by Mysti Parker
“Holy f – " Words fail me. There’s nothing else registering at the moment. No pets, no house, no fried chicken, no nothing except my need to be inside this woman right now. I center my dick up and sink it into her. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been inside a woman without latex between us. It’s so damn warm and wet, just loose enough to know she’s ready for this and just tight enough to milk me dry. Her hips buck up into mine, taking me even deeper.
Shit, yeah. Let’s play rough.
I withdraw then thrust hard, jarring her body. She gasps, then bucks her hips again. Withdraw, thrust – that’s the only thing I need to know right now. Thrusting becomes pounding, and suddenly I’m aware of our skin smacking, the barstool rocking, and Avery screaming in pleasure with every impact. It sends me over the edge. I explode, dick pumping out all the tension, the built-up desire. Hell, even my shitty past becomes non-existent as I come inside Avery Price.
As usual, all good things must come to an end.
We both collapse on the Oriental rug, out of breath, covered in sweat, and smiling from ear to ear. Damn, that was a lot better than I expected. Most women were grabby and slobbery and wanted all kinds of slow foreplay and shit like that. But Avery let me just take her. She didn’t make weird “yeah, yeah, yeah” hyena noises as I fucked her either.
It was...good, pleasant even. Something a guy could get used to real quick. Which means I have to be careful it doesn’t go beyond the physical.
With her head resting on my arm, I caress her shoulder and come back to the reality of our pact. “What do we do after the fake wedding? You know, when we aren’t ‘married’ anymore? What will you tell people then?”
“I’ll tell them you cheated on me so we had it annulled.”
“What? With who?”
“You tell me. Maybe Missy Whatserface, the girl with no last name and a cheap-ass red thong.”
“So you’ll drag my name through the mud for your business?” I rise on my elbow. I should have known there’d be a price to pay.
Her expression is dead serious. “It isn’t like you’re known as a saint around here. You think anyone would be surprised?” Then her lips curve up into a dimpled, full-cheeked grin. She's kidding of course, which sends a wave of cool relief across my overheated body.
“Yeah, okay, good point,” I say with a shrug and lie back down beside her.
“Actually, we don’t have to tell anyone anything if all goes to plan. Once the wedding’s over, we take everything off, pack it away, and pretend we were here for a house party if anyone asks.”
“And who will be the wedding guests? My roommates won’t pass for humans.”
“Well, Glen can play the part of the minister. He’s got that sour look about him when he wants to. Leigh and Jesse will probably agree to be maid of honor and best man. I’ll give them a good deal on their wedding wear in exchange. I know several friends from college who might do it too. We can make it look like a bigger crowd, but big isn’t the deciding factor. It’s unique designs and amazing photography they’re looking for. I can totally pull that off.”
"And we can count on them keeping it quiet?"
"Yes. I'll only ask people I know who aren't gossips."
"That's like two people around here."
She laughs. "Don't worry. I got this."
She certainly sounds confident about the whole thing, though I still feel uneasy about the situation. A no-strings-attached relationship has never been this complicated. But Avery is a professional at this wedding stuff, so hopefully I can trust her to put it together. All I have to do is donate my property and time. Though being part of any wedding, real or fake, nauseates me, for what I just experienced with Avery, it will totally be worth it.
“So when do we decide this is over?” I gesture at our bodies draped across the rug.
“After the wedding, I suppose. Unless we decide otherwise.”
“Hmm.”
Otherwise left things in question, though I don't feel like confronting those questions at the moment. I've let women go before with no hard feelings, or very little, between us. I can do the same with Avery.
Percy saunters over and bumps into Avery's leg. Then he licks her foot.
"Oh!" Avery laughs. "Is he –"
"Blind, yeah."
"Poor guy, but I'm kind of glad he didn't witness that just now. So, is he up for adoption?"
"Not anymore. We're buds. Besides, it's hard to get folks to adopt a special needs pet."
"Like Quincy?"
