by Lauren Rowe
I purse my lips. “It’s funny,” I say. “After all the wedding planning I helped Sarah with, I really don’t have any thumping desire to do it all again, even if it’s for me this time. I think I just wanna show up, basically.”
“Hey, maybe you are a dude, after all,” Josh says. He pokes his fingertip into my crotch. “Are you sure you don’t have a dick and balls under there?”
“Nope. Definitely a vagina and uterus.” I pat my belly.
“Okay, I’ll tell Theresa to talk to you about basic vision and whatever’s on your wish list and she’ll take it from there. Sound good? We’ll both show up and look fucking gorgeous and enjoy whatever treats Theresa’s lined up for us.”
“That sounds really nice.”
“It does, doesn’t it? That’s how I run pretty much my whole life—I just show up looking fucking gorgeous and enjoy the treats.”
I nuzzle my nose into his. “You do that really well, Playboy.” I kiss Josh’s soft lips and I’m instantly aroused. “You know,” I purr. “I thanked you for my diamond necklace and bracelet, but I never thanked you for my beautiful ring.”
“Oh,” Josh says, raising an eyebrow. “Well, shit, we’d better remedy that situation right away.”
“Here we are,” the butler says, out of nowhere, making us both flinch. He lays down a platter of desserts on the table.
“Change of plans,” Josh says abruptly. “Sorry, Jeeves. We’ve decided we’d prefer privacy for the rest of the night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just bring the desserts inside. I’m sure we’ll nibble them later.”
“Yes, sir.”
The butler picks up the platter of scrumptious looking desserts and quickly disappears into the suite.
The moment we hear the front door open and close, Josh smirks wickedly. “Guess what, my lovely fiancée?”
“What?”
He reaches into his pocket and tosses a poker chip onto the table. “It’s time for your bachelorette party.”
One Hundred Twenty-Two
Kat
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed in our hotel bedroom, completely naked except for the startling array of diamonds decorating me, while Josh stands before me, still fully dressed in his immaculate tuxedo, looking like Richard Gere wishes he looked in Pretty Woman. Holy hell, he’s an utterly gorgeous man.
“It turns me on seeing you naked and dripping in diamonds,” Josh says, reaching out to caress one of my erect nipples. “Now I wanna see you naked and dripping down your thighs.”
“I’m already well on my way,” I manage to say. But I can barely speak. I’ve suddenly got the delicious idea that Josh’s reference to my “bachelorette party” means I’m about to behold the sexiest man alive re-enacting Magic Mike just for me, and I can barely keep it together at the mere thought.
Josh heads over to his laptop and “Kiss Me” by Lil Wayne begins playing.
Immediately, I giggle with nostalgia. This is the song Josh taunted me with (and brought me to orgasm with) on the dance floor during our first night out together in Las Vegas. “A walk down memory lane,” I say. “God, that feels like a lifetime ago.”
Josh grins mischievously. “That night was when I first realized you’re not like anyone else.”
I smile from ear to ear. “Are you gonna dance for me the way you did on the dance floor that night—only this time with a lot less clothes on, hopefully?”
“Ssh. No questions. That poker chip gets me my fantasy, not yours.”
I giggle. “Sure, Playboy. This whole day has been about your fantasies.”
“It has been.” He looks me up and down lasciviously and bites his lip. “And if it hasn’t been, then it sure as fuck is now. Hot damn, woman, you’re giving me a raging boner. Look at you. Fuck, you’re hot.”
I flash him a naughty smile. “Well, send that raging boner my way—I know just what to do with it.”
“That’s not how this bachelorette party works.”
“No?”
“Nope.” He trails his fingertip over my necklace. “If you want a show, you gotta earn it. Touch yourself for me—turn yourself on. The more turned-on you get, the more articles of clothing come off. Reach orgasm, and you’ll get the fully monty.”
“Oh,” I say. “So you’re a Magic Mike wind-up doll, powered by sexual arousal—like how in Monster’s, Inc. they powered the city with little-kid-screams?”
“Exactly.” He bends down like he’s gonna kiss me, but instead, he gently licks the cleft in my chin. “Guys in strip clubs work for dollar bills—the Playboy works for orgasms.”
I giggle.
