“That’s more than a little,” I scoffed, and he continued to laugh. “I missed you so much.” I sighed as I felt him press a long kiss to the top of my head.
“I’m never letting you run again, baby. You’re stuck with me, and when you’re up to it, I want you to put that fantastic dress back on so I can rip it off you like I was supposed to.”
“Maybe that dress is bad mojo,” I murmured.
Bradley snorted at that. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you something.”
He pulled away and raced to an unfamiliar black backpack I hadn’t noticed sitting on the kitchen counter. Unzipping it, he searched for only a moment before returning to me with a triumphant grin, and a flat, square, plastic CD case in one hand. His face lit up as if expecting of a reward for some neat trick. Handing me the CD, my nose scrunched up with confusion.
“What is it?” I asked as I glanced down. “Oh, no you didn’t,” I murmured.
“Wanna put it on now?”
“You want me to start throwing up again?” I deadpanned.
His smile fell only a fraction as he took the NSYNC CD from my hands.
“Maybe later,” he suggested. “When you’re well enough for that cock-slapping, you can put the dress on and maybe we can fool around to their single ‘Bum Bum’.”
“They have a song called ‘Bum Bum’? What are they, the Wiggles?”
I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips. I wanted to tell him I was good to go for the cock-slap, minus the NSYNC, but right at that moment, I lunged for a tissue and sneezed. It wasn’t pretty. Maybe I wasn’t quite ready for bedroom action yet. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I wanted bedroom action, but there was nothing less sexy than stopping for a tissue while you were getting horizontally frisky. No, sexy time would have to wait until later, and as he pulled me to the couch and wrapped himself around my germ infested body, I knew we would have later. With a bit of luck, we would have forever because I knew I’d made the right choice. I loved this man, brooding or smiling, bridge dancing or painting. I loved every single aspect of him, and if he could love me, the ex-porn star he tried so valiantly to avoid, if he could love me falling into ponds, if he could love me covered in green Jell-O, and if he could love me through a very unattractive flu, then he would love me always.
EPILOGUE
Bradley
My entire life can be summed up in one sentence: It didn’t go as planned. I don’t even think I ever had the chance to plan. Life simply pushed and shoved me from one road to another, and I just rolled with it. I was never meant to work for the mafia. My best friend was never meant to be the prince of porn. I sure as shit was never meant to shack up with an adult film star living the premarital dream. And it was premarital; I had every intention of marrying Wiska and making an honest woman out of her, but not just yet. She was too tied up in knots with her studies right now to throw a ring in the works.
Wiska and I had been living together for three months, and it seemed every day just got better. She was, as I expected, completely impulsive. My life was now an unpredictable road of surprises. One day I would come home to her singing and dancing around the apartment completely nude, the next I’d come home to her repainting the bathroom. Then there was the night she woke me up for a midnight picnic on the floor in the living room, which ended up in a messy sexual exploration of whipped cream and berries. And I’d never forget the day I came home to find a pole installed in our bedroom. She claimed it was for exercise. The fact it was positioned by our bed told me she had more than exercise on her mind, but hell, what kind of a man would deny his woman a stripper pole?
Obviously, we had moved to a larger apartment; the single bedroom didn’t cut it. We now lived ten minutes outside of Manhattan, in a renovated, ground floor apartment I had purchased from Steele Structures, owned by Decker and his old man. The apartment was large with an open living space. Wiska decorated the room with all sorts of mismatched furniture, which should have looked ridiculous but worked. She wasn’t a girl who liked or needed new and expensive things. Her taste was more eclectic, her purchases based on the spontaneous love for something she just simply had to have. It was usually secondhand and found in a thrift shop. Strangely enough, I liked her quirky taste, and I loved our home. Honestly though, we could have lived in a trailer, and I’d have been happy, as long as Wiska was there with me.
I still worked for Willie. I had no expectations to leave his organization any time in the near future. I felt curiously safe with the mafia family. I had an office downtown, but tried to work from home as often as possible. It gave me the opportunity to help Wiska with her studies.
She wasn’t wrong when she said she had trouble remaining focused for long periods of time. The first month after she returned to college, I would find her, instead of studying like she had said she was going to, in front of the computer on Skype with the girls at Kink Harder, or dancing around the pole in our massive bedroom. It took great discipline on my behalf not to indulge in her wandering mind. Instead, I worked with her and found a system that helped her stay in the zone. To my amusement, and my dick’s utter joy, it was sex that seemed to keep her motivated. We had a reward system in place. One hour earned her a first base make-out session, two hours earned her second base, three hours, third base . . . you get the picture. Thankfully for me she reached four hours more often than any of the others. Mind you, I’d have to send her back to the office two or three times in that period because she’d break for a snack and end up perched on the arm of the sofa watching the National Geographic channel with me.