"No, Quincy's just an asshole. He can stop the cursing anytime he wants. He just doesn't want to."
"Just how many roommates do you have?"
"A dozen or so."
"Wow." She flashes an impressed grin before she snuggles up against me.
∞∞∞
We finally feast on the chicken and cornbread that Avery cooked, which by the way, is delicious. Good food and good fuck makes Jack a happy boy.
We enjoy a few more rounds, moving from rug to couch to pool table and bed. I'm going to be damn tired in the morning, but I don't give a shit.
“Jack,” she asks sleepily later that night as she lies limp in my bed, “can you do something else for me?”
“Sure. What is it?” I yawn and stretch out beside her, stroking my thumb across her nipple, still hard and reddened from me sucking on it. Speaking of, I do it again, while lazily stroking her swollen clit.
“While we’re together, in case someone gets wind of it, can we stay exclusive?”
I give her nipple another lick and raise my head. “Yeah. I’m not a fan of double dipping, unless you’re into that sort of thing.”
She grimaces and shakes her head. "No thanks."
“Then yes, this dick and the rest of me are all yours until after the pretend wedding…or until we decide otherwise.”
“Good.” She snuggles up next to me, her head tucked under my chin, and is asleep within seconds.
I hadn’t asked or expected her to stay the night, but I'm too tired to argue. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Chapter Seven
Avery
It’s strange, having someone else snuggled up against me in bed. But a good kind of strange. Warm and comforting like my grandmother’s quilts are in winter. So much so, in fact, that it put me out like a light. I fully expected Jack to wake me up and tell me he was driving me home.
Something tickles my nose.
“Stop it, Jack,” I mumble, swatting weakly in front of my closed eyes. My hand brushes up against something rough.
That something moves.
I freeze, then crack one eye open. A green scaly face with a small, dark eye stares back at me. A thick forked tongue lashes out and tickles my cheek.
Shooting up in bed, I let out a scream that would rival Jamie Lee Curtis in those awful 1980s horror flicks.
“What the –!” Jack springs from the bed as though the mattress tossed him out. His legs get tangled in the sheet, and down he goes like a bundle of fabric. The floor shakes from the impact. The lamp on the bedside table wobbles, then tips over, landing right on his head. He scrambles to sit up, and with him comes the lampshade. It popped off the bulb and now sits on his head like he’s the lamp instead.
He yanks it off, tossing it aside. “What the holy hell, woman?”
“It’s a… Oh my God, that was hilarious!” I can’t hold in the laughter. It rolls right out of me, until I’m cackling like a drunken sailor.
Until I remember my scaly wake-up caller. Holding my breath, I don’t move a muscle as the big green lizard moseys off the foot of the bed and onto a cushioned bench.
Jack gets to his feet in a huff. “Hilarious, my ass!”
He bends over to pick up the lampshade.
“Yep, that’s some ass.” I giggle, keeping an eye on the lizard.
He turns around, holding the lampshade in front of his junk, which is silly enough since I’d seen every part of his body already, but he holds it tops
ide out, so I can see everything clearly. At first he frowns impatiently at me, but then glances down to the situation at hand.
A quiet laugh grows louder until I’m laughing again, and we both laugh until my lungs hurt. The lizard crawls back onto the foot of the bed.
I yelp and pull the covers up to my chin. “What kind of lizard is that?”
“An iguana – you’ve never seen one before?”
“Not up close and personal, no. Is it poisonous?”
“No, it’s just Earl,” Jack says, picking up the big green iguana like it’s a pair of pants or something equally harmless. He sets him back into a glass tank by his closet and replaces the wire mesh lid that was sitting askew on top. “He manages to get out now and then, especially when he’s hungry.”
“H-hungry? I think he was tasting me.”
“Not really. That’s just how they check out something unfamiliar. He knows you’re not food.”
“Look, I like animals and all, but I don’t do well with the scaly ones, especially if I wake up with one in my face. How about you sleep over at my place next time?”
“Okay. But for now, I better drive you home so we can both get ready for work.”
