by Eden Summers
He bent over her, positioning his mouth at her ear. “You’re a liar.” He ran his fingers along her spine, loving the way her body shuddered when he gripped the base of her neck. “A pretty little liar.”
She released a barely audible whimper.
“You know how I can tell?” He trailed his free hand over her bottom, underneath the thin lace of her G-string. With a bite to her earlobe, he cupped the heat between her thighs, sliding two fingers through the slickness of her pussy. “Because you’re soaking wet.”
She squirmed, trying with minimal conviction to dislodge his hand.
“Keep grinding against me, Allie.” He reached higher on her neck, pulling the hair at the base of her skull. “The more you grind, the hotter I get.”
She mewled, thrusting back into him, sinking his fingers deep into her heat. The way she clamped down around him made him groan. He couldn’t wait to sink his cock to the hilt. To hear her scream as he thrust home. She straightened, lowering her foot to the carpeted floor. If only he had a camera to take a photo of the sexual heaven before him—Allie in nothing but knee-high boots, black lace underwear and thigh-high stockings. Fuck me. Her body was built for Playboy, while her face still held sweet seductive charm.
“Take off your panties,” he demanded.
She complied, hooking her fingers around the waistband of the tiny strip of material and wiggling until they fell to the floor. With one hand still playing with her pussy, he used the other to fumble with his belt buckle, unclasping it, along with the button on his jeans. He continued moving his fingers inside her, concentrating on the rhythm of her hips, the contraction of her walls.
“Lean over.” He lowered his zipper, withholding a groan as she did as requested.
Her ass—holy fuck, her sweet, delicious ass. One day, he’d take her there. She’d whimper, squirm, and moan, but she’d love it. He’d make sure she did. With reluctance, he removed his fingers, trailing them higher, wiping her juices around the tight tempting entrance.
“Mitchell,” she warned, flinching at the forbidden touch.
He chuckled. How could one woman be such a mass of contradictions? Over their time together, he’d diminished her inhibitions, made her into a sex kitten who obeyed his every desire…well, all bar one.
“Just teasin’, sweetheart.” He kicked off his shoes and shucked his jeans, working fast to appease the ache in his groin. He didn’t bother removing his shirt and jacket—ain’t nobody got time for that—positioned his cock at her entrance and drove home in one spine-tingling thrust.
They moaned in unison while he raked his hand down her spine, enjoying the delicate softness of her smooth skin. She was flawless. Every inch, from her hair to her toes.
“You undo me,” he groaned, starting a slow, lazy rhythm. “You always feel so good.”
Alana wiggled her ass, encouraging him to take her harder. Hell no. He was running this fun house. He continued to move inside her in long strokes, gripping her hips, ending each slide with a grind of his pelvis. She arched her back, her hands clawing at the bed covers, and began rocking faster.
“Slow down, Allie. I don’t want to finish this yet.”
She whimpered. “Please, Mitchell.”
Don’t beg me, sweetheart. It drives me wild. She ignored his instruction, moving quicker, making his balls tighten. When the base of his spine began to tingle, he pulled out and pushed her hard onto the bed. She gasped and turned onto her back with a huff.
Another Kodak moment—Allie sprawled on the mattress, legs ajar, pussy on display, breasts thrust high in black lace, with her boots and stockings still on. Hell yeah, he was a lucky son of a bitch.
“You’ve still got your jacket on.” She frowned.
“You’ve got your boots and stockings on. You don’t hear me complainin’.”
She glared at him, pulling her legs together. “Take it off. The shirt too.”
He raised an eyebrow and contemplated denying her just to increase her feistiness. The softness of her body tempted him too much, and in the end, he shucked his jacket and tugged at the buttons of his shirt until he stood naked before her.
“Better?” he asked, climbing onto the bed and crawling between her toned thighs.
“A little,” she snipped, glancing away from him.
It was an act. She’d played hard ball before; however, two could play that game.
