows had been boarded up since the start of the reception, probably to protect them from the wind. He had no idea things had gone from bad to worse in the course of a few short hours. Rory waved to his father and brother to rally them around.

They huddled together to form a plan. Blankets and pillows needed to be collected for the guests to use. The lights flickered and went out again. The music stopped. The buzz of panic could be heard from the small ballroom. Lighters flicked on like a Bon Jovi concert. Candles would need to be found until the generator was up and running, although the generator’s purpose was to keep the refrigerators and other essential services operating.

“Rory! Rory!” Rachel bustled toward him, the fabric of her dress bunched in her fists.

“Rachel! Over here.” She folded herself into his embrace. “Sweetie, you stay with the guests. We’re going to scrounge for supplies.”

“I want to stay with you,” she protested, which would be highly impractical dressed the way she was. He’d worry less about her if she stayed put.

“Where’s your room key?” He held out his hand. “I’ll bring you something to change into.” End of discussion. Yes, she was an equal partner in their marriage, but in this matter she needed to rely on his judgment to keep her safe from harm. Me man. You woman. If that made him a controlling husband, a brute, so be it.

The manager held up a key. “I have a passkey.”

“I’m going with you,” she persisted. “Where you go, I go.”

“Gram needs you, Rachel,” Mark said, which was a better way of handling the situation. “Mom too.”

She bit her lip and swayed, still wearing his jacket. “I suppose you’re right.” Several wisps of hair escaped from her arsenal of hair accessories. She never got around to reapplying her lipstick. Mascara smudged around her eyes from her latest crying jag. Still beautiful. “Be careful. Both of you.” She scanned the group of men—family, friends and lodge employees equipped with flashlights. “All of you. Please be careful.”

Chapter Five

Gram forced her room key in Rachel’s hand. “You take it. I insist.”

“Gram, no.” It was bad enough that many of the guests, along with the photographer, the band and lodge staff, were sleeping in chairs and on the floor. Rachel’s grandmother would sleep in her own room tonight, especially with her bad hip. Rachel would sleep in a wet ditch outside in the harsh elements before she’d ask anyone else to. “Rory and I have the rest of our lives.” And they planned a nice honeymoon. And they’d already pleasured each other, but that was better left unsaid.

Desire pinged through her. It’s official. I’m a tramp.

“There’s no substitute for a wedding night,” her gram said with a knowing twinkle in her eye. Rachel hoped she’d still have a twinkle in her eye at her gram’s age.

Rachel turned toward commotion behind her. Just like in a movie, Rory strode toward her, nearly in slow motion. The conquering hero, clad in faded jeans that hugged his hot bod and a black T-shirt stretched across his incredibly strapping chest. Did I enter a portal into an alternate reality of a Hollywood version of my otherwise boring life? Was the meaning of life an incredible orgasm?

Behind him marched his merry men, Mark, C.J. and some other young, able-bodied guys. He proudly handed her a bag as if it held Excalibur, but she knew it held a change of clothes. God, don’t let this be the pink teddy and Vic.

“We boarded up the window on the second floor.” He looked like Superman. Her hero.

She peeked in the bag, snapping it quickly shut. “Seriously, Rory. This is what you brought me to wear?”

He shrugged. “What?”

“It’s our wedding night.” In the bag was old college T-shirt and her capri sweatpants with the word Fresh printed across the ass. She peeked again to find fuzzy wool socks. Sometimes, like now for instance, she wished he didn’t know her so well.

“You love those sweatpants,” he protested.

“I love to wear them around the house where no one can see me.” She didn’t even let him see them until they’d dated for six months. She’d half expected the outfit to chase him off for good. The truth was, the sweatpants were not that “fresh” anymore. She’d had them since college and wore them often. They were a necessity when sick or sad.

“I wanted you to be as comfortable as possible sleeping on the cold, hard ground.” He accentuated the words cold and hard.

Gram shoved her room key at him. “Here.” She winked at him.

Rory held up his hand. “No, no, no. We’ll be fine.”

Everyone sort of disbanded to let the newlyweds fight, but also to scope out a nice chunk of real estate to sleep on. The padded chairs were already taken. The ones in the lobby in front of the fireplace were prime property. People were sharing four or five to a room downstairs. According to a battery-operated radio, roads were flooded and trees uprooted. Their wedding and the surrounding area had been officially declared a disaster area by the governor. Power was out. Duh! Crews were working through the night to restore basic services.

Rachel took her comfort clothes to the bathroom and changed by flashlight. She scrubbed the makeup off her face and brushed her teeth. When she returned, Rory had spread a blanket out in a quiet corner near the fireplace, close enough to see the flicker of the flame. Not close enough to feel the heat. A couple of people played a friendly game of cards by firelight and flashlight. Melanie curled up in a chair with a book and book light while Mark softly snored on the floor next to her with his iPod.

