by Eve Langlais
“Now?” The squeak must be a relic from some ancient rodent ancestor because a moose certainly wouldn’t make that sound.
A moose also should stand by his intentions and, despite the settings and the lack of finery, do the right thing.
Why am I freaking? This is what I want.
He dropped to a knee in front of Melanie. “Kitten, I know we’ve not known each other long, but I need you in my life and by my side. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
“Yes!” Which was how they were married that same night—with Grandfather and Kendrick as witnesses—dressed in borrowed finery, Bryce in a tux his granddad loaned him and Melanie in the dress Bryce’s own mother wore for her wedding dug out of the attic.
It was perfect and beautiful. Kendrick even shed a stoic tear. The ring was the family one, passed down among the generations, and it fit her finger perfectly.
When the ceremony was over and the food brought out, they didn’t stay long to celebrate, especially once Kieran and Theo opened up an old bottle of scotch and began to trade barbs.
Sweeping Melanie into his arms, Bryce practically flew up the stairs to his room and had only just slammed the door shut when his lips claimed hers in a scorching kiss.
Frantic with need, hers as great as his, their hands tore at clothing, frenzied and clumsy. Her mouth clung hotly to his while moans and erratic caresses fired his blood. His cock swelled hard enough to burst.
Once they’d managed to shed their clothes, he toppled them onto the bed, skin to skin, the touch of it electrifying. Despite knowing she was new at this, he couldn’t seem to slow down, not when she kissed him so passionately and groped him so thoroughly.
He lay top her, her legs parted, allowing him to settle between. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she pressed her lips hard against his. Their open mouths meant their tongues could slide against each other.
He could have kissed her forever, but her hips wiggled under him, impatient with desire.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he caressed his way down to a tempting puckered nipple. He latched on, and his cock jerked when she cried out.
He sucked at a taut peak, drawing it into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth. While he played with her succulent breasts, he let his hand travel, looking for her moist core.
Heated honey met his fingertips, and it was his turn to moan against her flesh as he rubbed her slick cunt.
Lick it. Taste it. He could not resist the allure of her nectar. He held her down as she bucked and thrashed, his tongue torturing her tender flesh until he drew that first orgasm from her.
Before it subsided he was stretching her, sliding the tip of a finger into her tight sex, as his tongue kept lapping, bringing her back to the edge, getting her ready for what would come next.
When her moans turned into breathless gasps, he slid up her body and let the thick head of his cock nudge her moist entrance.
She chose that moment to open her eyes and stare at him. Connecting them on a deeper level than he’d imagined possible.
“Love me,” she whispered.
“Always and forever.” He thrust into her, knowing this part couldn’t be slow.
Her body arched, not far since he had her pinned to the bed. He held his sheathed position for a moment, letting her adjust.
When she relaxed, he caught her mouth and kissed her. Kissed her softly, still not moving. He didn’t move at all until she kissed him back.
Pure torture, especially considering how tight her throbbing flesh was around him.
Slowly, he stroked her, in and out, stretching her, building her pleasure, waiting for her to respond before quickening his pace. When her hips rolled in rhythm with his strokes, he thrust even faster, her whimpering cries building in intensity.
Her body tightening as she got closer.
And closer.
“Yes!”
He didn’t need her scream to feel her orgasm rippling around his cock, drawing forth his climax as she fisted him and milked him until he collapsed atop her.
And then they heard it.
Singing.
Drunken singing.
As if that stopped him from making love to his wife again.
He also later posted an update on his social media: #gotmarried.
Ping.
Melanie tagged his post: #thisrackismine.
Epilogue
A few days later, in the midst of packing to visit her father’s home…
Melanie paused and turned to peek at Bryce over her shoulder. He lounged on the bed, hands laced behind his head, wearing only pants and a grin.
“Excuse me, did I just hear you say you put your grandfather in a nursing home?” She blinked at him. “He’s not dying. Heck, he’s not even senile.”
“Yeah, but the nurses and doctors don’t know that. I might have given them a file saying he suffered from dementia and delusions he was a moose. Ridiculous of course.”
“You put him in a human nursing home?” she squeaked.
“One for the mentally challenged with high fences and locked facilities, for their safety of course.”
“Of course,” she snickered. “You do know that won’t hold him for long.”
“I do, but after the stunt he pulled faking his illness to blackmail me into settling down, there had to be consequences. And during the time he’s gone, I’m completely in charge.”
“I know that glint. You’re planning something devious.”
“I prefer the term stunningly clever.”
“And it has to be done now, before he hands over the reins?” she asked, brow arched.
“The sooner, the better, and what better time than now when we need to rebuild? The company is expanding into bacon.”
“You’ve been dipping yours in syrup again, haven’t you?”
“Don’t judge me.”
But she did. She judged her billionaire to be the most awesome man she’d ever met. The moose she loved. The man who would be a father to the child in her belly.
And it might be petty, but she knew he’d appreciate it. She whispered later that night, as she placed her hand on her flesh, over their babe, “We won.”
* * *
So fucking glad I didn’t win.
Rory wasn’t the type to ever want to settle down. The charade had gone on for ridiculously long. Longer than he liked. It had created a clingy situation with Chanice.
He hated clingy.
He also hated the fact that he now had two fathers. Both real in different senses. Both of them pissing him off with their demands.
Screw them both. He went to Vegas to cleanse his mind before heading home to his beach house on the coast.
Played roulette and won tons of money he didn’t need. Drank his face off too.
At one point, Rory woke up in the honeymoon suite, alone but for a rumpled bed and a torn pair of panties.
A few weeks later, he received an invoice for a quickie marriage done at the Chapel of Latter Day Aliens.
Blink.
He might not remember much from that night but did vaguely recall yelling, “I fucking do.”
Oh shit, what did I do?
Stay tuned for the next exciting story by Eve Langlais coming in 2018: The Wolf’s Secret Vegas Bride
Classic romance… with a furry twist!
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Also by Eve Langlais
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