One Night Bride

by Sarah J. Brooks

  I didn’t want to go fangirling on him, and I knew if I let him in, I’d do anything he wanted. By the way, his eyes were staring at me, anything was definitely on the menu. The man was a billboard for sex; literally. There was one just outside the hotel. His ads were hot, his clothes were hotter, and he was number five on the ten most sexy men in America 2018 list. I was so screwed. If I didn’t back away from him at that very moment, I was never going to get out with my maidenhood intact.

  I wasn’t exactly a virgin; I’d had sex a couple of times, unremarkable sex which was feverish and clandestine. My dad was a brute. He’d frightened off more men than I could count. I liked surfer boys usually, but they were no match for my businessman father who had ties to the mob. He was mostly an astute businessman who hung out with gangsters, but it scared people off just the same. I knew some of what he did was shady, that’s why I was reluctant to come on our “dad and daughter” trip to Vegas, where he promptly ditched me after registering us in separate rooms.

  I was bored playing the slot machines, so I tried to get tickets for Cirque Du Soleil, but they were sold out. I was supposed to see it with my dad, but I’d waited for him too long, and there weren’t any tickets left. I ordered a drink they must’ve used to pickle dead bodies and threw all caution to the wind. I was in Vegas, and my dad dumped me as soon as we got here, so I was tempting fate, and it seemed fate was standing before me with smoldering eyes that said, ‘fuck me hard.’

  I really did wear Xavier Dean boxer shorts to bed. I absolutely loved them. He knew how to dress a man, but women also wore his clothes. He was once quoted as saying he loved the way powerful women looked in his jeans. I’d also read he was pretty notorious for having a string of gorgeous lovers; women of all shapes and sizes. From the smoldering blue eyes staring at me waiting for an answer, however, he seemed to have set his sights on me for the evening.

  The problem with saying yes to the drink was, I really didn’t have the expertise to be as cool and perfect as I was supposed to be at that moment. I wanted to land this man so badly, and yet one-night stands weren’t something I thought I’d enjoy. I was twenty-nine and reluctant to grow up and own a woman’s liberated sexuality. I sort of wanted the sexual freedom and yet, I mostly wanted the prince on a white horse. Vegas was the kingdom of one-night stands, so I relegated myself to just enjoy the view.

  “The bartender here makes a wicked ‘sideways spider.’ Creepy name, but it’s delicious, it’s the least I can do for losing.” He winked at me, then walked over to the bar, not even waiting for my answer.

  I raced to catch up with him. “I think I’ve had enough to drink,” I finally found the nerve to say.

  He spun around and looked at me as the bartender was pouring a purple beverage into a frosty shaker.

  “Just one more won’t kill you,” his deep voice radiated as his hand grazed the side of my body, passing quickly over my breast as his hand found my hips.

  The other hand also planted on my hips, and I felt a moment of panic as he lifted me gently onto a high bar stool. Damn if my legs didn’t just fall open at the shock of being hoisted. He took the opportunity to slide between them, and the fine wool of his trousers brushed across my bare thigh.

  “It just might,” I countered letting my hand perch on his chest, softly warning him to stay put.

  I was already feeling myself getting wet with him so close, and while I wasn’t one for staring, I had noticed a pretty steely erection had formed elegantly in his beautifully tailored pants. It was a bold move sliding in like he did, but in his defense, the bar was packed. He managed to snag me the only stool and was being butt-rammed from behind by a large and rather loud woman wearing a floral print dress. She was laughing and undulating with another girlfriend. On closer observation, I was pretty sure the accidental grazes of her ass against his were one hundred percent intentional. I almost let down my own hand barrier to give the poor man a reprieve from her onslaught, but I wasn’t really that generous; yet.

  He patted the hand on his chest that kept him from sliding into home and offered a dark smirk.

  “Here are your drinks, Mrs. Dean,” the bartender said leaning over the bar to hand him two large martini glasses and interrupting whatever Xavier was about to say or do.