Everyone told Rachel it wasn’t her fault, so why did she feel so responsible? She didn’t even want this center-ring circus wedding. It was the marriage that mattered, not the wedding. Theirs was off to a rocky start.

Rory patted the blanket. “Sorry about my poor fashion sense.”

She plopped down next to him. “I’m sorry.” Looking down at her attire, she added, “This is perfect. It beats the hell out of sleeping in a nine-hundred-dollar dress.”

“Nine hundred dollars!” Everyone turned to stare except Mark, who slept on, oblivious to the rest of the world. Rory lowered his voice to a whisper. “Nine hundred dollars. Are you shitting me? My tux is a rental.”

“It wasn’t really nine hundred dollars.” She gave him a peck on the lips. “It was nine hundred and ninety-nine ninety-nine.” Rachel smiled brightly. “Plus tax. And alterations.” Fluffing her pillow, she asked, “Wasn’t it worth every penny?”

It’s not like he had to pay for it. She was the one who took a sack lunch to work for the last two months and would be for the next ten or more. Rachel wasn’t done paying for the dress yet. Better not mention to him the interest racking up on her credit card.

“You looked like a million bucks,” he said. “You look like a million bucks.”

They both reclined, cuddling up together. Rory spooned her. His desire for a proper wedding night pressed firm against the R in Fresh.

“Can’t you do something about that?” she inquired.

“Not right here.” His hand latched onto her left breast like he owned it. She guessed he was owed that one liberty.

Rachel closed her eyes. His thumb brushed rhythmically back and forth against her nipple to a tune only he heard. Someone coughed. Rory’s cock remained firm. So did her nipple. The fire in the fireplace slowly faded. The fire in her belly burned warm.

“I’m not going to do it here,” she informed him, like that might tame the beast.

He pulled a hairpin from her hair, which was still clinging dutifully to the upswept style. “How about the bride’s dressing room?”

The suggestion was the equivalent of throwing another log on her internal fire. “The Duncans are sleeping in there.”

“The Duncans?” he repeated.

Turning to glance over her shoulder at him, she said, “You met them—remember?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, but somehow she doubted he remembered. Why should he? They were longtime friends of her family. “There’s an alcove near the front desk where the phones are.”

“Rory, be serious.” She wasn’t going to add insult to injury by displaying their wedding night lovemaking to anyone who might wander by on the way to the bathroom. Maybe they could ask the videographer to record it. They could burn copies and send it out as Christmas gifts. Merry Fucking Christmas. I’m a Ho Ho Ho!

How was alcove sex even done? Would he jam her up against the wall and hold her in place with his penis? A flash of warmth spread higher and lower in her abdomen.

He switched his grasp to the right breast, same thumb, same tune. “The car?”

“The storm.” Hello! She rolled over to face him, mostly to stop the nipple thumbing and end his dry humping of her “fresh” ass. Looking into his gorgeous face and those green eyes that looked more like black in the dark room didn’t help. “Stop it. We can’t. Not here,” she whispered.

Looking sad and rejected, he asked, “What happened to the elevator girl?”

“She remembered she’s married.”

“Just kiss me,” he said. “That’s all I want. Then I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” Just a cup of coffee, he’d said to her once upon a time, that’s all I want. Then I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. She didn’t believe him then any more than she believed him now.

Rachel placed her hand on his cheek. She ran her palm along the stubble and leaned in to kiss him. The kiss deepened. Tongues spun and swirled together in a passionate freefall of emotion. He rolled her onto her back, hovering above her.

His teeth playfully tugged at her lower lip. “I lied.”

“Where have I heard that before?” She ran her finger along his lip and he wrapped his lips around her finger just like she’d wrapped her lips around his dick earlier that day. He essentially proceeded to give her a finger job, licking and sucking, showing off his impressive wares.

“You won’t regret it,” Rory promised. That she believed.

“Hear me out before you say no.” Her fingers combed through his hair. “There’s a bathroom…”

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “You want me to make love to you in a bathroom?” Said the guy who’d just suggested and alcove and a car.

She put her finger to his lips. “A really nice bathroom. Ladies’ rooms are always nicer than men’s restrooms.” Reading his mind, she added, “It has no windows, no outside walls. And no foot traffic because it’s upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” His brow drew together.

“The broken windows have been boarded up, right? We’ll take the stairs,” she said without waiting for an answer to her first question. “It’ll be very private.” Who in their right mind would venture upstairs—besides them?

He paused, probably to weigh the danger versus the reward. Rory shook his head. “And risky.”

She pecked at his lips. “The storm has died down some. I think the worst is over.”

Shaking his head, he said, “No way.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” She ran her hand along his firm cock to entice him.

“Let’s go.”