“Oh, crap, what time is it?”
“Seven thirty.”
“I have to go. Where are my clothes?” I still have the sheet pulled up to my chin as though I need to be modest when he’s practically seen my liver.
“Gosh, I don’t know. I think I threw them out.” One corner of his mouth curves up into a mischievous grin.
“That’s not funny.” I let the sheet go and climb out of bed. My legs are wobbly like when I got out of the hospital after the accident. And my hoo-ha hurts. I stagger my way to Jack’s bathroom.
“Why are you walking like a neutered dog?”
“Never mind.”
He laughs. “You’re sore!”
“No, I’m not.” His bathroom is as big as my bedroom with a huge double-headed shower, a jet tub, and a separate door for the toilet. The floor is black shiny tile, the walls grey. It’s all modern-y and masculine, and I don’t know why we didn’t make use of this last night. “Can I hit the shower real quick? I can change when I get home. Leigh’s having a fitting today, and I can’t miss it.”
“Sure.”
As I turn on the shower, letting the steam hug my face, he comes and stands in the doorway. “How about I join you?”
My God, he’s sexy – lean and muscled in just the right proportions. His dick is getting harder by the second. It’s flattering and a little overwhelming knowing I have this effect on a man.
“Yeah, please, I mean, if you want to…” I step in the shower, but don’t look at him, because I’ve never actually showered with a guy before. The one boyfriend I had in college was more like a wham, bam, thank-you-ma’am in my dorm room kind of guy. I didn’t miss him when we broke up.
Jack steps in the shower, slides the door closed, and…let’s just say, I’m going to be late.
∞∞∞
“Where have you been?” Glen demands as soon as I rush through the door. He’s in a tizzy already. “Leigh’s waiting, and there’s a wedding party arriving in ten minutes, and you know I don’t measure the guys because most of them get all stupid about it.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll buy lunch.” I toss my purse under the counter and hurry over to Leigh, who’s sitting in one of the puffy armchairs by the dressing rooms.
She looks at her watch then smiles up at me.
“Yeah, I know. So sorry, Leigh. I was a little…distracted.”
“With what?”
“Oh, you know…”
She doesn’t know, actually, which I feel guilty about because we tell each other everything, and she’s already warned me not to dabble in casual sex. But I leave it at that and get my measuring tape. It’s not a good idea to open that can of worms here with Glen already giving me that look.
He knows, of course, where I’ve been. I’ll be getting a lecture later. I pull the curtain that blocks off the fitting area so Leigh can undress.
“Mm-hmm. You’re all flushed, and your shirt is inside out. What’s going on?” She lifts the hem of her shirt.
“She’s getting married,” Glen calls out from the supply room behind the register.
“Married?” Leigh shrieks, wrestling her T-shirt off. Now she’s giving me that look.
“Keep it down,” I say, though no other customers are here yet. “And thanks a lot, Glen!”
“You’re welcome!” he answers in an annoying sing-song voice.
“Girl, you better explain,” Leigh fusses as she takes off her jeans. She’s wearing a white, deep-plunging lacy bra and thong to match.
“Are you wearing the undergarments you’ll be wearing to the wedding?” It’s a question I ask all brides at a fitting, hoping it will get us back to neutral ground.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jesse’s going to appreciate that pairing, I’m sure.”
“Of course he will.” She lifts her arms so I can measure around her bust. “Now, spill it, Ave.”
“Okay.” This requires a big breath of air. “You know that contest I told you about? Well, I really could use the cash and the exposure, so I had to find someone to pretend to be my husband, and I did, but I made a deal with him, and now I have to plan a fake wedding, so I thought I’d use your leftover stuff – not your dress – and have it at his house, and you and Jesse can be the maid of honor and best man, and Glen will be the minister, and I’ll ask a few other people I know, and now I’m thinking that you’re thinking I’m totally crazy.”
She blinks slowly at me as I scribble her bust measurement on my notepad and tuck it back into my apron. “Um, I’m not sure I understood all that, but it sounds like you’re staging a wedding to win some money?”