“Now come on. No more chitty-chat. It’s time to play my game.” Josh squares himself in front of me and lowers his chin. “Power me up, baby.”
“Yes, sir,” I purr. I reach between my legs, my eyes fixed on his gorgeous face.
“Other hand,” he commands. “I wanna see my rock sparkling between your legs.”
Wordlessly, I switch hands, never looking away from his smoldering eyes.
A few moments later, a soft moan escapes my mouth that seems to flip the “on” switch on my Magic Mike wind-up doll. Josh begins swiveling his hips and singing along to the song, his eyes instantly on fire.
“Oh,” I say. “Work it, baby. You’re so sexy, you should be illegal,” I purr.
Damn, this boy can move.
Another moan involuntarily escapes my mouth, and, in response, Josh removes his jacket with a sexy flourish.
“Oh yeah, take it off,” I growl.
I let out a long, loud moan and Josh immediately begins unbuttoning his shirt, revealing taut muscles, sexy tattoos, and sexy nipples standing on end.
“Oh, Jesus,” I say. “You’re so freaking hot, babe.”
Josh peels off his shirt and throws it across the room, his body gyrating, his eyes devouring me. “Kiss me,” Josh sings along to the song, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Kiss me.”
“Oh my God,” I sputter. “Come here and kiss me. I can’t stand it.”
“Make yourself come first.”
“Get the hell over here and kiss me,” I coo, “and I guarantee I will.”
Much to my happy surprise, Josh complies with my request, gyrating his body an inch away from my face to the bass-heavy beat of the music.
Like a woman possessed, I pull him into my face and devour his abs with my lips and tongue, my fingers fumbling frantically with his belt and zipper. Oh God, I’m hyperventilating with desire. He’s truly the sexiest man alive, especially when he dances.
When I’ve loosened Josh’s belt and pants, I yank his pants down, desperate for him—and I’m met with the unexpected sight of his huge bulge straining behind briefs emblazoned with... a large Batman logo right on his bull’s-eye.
“Holy... Batman, Batman!” I breathe.
Josh laughs. “A little present for you, baby,” he says. “Happy Bachelorette Party, Party Girl.” He leaps back and does a sexy little dance for me, rocking his hips, flexing every muscle on his body, kissing his own biceps—and when I shudder with a little orgasm, he attacks me, sliding his fingers into my wetness and his mouth on my breast.
I stroke the outside of his briefs, grasping frantically at his Batman-bulge—my body boiling over with desire. “Holy Fuck Me Now, Batman,” I breathe, pulling down his briefs and letting his hard-on spring out. “Holy I’m Gonna Get Fucked by Batman, Batman. Holy Batman’s Got a Donkey-Dick, Batman. Holy... Fuck...”
“Okay, you can stop now,” he whispers.
He slides his briefs completely off and hurls them across the room and I lick the side of his enormous shaft like it’s a melting popsicle on a sunny day, and then greedily take his glistening mushroom-tip into my mouth like it’s liquid chocolate.
When Josh’s balls begin rippling against my palm, ramping up for ejaculation, he pulls his donkey-dick out of my mouth, turns me around, bends me forcefully over the edge of the bed, and shocks the living hell out of me by slapping
my ass hard.
I gasp, paralyzed with shock. Not What I Was Expecting at This Particular Moment, Batman. For the love of all things holy, I’m sitting here covered in sparkling diamonds. The man has asked me to be his bride. I’m gonna be this man’s beloved wife—the saintly mother of his child—which is currently growing inside me as surely as Jesus grew inside the Madonna—and he just spanked the motherfucking shit out of me like a two-dollar whore?
But Josh is in the zone, apparently bound and determined to show his fiancée just how much he owns her. He spanks me again—this time even harder—and every nerve ending in my body explodes with sudden, outrageous pleasure.
Josh blasts me one more time and I’m gone, hurtling into an orgasm that sends me reeling with vision-blurring pleasure. When my orgasm finishes, Josh grabs my hair, pulls my head back roughly, and enters my wetness powerfully, like a wild stallion mounting a defenseless mare in a freaking pasture. Holy shitballs, he’s claiming me as his property—there’s no doubt about it. And I love it.