As quietly as they could, he grabbed a pillow and she snatched both blankets. They each grabbed a flashlight and tiptoed their way out of the lobby to the stairs on the far side of the lodge that would take them closest to the bathroom destination. When they reached the second floor, he scooped her up in his arms. Whether it was his version of carrying her over the bathroom threshold or in case there remained any broken glass, she wasn’t sure.

Rory used his back to push the ladies’ room door open. “Nice.” He set her down.

“Didn’t I tell you?” She flashed the light around at the lounge area decorated in fanciful coordinating colors of mauves and teals from floor to ceiling. A built-in vanity lined one wall with a mirror for applying makeup. She scooted her rear onto the vanity. “How about right here?” She already knew he liked mirrors. She did too. She considered mounting one on their bedroom ceiling.

He centered himself between her legs. “It is the right height. Not exactly romantic,” he noted. “It’s more pornish.”

Rachel lightly pushed him away and hopped off, turning around to face the mirror. She laid her chest on the cool, smooth surface of the counter, spreading her legs and jutting her ass toward him. “How about this?”

His hand traveled along the curve of her ass. “I’ve created a monster.” Rory set his flashlight on the vanity so the light bulb shot up and reflected off the mirror. His free hand slipped between her body and the counter to grab her breast while the other hand continued to slowly appreciate the fine line of her ass. His erection pressed firmly into the crevice between her butt cheeks and he moved back enough to smack her bottom playfully. “I’ve got a better idea.”

She stood up and watched him take a chair from a conversation area and place it in front of the door to slow down any unwanted visitors. He placed her flashlight the same as his, only on the far side of the vanity. The room glowed with romantic light. Not exactly candlelight, but they could pretend. He took the blanket and spread it over the other wingback chair.

He bowed gracefully. “M’lady. Your throne awaits.”

She curtsied.

“But first, drop your drawers,” he added.

Faced with being naked and vulnerable, she hesitated. Moments earlier, this was what she’d wanted. A lady wants to be seduced. “Will you…do it?”

“Sure.” He tugged on the sweatpants while she wiggled out of them. “My pleasure.” They discarded them in a heap on the carpeted floor.

“Now what?”

“Sit.” Once she did, he tossed the pillow at her feet and dropped to his knees. “Perfect.” Rory ran his hands along her thighs. “Relax.”

Her legs were clamped closed just like her mother had always advised her. No good could come of spreading them, she’d always warned Rachel. His touch softened her stance enough for him to ease her knees apart. Gentle hands caressed her inner thighs. “Smooth.”

She took in a deep breath of anticipation when his thumbs came dangerously close to her pussy, but they softly made their way back down to her knees by way of her outer thighs. He was the tease, not her.

“What’s this, now?” He gently kissed the little bleeding heart tattoo on her hip, a reminder of the heartbreak from college she couldn’t forget. In the grand scheme of life, the guy was nothing, a nobody, who haunted her now. His memory needed to be excised from her marriage.

“Spring break. Tequila,” she admitted with a shrug.

“There is so much I don’t know about you. Why don’t we lose our shirts?” he suggested. He threw his T-shirt next to her sweatpants on the floor. She admired his flat abs and lean, firm chest where not much hair grew, just enough Rachel thought. She leaned forward and he peeled her shirt over her head. “Nice.”

His compliment caused her to glance away. Rachel cupped her breast and squeezed lightly. This was different than the spontaneity of the elevator and their pre-wedding tryst, causing her some performance anxiety. His knuckles dragged over her skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

Except for her warm, fuzzy socks, she was naked before him. Her legs spread like a wanton tramp. Did he like what he saw?

Rory leaned in and kissed her other breast. The tip of his tongue teased the tip of her nipple. She brushed her thumb over the budding nipple in her hand. She never thought her nipples were particularly sensitive, but she felt the pleasure in her core almost as if a string of ecstasy connected one to the other. Sometimes she thought he read her mind, because his fingers combed through the small patch of hair that remained between her legs. She mimicked him with her fingers feathering the hair at his temple.

His lips closed in around her areola, drawing her flesh into his mouth. He sucked tenderly. His tongue flicked rhythmically at her nipple. His teeth skimmed her skin lightly.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

Releasing her nipple, he swiped at it again with his tongue before answering. “You have no idea how much.” His lips cut a path down her abdomen to the crease of her leg. “Scootch down a little, like you’re at the gynecologist.”

She shot him an apprehensive look. Not the words a girl wants to hear.

Caressing her outer thighs, he said, “Trust me, honey.”

She did trust him and complied. Her heart beat double time, anticipating his fingers in her pussy again. Rachel wanted his thick cock inside her. She needed to be one with her husband. Some say a marriage isn’t legal without the penetration, the ultimate declaration of love and union. That’s why she tempted the wrath of Mother Nature to finalize the union they’d pledged. That and she wanted another glorious orgasm to swell and ripple through her.