  As he turned to retrieve the drinks, his trousers brushed across my knee, giving me a feel of his cock beneath the fabric. It was huge and stony. The flower printed butt popped him on his hip while making a wild gesticulation which made our drinks splash. I was happy for the diversion as I was getting really hot and bothered with his cock pressing up on me the way it was. He turned to the woman with an angered glance.

  “Excuse me,” he gritted out roughly.

  I didn’t want to get on his bad side; he looked like he could be trouble if tempted. She caught on right away.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she gushed.

  His face softened a little. “It’s alright.”

  “Hey, are you … I mean, I know it’s weird, but you look just like Xavier Dean, that designer guy. There’s a big picture of you in the lobby at Cesar’s Palace in a really hot suit and all those women … must be nice.” She was blathering drunk, red-faced, and smitten.

  “That isn’t me,” he said with a pained smile before he turned his attention back toward me.

  My eyes were wide and playfully reprimanding as he handed me my drink. “You just lied to that poor woman,” I whispered, scolding.

  “Sometimes I lie,” he confessed, looking sexy, but also sweet, he was an odd mix of contradictions.

  His eyes glanced down at my bare legs as the butt bumper behind him had tamed some. She was talking in a low voice to her friend, but she sounded disgruntled. She must’ve known he was lying, and this made her mad. Regardless, she hadn’t given him much space, so I widened my legs, took the drink from his hand and gave him a consenting smile, which offered a chance for him to move in closer. He took one step in and then I was inches away from his raging cock. I did everything in my power to connect to his eyes and try to forget how much I wanted him inside of me. Lusty, crazy, drunk person that I was, I was ready to throw all my inhibitions to the wind for one night with Xavier Dean. Who cared if I’d be woman number one hundred and whatever, it was just too sexy, the whole thing.

  “Taste it, and tell me what you think,” his voice was soft and seductive.

  I was so happy he didn’t say, ‘Let’s get out of here and fuck.’ Of course, he wasn’t going to say that. In my fantasy, we were not going to be at this bar long. I was a mess. I took a sip of the drink.

  “Mmm, salty …” What? What the hell did I just say? Oh, my God, Arcadia Jones. What the fuck is wrong with you?

  Mister seducer caught my innuendo right away. I must’ve seemed like such a whore.

  “I’ve heard it’s rather sweet actually.” His eyes blazed as he moved in closer, his raging hard-on making direct contact with my dripping wet center. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “Great.” I flashed him a crazed, childish smile. “I’ll have seven.” I took a healthy swig of the potent liquor, guaranteeing inebriation and perhaps some sense of self-preservation.

  “These are pretty loaded; I think seven might land you in the hospital.” He smiled, taking the glass from me as I’d already drained half of it. “You might want to slow down.”

  “Right,” is all I could bark out.

  “So, Arcadia Jones …” His hands came up to my spread legs and gently caressed them just above the knee. “Tell me about you.”

  I took a deep sputtering breath. He immediately noticed my nerves and backed up just a bit. We had gone from “Hello” to grinding up on each other pretty fast, so he took a step away, giving my pussy some breathing room it wasn’t really sure it wanted. He kept his hands where they were, though, and his intense blue eyes stared into my soul. I laughed uncomfortably.

  “Me?” Breathe Arcadia. “I’m a surfer chic working on a master’s degree in Marine biology. Ocean conservation is my main thing, b
ut I’m a huge fan of cetaceans as well. Right now, I’m just tagging them. I hope to study their habits in the wild, so we can advance our conservation efforts,” I said in one blathering sentence.

  I could see the shift in his expression from the moment I said I was a surfer to my spouting on about whales. I wouldn’t say it was admiration exactly; it looked more like overwhelmed confusion. Whatever his response, I was definitely not what he was expecting.

  “Wow,” he breathed as he took a sip of his drink. “Suddenly, I feel like designing shirts and trousers, is slacking on my end.”

  “Oh, my God, you’re Xavier Dean … hello?” Now I was sounding like a teenager.