Fuck, I adored her. I was a possessive and moody bastard, but Wiska brought out the better man in me, the man who liked to play hide and blow, which was just like hide and seek but ended with a blow job, Wiska’s best made-up game to date. She found in me a man who liked to laugh and dance, and much to Casey and Lionel’s delight, a man who was addicted to Fancy Dress Fridays. Not a Friday passed where we weren’t in some sort of costume. I imagined the day would eventually come where we would have worn every costume available to us. I once asked Wiska what we would do then, and she suggested we move on to naked Sundays, less the guests, just her and me. I thought we should start doing them immediately.
“Bradley!” Wiska yelled from the other end of the apartment.
“What?” I shouted back.
“Don’t bellow, just come here.”
I looked down at the game of Sudoku I had only just started and sighed. “Sorry, pretty babies, my girl is calling. You’re gonna have to wait for papa.”
Standing, I moved through the apartment and came to an abrupt halt when I found her standing in middle of our bedroom. She was wearing the dress she had bought in the UK, the backless one that showed endless skin and hugged her curves with an elegant finesse. It was the dress I had been dreaming of seeing her in again, and taking off her in a slow and careful seduction. She didn’t want to go there, though. She said the dress was bad luck. I actually thought she had sent the dress off to Goodwill, so I was more than shocked to see her wearing it.
“Pussycat?” I murmured from the doorway.
She sighed and did a slow turn, allowing me to see her beautiful body from all angles. Her long hair was down, but swept over one shoulder. When she faced me once more, her beautiful, big, blue eyes rose to mine.
“I decided it was silly to be scared of a dress. It’s not like it’s haunted or anything.” Her gaze became intensely serious. “I’ve heard of that, you know, haunted things like dolls and dresses. It’s a real thing.”
“Okay,” I answered with a pacifying nod.
“I’m not afraid of this dress, but I think we should do something good to cancel out the bad mojo it brought us.”
“Good idea” I said encouragingly, liking the direction this was going.
“I thought we could have a candle lit dinner, maybe we could dance a little, you could kiss me at the end, like we were supposed to do in London, and then . . .” her words trailed off, and I grinned. “T
hen I’ll take it off, you can put it in the garment bag, and we’ll give it to Andi next time we see her. She said she really liked it.”
My smile fell. “You don’t want to get freaky in it?” I asked in a sulky voice.
“Oh, I assumed between the kiss and you putting it away we’d totally get freaky. Just don’t tell Andi. She might find it weird that she’s taking a dress we got a little frisky in.”
My grin was back in place. “I don’t want to eat . . . or dance.”
“You don’t?” She pouted.
“I kinda wanna kiss you, though.” I stepped forward, and she smiled. When we were close enough to touch, she automatically went up on her toes and puckered her lips for a kiss, but I put a finger over them. “Not here,” I whispered. My hand dropped to her crotch, and I ran a finger lightly over the fabric of her dress. “I want to kiss you here.”
“How can I say no to that?”
I dropped to my knees and lifted the dress. Wiska helped gather the flowing material and held it high, exposing her pretty pussy.
“I love it when you don’t wear panties.” I sighed.
She leaned against the large bed behind her, and I helped her hang one leg over my shoulder, then I buried my lips between her thighs. There were times when I went down on her nice and slow—I would take my time, tease her until she was begging. Right now wasn’t one of those times. My cock was too hard and impatient to wait. It wanted to visit the pearly gates of Wiska heaven, like ten minutes ago, and if I didn’t move things along, Vlad would throw a fit and come before I was ready.
I licked and sucked, smiling at her moans, groans, and soft sighs. She sounded like a contented kitten, and her hips thrust against my face demanding more. Rising to my feet, I sat her on the edge of the bed, pulled down my zipper, and nudged my cock into her hot, wet folds. I would never grow tired of watching my body enter hers.
“Casey invited us over for dinner this Thursday.”
“You wanna talk about this now?” I panted, as I began to retreat and thrust, in and out, with long, slow strokes.
“Well, I have your undivided attention, don’t I?”
“Pussycat, your body has my undivided attention. My ears can barely hear over the thumping of my heart, and I really, really don’t want to talk about Casey right now.”
I bent my knees and drove forward hard, catching what I now knew was her G-spot, which held a direct line to her brain. If I hit it just right, she turned into a pile of incoherent goo and words would be reduced to screaming pleas, which was what I was aiming for now. Hearing Casey’s name during sex did nothing for my ego.
“Oh, you play dirty,” she groaned as I kept thrusting deep into the magic spot.
I kissed her lips hard. “I love it dirty,” I murmured, when I finally pulled my mouth away from hers.
The sexual bout was like a fast race, almost clumsy, frantic, and so fucking good. I felt my balls tighten well before I was ready to let go.
“I hope you’re close; otherwise, we’re gonna have to invite Thor to the party to help you finish, ’cause I can’t hold back anymore. You feel too damn good.”