“Still not in the mood?” He pulled back, sitting on his haunches.
She shrugged, yet again lying her pretty little ass off. Yet her pussy still glistened with arousal in the dim lighting.
“I’ll finish this on my own then, will I?” He grasped the base of his cock and began to stroke, eliciting a moan that made her gaze snap back to his. Fighting laughter, he closed his eyes and continued to taunt her. His touch was light, cautious not to send himself over the edge, yet her image in his mind was enough to make him blow—the boots, the stockings, the cleavage that would bring any man to their knees.
“Fine,” she huffed, jostling the bed with her movements. “I’ll leave you alone.”
He opened his eyes, found her on her hands and knees climbing from the bed, and grabbed her booted ankle, pulling her back. “Don’t even think about it.” She squealed as he tugged her toward him and flipped her onto her back. “I’m finished playing games, Allie. Spread those gorgeous thighs.”
She continued to glare, and he couldn’t help smirking at the way she pretended disinterest. She was hot for him, her eyes gleaming with cloying need. He pushed her legs apart and watched her skin break out in goose bumps. She bit her lower lip and stared at him, waiting, wanting more. He gripped her hips, pulled her the final inches toward him, then moved onto his knees to position himself at her entrance.
“You want this fast?” he asked.
“Yeah. I want you to hurry the hell up,” she said, with the devil in her eye.
He chuckled and drove into her, leaning over to take her mouth with his. She groaned, met him thrust for hard, unyielding thrust, and parted her lips, allowing his tongue entrance to devour her. They clawed, nipped, ground, fucking like the wild, until sweat began to bead his forehead. He rested on one elbow and pulled down the cups of her bra. His hand worked the soft flesh in his palm, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, yes,” she panted, rocking harder into him.
His orgasm built with each harsh exhale, with each squeeze of her pussy around his shaft. She was close, too, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping to suck in breath.
“I’m close, Allie. So close.”
She swung her legs around his waist. He reached between them to find the small bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. As his fingers brushed back and forth over her clit, she gasped, closed her legs tighter around him and bucked.
“Mitchell!”
His name on her lips was his undoing. He thrust hard, the orgasm hitting him with a force that slammed his eyes closed. Rapture took over, rushing from his balls to his cock and into the depths of her sweet heat. She milked him, convulsing around his shaft, drawing out the ecstasy until his body was numb.
He took her mouth, kissing her hard, until her spine relaxed and booted legs fell limp from his waist.
“Oh, god, that was good,” she panted.
He hung his head, fighting back a laugh. “I thought you weren’t in the mood.”
“I thought you had more sense than to taunt me when I’m angry.”
Touché. He should shut his mouth while he was ahead. Like every other woman on earth, Allie never forgot a simple argument, let alone the monumental aesthetic issues surrounding Huey, Dewey, and Dickhead.
“Let me run you a hot shower.” Yes, he was a suck up, he couldn’t help it. Mind blowing sex would do that to a guy.
Alana watched Mitchell leave the room, taking her bliss with him. The sex was breathtaking, yet as soon as her body quit convulsing in orgasm, stress showed its sharp claws. With a deep sigh, she pushed from the bed, removed her b
ra, stockings, and boots, and then shuffled to the bathroom. She leaned against the cold wall, staring at the floor as the shower began to run.
“What’s wrong, Allie?”
“Nothing,” she replied without thought. She’d been saying the same thing for months. Yet now the situation was worse. There was no way she could pull off the perfect wedding after tonight’s events. She couldn’t believe her future husband had let the bachelor party get so out of hand. The groomsmen would be the talk of the wedding industry for years to come. And not in a good way.
“The wedding will be fine.” Mitch shook water from his arm and stepped toward her.
He didn’t understand. He never would. A wedding was different for a woman. It wasn’t just an expensive party. Yet for her, making it perfect meant so much more.
“Come on, Allie. It will be.” He pulled her into his arms.