Oh, God, yes. This is good. How the hell does this man always know the shortcut into my deepest desires? Yes, yes, yes. Before Josh, the men I’ve been with have treated me with kid gloves—like a very pretty and fragile trophy—and I guess I thought once Josh asked me to be his wife, he’d fuck me differently somehow—with some sort of newfound reverence and awe. But I should have known better. Josh always knows what’s gonna get me off hardest at any given moment—and right now is no exception.
Oh, God, yes. Delicious. The diamonds around my neck are slapping my skin with each pounding thrust of Josh’s muscled body into mine. I reach down and fondle his balls behind me—God, I love the sensation of those suckers slapping my ass as he fucks the crap out of me.
I slowly move my fingertips from Josh’s balls to the place where his hard donkey-dick is pounding into me, and my body shudders with indescribable pleasure. This man is all mine. Forever.
“I wanna call you Mrs. Faraday,” Josh growls out. “I’m gonna make you my wife.”
I shriek as another orgasm powers through me, twisting my insides violently.
At the sound of my orgasm, Josh pulls out of me, bends down behind me, and begins eating me through the back door, lapping at me, sucking me, gnawing on me—all the while fingering-fucking me, too—and my body responds with complete and utter rapture. Where the fuck did this man learn the stuff he does to me? It’s like he’s some sort of sexual Jedi. Oh, Holy... Oh, shit. I’m on the cusp of truly losing my mind.
A strangled cry lurches out of my throat. Oh my God.
Josh shifts his fingers inside me and begins flicking at me in a way he’s never done before, and it’s more than I can bear. I’m seeing pink. Then yellow. Oh, shit.
He does it again and then again—and it’s like he’s turned a key to a secret room inside me. My skin pricks with goose bumps. My toes curl. I feel like I’m being jolted with an electric current.
Josh flicks inside me again on that same weird spot and, all of a sudden, I feel my entire body unlock for him in a whole new way—a dam bursting inside me—and not figuratively. A shocking torrent of warm fluid absolutely gushes out of me, more than ever before... and pours right into Josh’s waiting mouth.
“Oh my God,” I sputter, my entire body warping and flailing.
Josh laps at me feverishly for several more minutes, cleaning me like he’s licking icing off a cupcake, and finally turns my limp body over onto my back on the bed, slides his massive dick inside me, and thrusts powerfully into me again from this new position. His mouth lands on mine. His warm skin brushes against my breasts and baby bump. Oh God, I’m absolutely enraptured.
This man is my master. I’m his slave—and not as part of a freakin’ role-play. I genuinely have no free will left. I’m his to command—mind, body and soul.
“I’m gonna make you my wife,” Josh growls into my ear. “I’m gonna give you my name.” He kisses me passionately.
“Yes,” I choke out.
Josh grips my face, covering me in kisses. His lips find my ear. “Don’t leave me, Kat,” he says, his muscled body moving against mine, his voice tight. “I need you. Don’t leave me.”
I grab his muscled ass, urging him to burrow into me even more deeply. “I’ll never leave you. I love you. Forever.”
He comes inside me, quite forcefully, growling and shuddering as he does—and when he’s done, he grabs my face again, his eyes blazing with an intensity I’ve never seen from him before. “I can’t live without you. I can’t breathe without you, can’t smile or laugh.” He doesn’t even sound like himself. “I love you. Oh, God, baby, I love you so much, it hurts. I’ve never risked this much before—I’m risking everything. Please, God, don’t leave me, Kat. It would destroy me.” He clutches me to him fiercely, his chest rising and falling violently, his breathing ragged, his skin drenched in sweat. “I’ve never loved like this, Kat. Please.” His words are tumbling out. He’s trembling. He buries his nose into my neck and I stroke his hair, soothing him. “Please, Kat,” he chokes out. “Don’t leave me. I couldn’t overcome it.”
“It’s okay, baby,” I say calmly, stroking his hair. “I’ll never leave you. Never.” I rub his back, coaxing him to calmness. “You’re okay, baby. Ssh. We’re gonna be happy, honey. We’re gonna have a beautiful family, you and me and a pretty baby makes three. And whenever you don’t know what to do, it’ll be okay because I’ll teach you.”
He’s shaking. “I love you, Kat.”