“Beautiful.” He petted her labia in broader strokes than before. He was so close she felt his warm breath on her pussy lips. He laid a tender kiss on those same lips. “I am the luckiest man alive.”

Rachel shuddered from the kiss and the sentiment. She was the lucky one. She squeezed both of her breasts, like pinching herself from a dream. Kisses fell like warm raindrops between her legs, landing randomly, each one anticipated yet startling. All the while his hands stroked, caressed and kneaded the flesh of her thighs, hips and buttocks. Suddenly, he licked her slit long and slow. She gasped. “Do that again,” she sighed. He did, but not just that. With his thumbs he spread her outer lips, pinning them apart and painted her pussy abstractly with his tongue, like a true artist. Up and down. Back and forth. Side to side. In and out. Each stroke of his tongue brought a new sensation for her to treasure. He had it all covered from feathery licks with the tip of his tongue that caused her to sigh, to powerful flicks against her clit, making her gasp.

She didn’t think it was possible to scoot any closer to his lips without falling off the chair, but she did. Rachel wanted more. She hooked her legs over the arms of the chair. Her legs spread even farther apart until she felt nearly inside out. He did to her clit like she had done to his cock, licking and sucking and swirling. Her pussy warmed, the heat spreading in all directions. She felt the climax building, but wanted to ward it off in order to keep him between her legs forever.

What turned her on most was watching his zeal to please her. She raked her fingers through his hair. “What do I taste like?”

He stopped licking and returned to petting. With a smile, he replied, “Sweet, but you knew that.”

Yes, she did, but hearing him say so sent a pulse of pleasure like a mini orgasm to her clit. Rachel leaned in and he rose up to meet her lips. Licking at his lips and tongue, she breathed in her scent, tasting herself on his lips just like she had tasted herself on Vic. Only Rory was alive and warm. His scent mixed with hers, creating a one-of-kind perfume.

She gasped with delight when he slipped a finger inside her pussy. The finger slid slowly in and out of her slick channel in time to his tongue entering and withdrawing from her mouth.

“Rory, I need you inside me,” she whispered against his lips.

“Not yet.” He removed his finger, replacing it with his thumb, which moved in and out, in and out, probing and churning. Rory left her lips to return his full attention to her pussy. Easing his thumb out, he rubbed the pad against her nub and inserted his finger again into her pussy. He repeated this pattern of entering, rubbing and withdrawing as her hips pulsed to meet his exploration. She was so wet and ready for him. He withdrew his finger, leaving a void. Why was he torturing her, his wife? He applied pressure to her anus with his wet index finger.

She tightened against the intrusion.

He licked at her pussy lips again causing a shiver of pleasure to course through her. “Relax.” His finger eased into her anus.

“Wrong hole,” she protested. If she had one more hole, she’d be a bowling ball. With his finger in her ass and his thumb again in her pussy massaging her passage, Rory pressed his tongue firmly against her nub. He alternated pressure and intensity, pressing and rubbing his powerful tongue until she trembled in unison with her groan of pleasure. It felt like a grenade of ecstasy exploded in her belly, sending shards of bliss and happiness in every possible direction. She tightened and contracted around his finger and thumb. The bursts of satisfaction took hold of her entire being.

“Damn.” He wiped his mouth on his arm. “That was cool.”

“Rory,” she whimpered, melting back into the chair, her muscles taking on the consistency of gelatin. Her legs dropped together.

He kissed her abdomen and pushed up to standing. Rory blew out a breath. “I need a minute.” His hand pressed down against his erection, which strained against his jeans.

She eased her legs together. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, sweetie.” He paced around in a tight circle. “I’m telling you, honey, you can do no wrong as far as I’m concerned.”

“What if I dropped to all fours at Christmas dinner and barked like a dog?”

He laughed. “Okay. You got me. We’d have to have a serious talk about that.” He ambled off to the bathroom.

She heard the water run. He pounded on the soap dispenser and then the paper towel dispenser choked out its wares. He was too quiet. Her hand covered her exposed pubic hair. Why had she listened to her crazy, old grandmother? She let him stick his finger up her ass and liked it so much she probably nearly put his eye out with her climax. At least it felt that powerful. She wouldn’t even want her gynecologist to stick his finger up there if her very life depended on it.

Rory wandered back in, his mood unreadable. She waited to take her cue from him. Rachel risked sneaking upstairs in order to do what they’d denied themselves for so long. Too long. Sex. The oral sex felt so good at the time. Her belly fluttered recalling his fingers filling her pussy and his lips kissing her clit. She longed to be joined with him in the ultimate expression of commitment and love. Maybe she was simply too much work for the average man.

He dragged his hand along his face. “Whew!”

What did that mean? She went to reach for her clothes, feeling exposed and, well, naked.

Pointing a commanding finger at her, he said, “Don’t touch those.”