I brought my thumb to her clit and began to massage the little bud. Much to the delight of my ears, she screamed, her pussy clenched around my dick, and I glanced down and mouthed a quick ‘thank you’ to Vlad for holding out. Then I rammed myself deep and hard into her body, yelling some unidentifiable garble, and more than a few curse words, as I came. When we both finally regained our composure and stopped panting like we’d run the New York Marathon, I moved back to pull out of her.
“Don’t get your baby juice on the dress,” Wiska said in a panic.
I stopped and began laughing. She slapped my shoulder and huffed out an expletive I didn’t often hear from her mouth.
“Pussycat, we can have it dry cleaned, you know. In fact, I think we should anyway if you’re giving it to Andi.”
“But it’s got good juju on it now. I don’t want it to wash off.”
“Baby, it’s about to have my juju on it, and we really want to wash that off.”
“Fine,” she sighed as my cock slipped from her body.
“And yes to dinner with Lionel and Casey. When I was there yesterday, I put sugar in the salt shaker. I need to see if they’ve discovered it yet.”
Wiska walked to the armoire and reached up for the padlock sitting on top of it. I winced and watched as she ran a finger over the innocuous silver lock.
“Can we do this today?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, go get dressed, and we’ll get out of here.”
That padlock was a reminder of our first real fight as a couple. I was looking forward to getting rid of it. I took the lock and read over the inscription.
No jumping to conclusions,
Ever.
Bradley and Wiska
Yeah, I learned my lesson the hard way. Arriving home from work early one day, I found a message on the machine from Ryder Harder. Hey, Wiska, that sounds awesome, honey. I’d love to help you out. Call the office, soon. I’ll admit, I saw red, and my mind took me to the only logical conclusion I could possibly fathom: Wiska was working for Kink Harder again.
As soon as she’d walked through the door, I let loose on her. While I yelled, huffed, and yelled some more, Wiska calmly stood in front of me, and when I finally couldn’t take her silence anymore, she coolly explained that she knew my birthday was coming up, and she planned to put a bunch of photos to music as a gift. She didn’t know how, and Ryder was going to help her. And that was my first relationship ‘Oh Shit’ moment.
Wiska had spun on her heel and left. I’d stood there like a stunned fucking mute, and when she didn’t come home for dinner, I panicked. Thankfully, a message from Casey assured me she was alright, pissed and threatening to unman me, but fine. She didn’t come home that night, though, and it made me feel sick. First thing in the morning, I found someone to engrave one of the padlocks, and when she finally turned up home at lunchtime, I got down on one knee and groveled. I bought flowers, chocolates, and non-alcoholic wine, but it had been the padlock that finally earned her forgiveness. The make-up sex had been un-fucking-believable, but the misery and guilt that consumed me over hurting Wiska hadn’t made it worth it. Wiska found a love-lock bridge in Brooklyn, and we were going to snap that fucker on the fence and leave it there. The lock might remain behind, but the lesson would certainly follow me home.
I knew it wouldn’t be my one and only fuck up, and I knew Wiska would have her fair share, too, but the love-lock promise would always be our stepping stone to fixing where we went wrong. I’d lock a million of those damn things to bridges just to keep us together. I’d do anything for my pussycat. She was worth it. She may not have been my first kiss, but she was definitely going to be my last. The thought of growing old wasn’t so scary when I knew I’d grow old with Wiska, grey pubes and all.
My whistle might have wanted her before my heart did, but that only proved he was the brains in this body. My heart was well and truly on board now. I L-O-V-E’d her, and that made my somewhat unconventional life just perfect.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Okay, there is usually a big list of shout outs here, but honestly, those people know who they are and I need to save this space for a very special mention.
The character ‘Wiska’ was inspired by a very special person, my cousin Lori.
No, she’s not a porn star, and as far as I’m aware she doesn’t have ADD. However, she is spontaneous, bold, beautiful, and a touch cray cray from time to time. She adores Harry Potter, isn’t loved by animals, has pole danced, jelly wrestled, and has gone on bike rides in foreign countries. She’s had her heart broken, and she’s had it pieced back together again.
She is a woman every woman should aspire to be like—comfortable in her own skin, independent, loving, and smart.
Lori, I love you babe. Stay true to yourself, always.
www.kirstydallasauthor.com
Other reads by Kirsty D
allas
Saving Ella (Mercy’s Angels, #1)
Fighting Back (Mercy’s Angels, #2)
Tortured Soul (Mercy’s Angels, #3)
Mother’s Love (Mercy’s Angels, #4)
Breeze of Life
Decker’s Wood
Violet Addiction
Bradley’s Whistle
AND FOR A SNEAK PEAK OF THE NEXT PORN STAR COMEDY, READ ON…
Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) Page 27