Her summary makes me grimace. It sounds even crazier now, filtered through Leigh’s no-nonsense counselor tone.
“Yeah, kind of.” I measure her waist – she’s got such an hourglass figure, I’m envious.
“And who’s this guy…?” She nods as the answer dawns on her face. “It’s Jack, isn’t it?”
My mouth is dry, reminding me I had no breakfast or coffee or anything before rushing over. I swallow hard and nod.
“And what is this deal you made with him?”
Shrugging, I jot down her waist size. “Just sex.”
Leigh lowers her head, levelling her stare at me. “Just sex. Did he talk you into this?”
“No, actually. We had planned to go that route – remember? And I chickened out, then realized he would be my best option, so I offered again.” I measure her hips, trying not to look her in the eye.
“Why on earth would you even do that? You could get a loan.”
“The bank won’t loan me any more money.”
“Your parents could –”
“No.” I meet her gaze with a firm one.
Leigh sighs. “Then Jesse and I could loan you the money.”
“It’s not just about the money, and you’d have to borrow that yourself, so no.”
“But there are surely easier ways to get into a bridal magazine and get the cash you need…” Understanding dawns on her face again. “Of course. Why didn’t I see it?”
“See what? Hold this.” I have Leigh hold one end of the tape at the top of her hip while I kneel down to measure her leg length. “At the ankles is fine?”
“Yes. It’s a summer wedding. Just a simple, no-sleeved, long dress. I’m not even sure the measuring is necessary.”
“Oh yes, it is. I will not have my BFF getting married in a shapeless sack.”
“Fine. But you’re trying to change the subject.”
“Am I?”
The door chimes ring, and a gaggle of women’s voices follow. Great.
“You’re not just sleeping with Jack because of this contest,” Leigh says.
“Yes, I am, and keep it down,” I whisper. “If anyone gets a whiff of this, it’ll
make things way too complicated.” I stand up again, scribbling her last measurement down.
“Whatever. You, my dear, are in love,” Leigh whispers as she puts her T-shirt back on.
“No.” I shake my head vehemently, but tears are burning the corners of my eyes. “No, I’m not.” And then my voice breaks. I’m such a bad actress.
She slips into her jeans and then hugs me. “You can tell me. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
“No,” I say, pulling away so I can swipe the wetness from my cheeks. “I’m not in love,” I say again, hoping the more I say it, the more I’ll believe it. “I’m just stressed about the contest and the future of this shop.”
“Fine, so is the just sex good?”
Now, that I don’t need to lie about. With a sniffle and a final swipe to remove any running mascara from under my eyes, I grin. “Oh yeah. It’s good. Really good.”
∞∞∞
It’s weird admitting to your best friend that you’re having a sex-only relationship with her future brother-in-law. She was bound to find out anyway. Leigh knows when I’m hiding something. She’s like a human lie detector. But it feels a little better getting it off my chest since I can’t go around advertising our arrangement.
Meanwhile, I’m planning our fake wedding down to the last detail, hiding everything in the notes app on my phone. Leigh and Jesse finally set their date for Sunday, September 2. That gives me six weeks to prep for her wedding and another three weeks to have my own wedding, photos made and edited, then submitted to the magazine.
I can do this. Failure is not an option.
Jack and I decide on a solid two to three times a week for our encounters. That gives us some recovery time, plus when he sleeps over, it keeps him from having to leave an extra toothbrush and other stuff that my mom could find if she pops in unexpectedly.
We also decide to add in some kink – not too much, mind you – I’m not a threesome kind of girl. The thought of another woman with Jack makes me sick. Rather ironic, since I know he’s been with more than I can count on both hands, and he’s probably engaged in a whole lot more kink than I ever will. But it’s now that really counts. Now, he’s with me. So I’m pushing aside the jealousy to enjoy myself while this lasts. I can’t afford for him to get bored before the wedding and go seek his fun elsewhere.