She sighed. “Simply saying that doesn’t make it so. I still have things to organize, and after what Gabi and Blake are going through, it doesn’t seem like the right time.”
Mitch pulled back, frowning at her. “You’re not thinking of pulling out on me, are you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s just…”
His eyes widened. “It’s just, what?” He gripped her shoulders and stared at her, his dark-brown hair framing hazel eyes.
“Nothing. Forget it.” If she tried to explain, he would laugh. The problem was, she didn’t want the perfect wedding for herself. She wanted it for him. She wanted to give him something in return for everything he’d given her during their time together.
He narrowed his gaze, and she could still see the taint of liquor in their glassy depths. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember this conversation tomorrow.
“Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her under the spray. “I’ll get you washed up, and a good night’s sleep will fix everything.”
She remained quiet while he lathered her body, paying attention to every inch of her skin. When they were both clean, Mitchell turned off the taps and opened the shower door to grab a fresh towel off the rack. “Here.”
“Thank you.” She stepped from the stall and dried herself before walking from the bathroom, needing space. They’d been together almost twelve months, and in that time, she’d questioned her worth against Mitchell’s many times. She wasn’t naïve to judge everything based on income, but money, fame, and popularity in comparison to what she had to offer didn’t compute well.
The wedding had been her opportunity to introduce herself, and them as a couple, in a professional, yet heartfelt manner. It was her chance to show the guests, most of which she’d never met, that she was worthy of this talented man. And most of all, she wanted to create the perfect atmosphere, to prove to herself, and her future husband, that they were meant to be together.
Now the groomsmen would be the laughing stock of bridal magazines worldwide.
Alana wrapped the towel around herself, securing it above her breasts, and planted herself on the end of the bed. With vivid clarity, she could imagine how the wedding photos would turn out. Laughable. And not in a good way.
“I’ll do it all.” Mitchell’s voice came from the bathroom entry, startling her.
“Excuse me?” She turned, noting the seriousness in his expression. A towel was wrapped around his waist, his hair shaggy and wet, drops of water still falling from the dark strands.
He raised his chin. “Leave the rest of the wedding plans up to me.”
“Come again?”
“Didn’t we hire a wedding planner for a reason?”
“Yeah but¸ that defeats the purpose.” Alana had wanted to organize it all herself. She’d only hired the planner to do the running around because the streets of New York were still daunting to someone who’d grown up in relative seclusion.
“The purpose is for you to enjoy the day—and the lead up, for that matter. I know every woman wants the fairytale wedding they’ve dreamed of since childhood—”
“That isn’t what I wanted,” she blurted, needing to defend herself. It wasn’t her dreams she was concerned with. She wanted the start of their lives to run smoothly. Like a good omen. Celebrity marriages had a high failure rate. She didn’t need Google to tell her that statistically speaking they were likely to get an early divorce. One magazine had already predicted the month they would split. And although Alana knew their relationship was strong, she still wanted to do everything possible to make it stay that way.
“So what is it, then?”
Alana sighed and focused on the plush pile of the dark pink carpet.
“Allie?”
“It was all for you.”
Silence. Mitchell didn’t reply, but his gaze heated her skin. When she peered up at him, his stare bore into her, his frown deep. “Explain.”
She chuckled in defeat at his gruff order and glanced back to the floor. “The perfect wedding wasn’t for me. It was for you. I wanted to create something special, to show you how much I love you, and to give back everything you’ve given me.”
This time when silence filled the room, her heart began to throb. “I want your family and friends to like me. I want them to know that although we come from different lifestyles, we’re still meant to be together.”
She became restless in the passing seconds, wondering what he was thinking but not daring to lift her gaze.
“Are you for real?” he asked, coming to sit on the bed beside her.
She turned to him. “Yes, Mitchell. I can’t shower you in gifts or fly you around the world. You’ve even paid for almost all of the wedding. All I could do to repay you was to make our special day perfect.”