  “Hello,” was his breathy reply. “It’s nice to meet you, Arcadia Jones,” he added as he leaned into me again, that same hot, hard cock on my privates once more, reminding me of how much I wanted to abandon myself for him.

  He planted a drunken kiss on my lips that tasted like licorice and strong alcohol. His lips were soft and moist, his stubble sharp and rough, the juxtaposition of textures making me even wetter. His tongue snaked into my mouth slowly, tortuously; he was good. He knew how to make a girl nuts. It’d been too long for me to go at this pace; however, I was smart. If he wasn’t gonna rush it, neither was I. I matched his delirious deliberateness with my own and felt him harden with each languid swirl of my tongue. My legs spread just a bit wider to accommodate him. It was a slut move for sure; I was being insane, but it felt so good.

  I could hear the bartender snicker in the corner. He must’ve seen people make out and grind on each other at his bar almost every night of the week, it was Vegas after all. I wasn’t sure why we might be an exception, but he did seem to take particular notice of us. It was probably because Xavier was famous.

  By the time we finished our kiss, he had slid two more drinks to us. I picked up my first drink and drained it needing the liquid superpower. Although I was still pretty wasted, keeping the buzz on fleek was going to be a must if I intended making it through the evening.

  Chapter 3

  Xavier

  So the little vixen was a marine biologist. A hot, intelligent woman who was also a good kisser, with a soft delicious mouth that tasted like candy laced with our wicked licorice drinks. She was complex, interesting, more than just something to entertain me for the evening. I just wanted to enjoy the moment. Damon had told me repeatedly how important enjoying moments was. I usually let them fly by, but she was something to savor.

  The bartender gave us a second round of drinks on the house; I guess he was enjoying the show. We sipped on our drinks as my fingers made lazy circles around the soft skin on her knees and lower thigh. Oh, how I wanted to go farther. Her skin was like copper silk. I could only imagine her pussy would be velvet heaven. I hoped she’d let me in. While she initially balked at my nearness, she eventually let my crotch rest in the crook of hers. The crowded bar, being the best excuse for our lack of personal space, was a perfect opportunity to give her a preview. The obnoxious woman behind me had been met by two more friends, tightening the space between us even more. It was all becoming a bit suffocating, but I didn’t want to leave the warmth between Arcadia’s legs. So we made a toast to our second round of drinks and tried to talk above the din.

  “Why are you in Vegas?” she yelled over the noise, her eyes glossy and drunk.

  “Bachelor party,” I answered curtly.

  Her eyes widened in shock, and I felt her pull away from me, disconnecting us. She must’ve thought the bachelor party was for me. “For a buddy,” I clarified, not wanting to lose her.

  She smiled.

  “And you?” I asked as her phone lit up for the millionth time.

  It had been going off all night, but she never really made a move to answer it. Even with this last call, she merely glanced at it and back to me again. She was definitely avoiding someone. I hoped it wasn’t a boyfriend, but the frequency and number of calls she was receiving screamed, boyfriend.

  “Dad and daughter trip. Only my dad ditched me like five hours ago.” She looked at her phone, “That was him now. He wants me to come back up to the room, but I’m not going,” she pouted. It seemed a childish response, but it was evident she was empowering herself by ignoring her father. “I’m not a puppet; I have better things to do now.” She flashed me a gorgeous smile. “He was supposed to come to dinner and didn’t show, then we missed the Cirque show ’cause he was supposed to buy us tickets and didn’t, so no, I’m not going up to the room. It’s probably something lame anyway.” She took another sip of her drink.

  Well, it wasn’t a boyfriend, that was a relief; however, her father seemed to stress her out as she immediately tensed.

  “You want to go out and get some air? It’s suddenly too stuffy and crowded to bear,” I offered.

  “Yes, some air would be good.” She hopped off the stool, wavering some in her drunkenness, but I wasn’t one to judge; I certainly wasn’t much less drunk.