Chapter Six

Rachel snatched her hand back to her body. “Okay. I just thought…”

“I’m sorry. You’re probably sore,” Rory said. He’d poked her and licked her and poked her some more.

“No,” Rachel was quick to say, but it was a lie. She had to be, unless she had a titanium-plated vagina.

“I…I had to stop.” He shook his head. “If I kept on, I wouldn’t have made it past the lips of your hot, juicy pussy,” he said to tease her and set her mind at ease. “I was so turned on—still am.” He blew out another breath. “I just thought after that award-winning blowjob I got earlier today…”

“What blowjob?” she said demurely.

He wagged his finger at her. “I had an erotic encounter with a sexy siren. She sucked the sap out of me.” Rory came to tower over her. Planting his hands on the armrests of the chair, he zoomed in for a kiss. “I figured after that, I’d be able to have a little more self-control.”

She tilted her head and said, “There’s nothing wrong with your control.”

He rose to standing, towering over her. She rested her head against the chair looking up at him and feathered her fingers over her breasts, watching him. Rory unfastened the clasp of his jeans, slowly. They pooled around his ankles and he tugged them off along with his boxers. His dick hadn’t softened any. The idea of bending her across the vanity and taking her from behind appealed to him, but this was their wedding night. Face to face was called for. Besides, the entire time he’d tongued her, his cock wanted her just like this. He owed her a night of champagne and candlelight, rose petals and bubble baths. She deserved chocolate-covered strawberries and room service. Not this and yet she opened wide for him. Eagerly.

Her hand reached out to stroke him once. He shuddered from her tender touch. Her pussy lay stretched out before him, so delicate and beautiful, it was no wonder women’s vaginas were so often compared to flowers. Hers was lovely. It smelled of honeysuckle and…and…Rachel. It should be immortalized for future generations, the gold standard of pussy. His impulse was to swirl his tongue along her slit again. His hand skimmed his whiskers, reminding him his face was like sandpaper. He dropped to his knees again and grabbed her hips, dragging her to the edge again.

She laughed with delight. “I can’t wait to be one with you.” Her pussy lips contracted before his very eyes like a petite orgasm and he knew it was true.

With his hand, he began to pet her more. He needed her wet again for him. “Did you do like we talked about?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Put in a change of address?”

His finger dove into her like a pleasurable punishment for her flippant answer. She sharply took in a breath. “Let me ask again.” His finger dug into her, but her hips rose to meet his thrust. “Did you do like we talked about, or do I need a condom?” He didn’t want the barrier between them.

“Yes,” she managed to gasp out.

His finger slid in and out. She was plenty lubricated. “Yes I need a condom, or yes you’re on the Pill?”

“I’m…yes…fuck me,” she whimpered breathlessly.

His free hand glided over her belly. “Don’t get me wrong, I want you to be the mother of my babies, but not just yet.” He wanted and needed her all to himself for a while. Rory wanted it all, Rachel and him as a young newlywed couple and then as a family.

She nodded, but her eyes were heavy with smoky desire. “Me too.”

Rory withdrew his finger, centering the head of his penis in the recently vacated opening. He noticed his cock still had a trace of her lipstick around the rim of the head. He wiped at it with his thumb and smiled, remembering their elevator tryst. He exchanged a glance with her. Rachel smiled too. Remembering too, if he had to guess.

She took him by surprise when she grabbed his shaft and rubbed the head of his cock against her clit a few times and moaned. Biting at her lip, she guided his cock back to her entrance and he slowly eased just the head inside Rachel’s passage as her hands slid up his chest.

“Ah,” she gasped, clasping her hands on his shoulders. He groaned something similar, withdrawing the head. “More.”

He placed his palms against her thighs, spreading her open farther and did as she asked, driving a little farther. He feared hurting her, knowing she hadn’t been with a man in years. He slowly eased in and out, despite his impulse to plunge his cock into her.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Rachel thrust her hips at him, taking him almost completely inside, hugging and rippling along the length of his cock. “Mmmmm,” she moaned, closing her eyes. “Again.”

Rory seized her hips and pushed into her again and again. His eyes darted back and forth between watching her beautiful flushed face and the ultimate visual of his cock vanishing into her pussy only to reappear again glistening from her juices over and over. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” She matched his force thrust for thrust.

He considered manipulating her clit again, but in the last twelve hours he’d rubbed the hell out of it. Rory didn’t want to break it. He kept recalling what his father and brother had said. She was his wife. So why did he want to say filthy words to her, do bad things to her? They’d advised him to keep his deviant “man” thoughts to himself.

Rory rhythmically tapped her clit lightly a few times.

Rachel rotated her hips up toward his touch. “Oh…oh Rory.” Her eyes closed. “Again, please. Harder.”

Rory obliged, gently patting her pussy. She bit at her lip and gasped each time.

He pulled her tight against his body, grinding her clit against his lower abdomen. Every time he drove into her, his body butted firmly against the nub, doing the pressing and rubbing for him.