“So all the stress and panic and sleepless nights were for my benefit?”
Alana glanced down at her nails, not wanting to answer. She’d put him through hell the last few weeks with her anxiety tirade, and it wouldn’t surprise her if he was a little angry.
“Allie,” he laughed, and pulled her into his side. “Your sweetness always surprises me. And now I don’t feel so bad about the honeymoon challenge being a fraud.”
“Come again?” her gaze snapped to his.
His eyes widened and the smile vanished from his face. “Yeah…about that. The challenges tonight were for your benefit. Leah, Gabi, and I thought it would be nice to give you a crazy night of fun. I never planned on going on an adventure holiday.”
“What?” She pushed from the bed and turned on him.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not the one to cast that dirty stare at. It was actually the girls’ idea. They wanted to do something wild, came up with the honeymoon challenge, and I honestly didn’t think anything bad could come of it.”
“Mason’s eyebrow, Ryan’s tan, Sean’s bruised face. You mean to tell me all that could’ve been avoided?” Alana couldn’t believe this. She’d dragged her mom into a strip club, for Christ's sake.
“Well it could’ve been avoided if you didn’t put the beauty salon challenge on the list. But I’m not going to split hairs.”
She gaped at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry, be angry or glad. She appreciated the thought, though. Leah, Gabi, and all the guys knew her upbringing had been isolated, yet the execution of the challenges was horrific. She never would’ve placed things on the list that could get her fiancé arrested if that stupid honeymoon destination hadn’t been her motivation.
“Don’t go getting angry,” he said, pushing from the bed. “We did it for you, just like your Nazi attitude over the wedding was for me.”
She gave a defeated laugh and stepped into his waiting arms. She snuggled her head into his neck, and he held her tight, resting his chin in her hair.
“I meant what I said about the wedding. Let me organize whatever is left. I’ll work with the planner and make sure things are done properly.”
“No, Mitchell. I appreciate the offer, but I still need everything to run smoothly. If not for you, then for my peace of mind.” She ran her hands around his waist and clung
to him, hoping he would understand. “I want the start of our lives to be perfect—”
“It will be. But it will be perfect for us, Allie. Not the guests or the paparazzi. Their happiness and judgments aren’t my concern.” He kissed her forehead, sending heat through her veins. “As long as the both of us are happy, nothing else matters. And I’m more than capable of organizing that with the wedding planner.”
Alana leaned back and raised a brow.
“OK, so maybe I don’t have a clue about what’s involved. I can figure it out, though. If I need help I’ll ask Leah.”
“What if—”
“No. No, what if’s. Just let me handle it. And if things don’t run on schedule or problems arise, that’s fine too. You have to draw the line at some point and start making this a day to enjoy, not panic over.”
She broke eye contact and sighed. “Yeah, I guess.” Anxiety still consumed her, but he would be able to look after the remaining items on her to-do list. She needed to let go of her issues. If Mitchell chose to enlist the help of the wedding planner, it would be a breeze. Alana had wanted to do it all herself, though, making the gift of their special day more meaningful.
“Good.” He grinned at her and leaned in for a lingering kiss.
“But,” she broke the connection, still confused with the night’s events. “I still can’t believe the honeymoon challenge was a scam—”
“No more talk about that nightmare. I’m tired, and we have an action-packed week ahead of us.”
Alana rolled her eyes. Her man didn’t like to argue. There hadn’t been many times when he’d made her angry, and when he did, his tactic was either—defuse the situation with sex, or distract, distract, distract.
He took her hand and led her around to the side of the bed, pulling back the rumpled covers. She unwrapped the towel from around her body and handed it to him, before climbing into bed and yanking up the sheet. “I don’t get it,” she mumbled, wanting to taunt him one last time. “Why would Leah get a clit piercing if she didn’t need to?”
Mitchell paused mid stride on his way to the bathroom. “Wait. What?” He turned on his heels, swaying a little as he stared at her with wide eyes.