  Once outside we both brightened up in the hot night air. It wasn’t exactly as refreshing as I’d hoped it would be but considering we had been breathing recycled air for hours, being out of the casino was infinitely better in all ways. I loved that she had a similar reaction to being free of the gambling hall.

  “Oh, my God, I felt like I was suffocating in there,” she said, relief washing over her beautiful face.

  Finally, I could see her in a little more natural light as her emerald eyes glowed in the moonlight and her tanned skin glistened. A surfer, huh? She was cool in ways women I’d known before could never fathom. I dated models, many, many models, actresses, musicians, an executive here and there, but a surfer chic who had a “thing for whales” well, it was an absolute first for me. It may have been the drink or it may have been the hot night air, and most likely it was the gorgeous creature before me, but for whatever reason, I was feeling electrified and so very drunk.

  “Now where, princess?” I usually never let the woman take the lead, but I was feeling generous, and curious, where would this free spirited vixen go now? “Your call. You won me money but sadly, I won you nothing. You decide the price.”

  She laughed, and her eyes slid to a smoldering glare. “It was only ten dollars.”

  “I’m at your mercy. You have until morning; do what you will with me,” I told her. If she came up with something I didn’t want to do, then most likely I’d not do it, but I was feeling wild, and I wanted to see where the untamed part of me she’d just unleashed might take us.

  Her face contorted into a smile. “Anything, anything?” she asked.

  I swallowed hard. “Within reason.”

  Her face narrowed into a sinister kind of seduction as she stretched her limbs up over her head and to the side, perhaps getting ready for our next adventure or evening out the kinks; I wasn’t truly sure. The length of her torso and her slender arms were poetry. Her breasts were tight and pert and stood straight up at attention. I did everything in my power not to fondle them right there in the middle of the sidewalk. I was so ready to invite her back to my hotel room, but that was my usual; I wanted something more tonight, something on her level.

  A spark crossed her face, and she grabbed my hand like an over-enthused teen and raced me across traffic, which was still pretty heavy even though it was almost midnight.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, keeping with her step.

  “You’ll see …” was all she gave me.

  As she angled us across the road, my heart started thudding in my chest. In front of us, three storefronts down on the left was a tacky little hole in the wall with faded letters above the door: SKIN TRADE. Tattoos?

  “No,” I protested as she dragged me through the door, “this is insane. I take it back, let’s go to a quiet bar and have another drink. You’re not in charge anymore; you can’t be trusted.” I wasn’t panicked exactly, but I was nearing panic, which I tried to cover with a rare kind of playfulness on my part.

  She said, in a strangely psychotic way, �
��We have to get tattoos.”

  I started putting my foot down as she plowed us through the door, a bell overhead ringing to alert the heavily tattooed man at the counter that customers had arrived.

  “We want tattoos,” she blurted out to the man sitting reading a trade magazine, looking tired and bored.

  “Shocker,” he said sarcastically.

  “She wants a tattoo,” I corrected. “I’m just here to watch.” I flashed him a plastic smile. “Encourage and that sort of thing.”

  She laughed in a sexy and lilting way; now the tattooed artist was taking notice. Damn, he was almost frothing at the mouth as she leaned over the counter giving him a hint of the beautiful breasts she kept so loosely housed in her dress.

  “So, what do you have?” she asked feigning innocence as her foot slipped out of her sandal and curled around her ankle.

  Her toenails were perfectly polished in a pale blue, and her feet were soft and supple. For a surfer, she sure took good care of her body; being on the beach all day could do a number on your skin, but not hers. In fact, the thought of marring that perfect skin with a tattoo started to seem downright criminal.

  “Where are you thinking of getting it?” I interrupted worrying she might blemish her beautiful ankle with an indelible mark.

  The tattoo artist looked at her, practically frothing at the mouth. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” he oozed. “But maybe you should consult with your boyfriend first,” he said, sounding a little forlorn.

  She laughed, no actually, she guffawed, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  Damn her!

  The guy suddenly looked ready to pounce.

  “I don’t know, where should I get it?” she asked him, baiting her prey.