She pulsed her clit against him each time. “I’m coming.”

“Come for me, baby.” The sooner she came again, the sooner he could fill her full of his desire. He had a lot of desire for her that he’d been denying himself. Knowing she was so close to the end, the familiar tightening and building took over his body in anticipation. Instinct clouded his judgment. All he could sense was his own selfish desire. For her. He just hoped she could beat him to the finish. Once he came, he’d be no use to her. She was nearly panting and he was nearly about to fail her. Rory took a chance and pressed his palm firmly against her mound. “Say my name,” he coaxed her.

“Ah.” The sound caught in her throat in a growl. Rachel clamped down on the back of his neck with one hand. Her other hand pulled him toward her, holding him there. “Rory!”

He felt the pulsating of her pussy around his cock just as intensely as he’d felt her climax squeezing around his thumb and finger earlier. Her pussy quivered now the same way it had trembled at the mercy of his tongue. She’d never be able to sneak a fake orgasm past him. He had her figured out. The throbbing of her sex around his massaged him into his own climax and he exploded into her. His head fell into the crook of her neck. He nearly laughed and cried at the same time.

“Oh. My. God.” He ground his pelvis into hers and she moaned, shivering out another spasm. “Jeez. Fuck. I know that’s not romantic, but damn. I love you.”

“Me too.” Her words were little more than wisps of air imitating words.

* * * * *

Rory woke with a raging hard-on. Not unusual. What struck him as unusual was Rachel spooned against him. At last. They were spread out on the floor of the ladies’ room lounge, a blanket beneath them, one on top. They shared the pillow. He did the things he’d longed to do for the last year, like breathing in the fresh, floral scent of her hair, sharing the warmth created by their combined body heat and imparting a single good-morning-rise-and-shine-sleepy-head kiss to her shoulder.

She stretched, arching her back, which caused her warm, round rump to brush against his erection. “Mmmm,” she murmured.

Encouraged by the early morning reception, he let his hands roam freely over her body. She sighed and moaned and squirmed. Rachel giggled and wriggled when he found a ticklish spot.

“What time is it, Mr. Callahan?” Her eyes remained closed.

After a second kiss to her shoulder, he replied, “Five-thirty, Mrs. Callahan.”

She yawned. “People will be getting up soon.”

Rory’s fingers danced across her nipples. “If they’re anywhere near as uncomfortable as me, they will.”

She ground her backside against his hard cock. “Anything I can do to alleviate your discomfort?”

She couldn’t do anything about his sore back or the kink in his neck, but with a little work she could make the swelling in his groin area go away. Temporarily.

Rory eased the sweatpants down her hips, exposing Rachel’s firm ass. He caressed the smooth skin. She moaned her approval. He pulled his boxer shorts down and fit his shaft snugly against her ass. They fit together perfectly. He pressed against her smooth softness as he bit playfully at the back of her neck. His cock pushed between her thighs, skimming the folds of her pussy as he thrust in and out, teasing her clit with the tip of his cock.

Her body was made for sex. Her mind too. So far she’d been up for just about anything. Rachel pressed against him again. When she did, he slipped his dick inside her slick pussy from behind.

She gasped. “I’ve missed your cock. Dreamt about it last night.”

“He missed you.” His hand gripped her hip as they thrust against each other again and again. Being inside her was like being home. Wherever her pussy was, that would be where his heart was. “I will never get tired of making love to you.”

“Well, not after a day and half,” she chuckled. Rachel hooked her leg over his, spreading her legs wide. “Oh baby.”

Rory wished he could see her sweet pussy from his vantage point, but he took his cue from her and palmed her mound, gently manipulating her clit as she jostled against him, struggling to get closer. Her breathing fell quick and heavy. He recognized the signs of her climax nearing. He drove deeper and faster until she cried out.

Pulling out, she rolled onto her back and he settled between her legs, entering her again. Her lips peppered his neck and nipped at his earlobe. Rachel’s nails lightly skimmed the skin of his back and down to his ass. He shot into her with a deep groan when she firmly grabbed his butt cheeks and pulled him deeper inside her, holding him there.

They lay silently spent together for a few moments, him still on top of her. “Am I too heavy?”

She shook her head.

He rolled off her. “We should get up, get dressed.”

He needed to assess the damage outside. There would be downed trees, mud and standing water to contend with. Hopefully no one else’s car had been damaged. He felt bad enough about that, but it served C.J. right after all the times he’d snitched on Rory while they were growing up. “Rory fed his broccoli to the dog.” “Rory smoked a cigarette.” “Rory skipped school.” He’d said one day he’d get even. Too bad everyone’s weekend got ruined. And the lodge was a mess with broken windows, missing roof tiles and battered awnings. And after their quarter-million-dollar renovation, but that wasn’t his fault. It was Mother Nature. She was fierce.