“I love you, too, baby. Don’t you worry about a thing. We’re gonna be happy forever and ever. You’ll see. We’re gonna be a family—a happy family. It’s gonna be better than your wildest dreams. I promise.”
He’s calm now. His breathing is regular. He’s stopped shaking.
“Okay?” I ask.
He nods into the crook of my neck. “Okay.”
I kiss his cheek and continue stroking his back. “I love you, honey. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. If you fuck up, so what? I’ll be patient. And when I’m insane, you’ll be patient with me. And if you don’t know what to do, then I’ll teach you. No big whoop. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I kiss his cheek again. “I’m gonna love you and take care of you forever, baby. You’ll see. You won’t need to overcome a goddamned thing. Those days are over, baby. I got you. I promise.”
One Hundred Twenty-Three
Josh
“Hey, Uncle William, will you tie Henn’s bowtie?” I ask. “I’d do it, but I’m so nervous my fingers won’t function.”
Uncle William laughs. “Sure thing. Come here, Peter.”
“If this bowtie were a motherboard,” Henn says, “I swear it’d be my bitch.”
“It’s hard to tie a bowtie,” Uncle William reassures Henn. “Much harder than it looks.”
“See, Reed?” Henn says. “It’s not me that’s the problem—it’s the bowtie.”
Reed laughs. “Keep telling yourself that, man.”
“All the chairs are filled,” Jonas murmurs quietly. He’s peeking out a crack in the bungalow door toward the beach. “Everyone looks really excited.”
“Gah. Don’t tell me that,” I say. “I’m nervous enough already.”
“What do you have to be nervous about, Faraday?” Reed asks. “You’re marrying the greatest girl, ever.”
“Which is exactly why I’m nervous. I don’t wanna fuck this up for her. Hey, Jonas,” I call to him at the door. “Were you nervous right before you went out to marry Sarah?”
Jonas shuts the door. “Oh, yeah, I was shitting.” He glides toward the group, absently twirling his wedding ring around his finger. “I wasn’t nervous about getting married—I was just freaking out I was gonna fuck up my vows.”
“Exactly,” I say. “What if I spontaneously start spewing gibberish up there? Or pass out? Or, worst-case scenario, what if I spontaneously shart in front of everyone?”
Everyone bursts out laughing, except Uncle William.
&nb
sp; “What’s sharting?” Uncle William asks.
“When you think you’re gonna fart, but you unexpectedly shit instead,” Henn explains.
Uncle William laughs and shakes his head. “Joshua.”
“Well, let’s look at this logically,” Reed says. “When was the last time you sharted?”
“Hmm,” I say. “Maybe when I was ten?”
“Okay, then, realistically, the odds are extremely low it will happen within the next thirty minutes for the first time in twenty years,” Reed says.
“God willing,” I say.
“Unless, of course, it’s been so long, you’re now statistically overdue,” Henn says.
“Not helpful, Henn,” I say. “In what universe would you ever think that’s a helpful thing to say?”
“Sorry.”
Jonas puts his hand on my shoulder. “Josh, you got this. If I can say my vows without sharting, then you most certainly can.” He flashes me a warm smile and I’m struck, as I often am these days, by how genuinely happy my brother seems.
“You know what, Jonas?” I say. “You should wear black-tie more often, bro—it suits you. You’ve got this Thor-meets-James-Bond thing going on.”
Jonas scoffs. “I feel more like I’ve got an Idiot-Brother-meets-Dancing-Monkey-thing going on.”
“All done,” Uncle William says, patting Henn on his shoulder. He turns Henn to face me. “Acceptable, Joshua?”
“Suave perfection,” I say. “You’re Cary-Grant-meets-Steve-Jobs, Henn.”
Reed sidles up to me with a bottle of Patron. “A little something to calm the jitters, Faraday?”
“Just a little sip,” I say, grabbing the bottle. “Any more than that and I might spontaneously shart from being too relaxed.” I take a quick sip and then pass the bottle around.
“Pretty good,” Uncle William says when the bottle makes its way to him. “But at the reception, we’re all drinking my Scotch.”
“Did you bring the good stuff?” I ask.
“Of course. I brought several different bottles to be shared at the party, plus I’ve got bottles of some forty-year-old stuff for each of you boys to take home.”