“Will you go on ahead?” Rachel cuddled into his embrace. “I want…no, I need to get cleaned up as best I can.”

She was a sight, her eyes full of sleep. Her hair had tumbled down in places. The pins held firmly in other spots. Beautiful.

“I’ll keep the masses at bay.” In other words, her mother. She’d be looking for them soon. If she found the couple in a public restroom, fucked senseless, Audrey McAllister would be mortified. Rachel would be humiliated in absentia when the news filtered through the family. She had an image to uphold. He understood that. As long as behind closed doors she let the sex kitten within her out. “You take your time.”

Minutes later he was bouncing down the stairs. In the lobby, guests were milling around while others slept. Some culinary genius managed to make coffee. He assumed due in part to the generator. Day-old pastries were set out. Rory took his coffee and a Danish outside.

What a difference a day makes. Outside the sun broke through the clouds to shine brightly, if not warmly. A chill hung in the early morning, but the rains and wind had stopped. Signs of them lingered everywhere. Branches littered the grounds. Standing water remained in expansive puddles. No power yet, but the day manager motored up to the entryway, telling him the roads were clear.

Within the hour Rory was helping people pack out for the ride home. Opinions were varied, some people joking about the implications of being married in the midst of the mother of all wind storms. Others offered condolences for a wedding ruined by fate or bad luck. He just shrugged. It was what it was. Unforgettable.

Chapter Seven

Rachel slid her cardkey in the opening before turning the knob. She heard water running. Rory. Before closing the door, she put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. “It’s me,” she called out.

“Hey, baby,” he replied.

She peeled her shirt over her head, pausing to sniff her armpits, and then skimmed the sweatpants away. The birdbath she’d taken in the ladies’ room wasn’t holding up. She needed a real shower. The rooms had all been checked and hers was cleared for use. Rory’s hadn’t fared so well. It had water damage from a leaky roof. She pushed through the bathroom door naked. His obscured form was visible through the shower curtain.

In the past twenty-four hours they’d had a lot of firsts. First kiss as man and wife, first dance, first fight. They’d shared their first orgasm and their second. They’d fallen asleep together and woke up in each other’s arms. She wanted her couples-first-shower-together badge.

“Most everyone is gone.” A few lingered. Her mother. His folks. Some other holdouts. “Can I…”

“Get in here.”

She smiled from her insides out. He nearly read her mind. Other times he was clueless. Men. He pulled the curtain aside. Rachel stepped into the shower. The spray pelted her skin. Rory was there Johnny-on-the-spot with the soap, lathering it between his hands. His palms smoothed suds from her shoulders to her wrists like frosting a cake. While she rinsed, he squatted and repeated his application on her legs. His touch tickled and tantalized.

Standing, he soaped up his hand and lathered the tuft of hair between her legs.

“Uhm.” She moaned her appreciation.

His fingers cut a soapy path between the folds of her pussy. “I’ve imagined this a hundred times since we met.” He turned her toward the spray, rinsing away the soap.

Turning to face him, she asked, “Only a hundred?” They locked in a kiss.

“Maybe more,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to sound like a pervert.”

Rachel soaped up her hands and stroked his cock. “This,” she murmured dreamily. “I want more of this.”

“Turn around and touch your toes,” he whispered in her ear, the words tickling her.

She giggled and obeyed, turning and bending at the waist, grasping the lip of the tub. She couldn’t fight the flicker of embarrassment about her ass in the air, but the curiosity of what pleasurable act he might perform made her pulse race through her body.

He kneeled behind her. “Someday, I’m going to fuck you in that beautiful ass.” His fingers grazed her anus and she tensed.

“You will not!” An unexpected current of pleasure traveled through her at the prospect. “Not with that monster between your legs.”

Rachel closed her eyes to blindly enjoy the warm water and his lips and teeth nipping at her ass and thighs. She shivered as his tongue traveled from her clit to her asshole. What kind of man did she marry?

His hand caressed her bottom. “Baby?”

“Yes,” she replied sheepishly, still bent over, not sure what to expect. What might he do to her next? He’d breached nearly every hole she had. His tongue knew her better than she knew herself.

“I want to make love to you anywhere and everywhere, but right now,” his tongue slid along her folds before tickling at her clit, “I want to do it in a bed.”

She stood up. “That sounds nice for a change.”

Patting her rump, he said, “You finish getting cleaned up, I’ll think of some way to get you dirty. Let’s meet on the bed in five minutes.”

Rachel turned to peck at his waiting lips. “Two.”

A minute later, she wandered out to the center of the room where Rory lay stretched across the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist. She dropped hers to the floor.

“Climb aboard,” he invited. “The train is leaving the station.”

Crawling across the big king bed like a cat in heat, she straddled him. His erection settled between her legs beneath the towel. Rachel leaned in to kiss him with the passion she’d kept bottled up for too long.

“Sit on my face, baby.”

“What? No.” She froze in place.

He didn’t wait for her to comply. Instead, Rory scooted down. He nudged her forward. She protested in her mind only. The protests stopped when his lips and tongue swirled and lapped at her pussy lips. “Mmmmm,” he murmured.

She grabbed the headboard with one hand. She planted the other firmly on the pillow to brace herself. How could this feel so much better than the previous night when he’d eaten her like a buffet? Rachel instinctively swiveled her hips above him. Unlike the previous night, he’d had the control. Her pussy was under his domain to do with as he’d pleased, though it had pleased her as well. Now she was at the helm. She undulated above him, essentially fucking his mouth and tongue in whatever manner she desired.

Rory spread her outer lips apart to lick at her clit. It was as if he sensed that second when she couldn’t take any more without coming—he’d abandon her clit to slide his tongue along her slit, letting the intensity subside only to assail her again. She heard herself moan and groan and nearly grunt, but couldn’t keep the sounds bottled up.

Her hips rolled and surged back and forth and side to side. When his finger slid inside her, she added up and down to her repertoire. “Oh…oh.”

“Come on, baby,” he encouraged her. “Grind your pussy into my mouth. Fuck my tongue.” He slipped his finger out and shot his tongue into her pussy. He interchanged every few seconds between his finger and his tongue filling her core.

She shook her head and bit her lip. His words shocked and excited her, adding fire to the heat of desire she felt washing over her. Despite the warmth, she shivered at his touch. Rachel followed his instruction, pulsing her pussy toward his lips and tongue. “I’m so close,” she whimpered.

He added a second finger into her scorching hole. Rachel thrust against his fingers, lips and tongue. Where did he learn to do this? Or was she doing it? She was using him for her own wicked pleasure and he liked it.

“Ah…oh…Rory!” Her knuckles turned white from the grip she had on the headboard. “I…I…oh.” A tremor rocked her body, the quaking she felt all the way to her painted-pink toenails.

Rory climbed quickly back up between her legs. He centered her over his erection, plunging it into her pulsating vagina before her climax was complete. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his towel. They both groaned their mutual pleasure. She squeezed tightly around him, savoring the final quakes of her climax.

She dipped her tongue into his mouth, licking at his lips like he’d licked at her pussy lips seconds earlier.

“Fuck me, baby.” His hands on her hips guided their thrusts. Clutching his shoulders, she pounded against his rock-hard cock. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry.”

With his final thrust before climaxing, he ground their groins together. The power and completeness of the act, along with the animalistic grunt he voiced, caused a second orgasm to erupt in her—or maybe it was a continuation the first climax, which had never really ended. She matched his groan of gratification.

* * * * *

Rory tossed his duffle bag in the trunk of the car and slammed it shut. “This is it,” he said

The guests were mostly gone. The wedding now a memory. Their honeymoon loomed in the future. Their life together waited.

He opened the passenger door for her to climb in, securing it behind her. She sighed at his glorious form rounding the front of the car. Rachel marveled at his powerful fingers wrapped around the keys. He would poke the key in the ignition like he’d poked his cock in her just an hour ago. Then he’d grip the steering wheel same as he’d gripped her hips earlier. Everything made her think of sex. Sex with him.

Rory settled into the driver’s side. “Cancun, here we come.” He wriggled his eyebrows at her mischievously, making her smile wide.

“Do you think our wedding was any indication of our marriage?” she asked him. Some people believed in omens or signs. She wasn’t sure if she did. Wasn’t a wedding day rain shower good luck? What did a torrential downpour mean? Did gale force winds mean disaster ahead?

“Absolutely,” he replied without hesitation.

“What?” Maybe he hadn’t heard her right. “You think our marriage is going to be a natural disaster of epic proportions, leaving a soggy mess in our wake?”

Rory reached over and squeezed her hand. “I think we’ll weather every storm. After the storm, the sun will come out, just like today, and then we’ll work together to patch the roof or clean up the debris. You and I will make the best of every situation, no matter how bad.”

“You think so?”

“Have a little faith, baby.” He skimmed his hand along her thigh. “We’re going to have our ups and downs, but we’ll make it.”

“Marriage,” Rachel giggled, “the last frontier. The ultimate extreme sport.”

“Not for the faint of heart.” He turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, but quickly died. He tried again with better success. Putting the car in gear, he pulled away from the lodge. “You will not regret it,” Rory promised.

About the Author

Kelli Scott, a former airline employee, spent her career globetrotting the world, leaving broken hearts and empty champagne flutes in every port. Turning over a new leaf, she started her own now-defunct religion, also revolving around champagne. Currently a recluse living on a mountaintop in the Appalachians, she enjoys rock gardening, taxidermy and writing her semi-autobiographical memoirs.

Kelli welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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