One Night Bride

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “Tropical stuff always comes and goes. We repurpose it, and someone in the room says it’s revolutionary cause it’s retro or trashy or cliché. Personally, I’m not a fan of the fad, but I do what I can whenever it comes around again.” Xavier smiled answering the question I’d asked before I got swept up in my thoughts.

  “I actually like your tropical shirts, they’re cool.” I cocked my head and took another sip. “Everything you do is cool,” I gushed. Shit, I shouldn’t be gushing.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m definitely questioning the coolness of this,” he looked down at his tattoo, “at the moment.”

  I smiled at him sheepishly, as I dropped my hand and stroked the side of his leg. It was like iron. Lean and muscular, he was so powerful. I let my hand swipe back upwards as it brushed his taught ass cheek. I wanted my hands all over his body.

  “Dance with me,” I blurted out. “I love this song,” I lied, I just wanted to dance with him.

  “Josh Groban? You LOVE Josh Groban?” he asked as I whirled him off the chair and onto the dance floor.

  The music was sweeping and dramatic, and there were a few couples languidly hanging on one another. I draped my arms on his shoulders and took the same nonchalant pose as the others around the room, only I pressed my center towards his and started dirty dancing to “You Raise Me Up,” hoping he’d get the irony there.

  “What’s wrong with Josh Groban?” I asked, eyes wide and innocent.

  “Nothing,” he snarled softly as his arm rounded my back and he pressed me harder onto him.

  His stiffness was almost too much to bear as the fine cloth on his pants rubbed against the light material of my dress and even lighter and less obstructive lace on my panties. His hips rocked into mine, and we ground on each other, perhaps too lewdly for such a tame setting. Others tried not to look on. I was possessed. I nuzzled my face into his hot neck, smelling his cologne and musky man scent, feeling the heat of his soft skin on my lips. I lapped my tongue across his silky neck and bit him playfully. In response, his hand spiked me closer to his throbbing cock and landed squarely on my ass.

  “Do that again,” he playfully threatened, “and I’ll bend you over in the bathroom stall.” He punctuated this with one hard thrust, holding me firmly in place with his hand, his cock jabbing my pussy. “I’m pretty sure you’d like a bed better.” He eased up a bit, shaking off the tension, trying to temper his lust.

  “We still have to get married,” I teased as I lifted my leg up and let him feel the dampness of my pussy, which I swirled around his sensitive erection.

  He stilled my wicked hips.

  “What are we waiting for?” His eyes were blurry with drink and a carnal haze which gave him an even more feral and untamed quality.

  I was playing such a dangerous game, but it was fun. It was Vegas; it was a place unlike any other, where one could be decadent for a day. And so, with this reasoning, I gave his cock a few more slow strokes with my panty clad pussy and dropped my leg, turning my ass to him as I reached back to take up his hand. I was going to get married to Xavier Dean. It was unfathomable and yet, I was going to do it, even if we annulled our marriage in the morning, there would be a fun night ahead. I had ventured into crazy town, where I did nothing I would have ever done had Belvedere and the tainted potions of the Venetian Bartender not rendered me senseless.

  “Let’s go then.” I gently guided him through the gape-mouthed onlookers and out to the street, where everything was still spinning, but less so with the slight breeze against the hot night air.

  Chapter 5

  Xavier

  I quickly discovered I would have followed that woman anywhere, so I let her drag me down three blocks, making a hard right into a drive-up wedding chapel. I had heard about these kinds of tacky wedding places but didn’t think they really existed or functioned; especially past midnight. Didn’t they close?

  The drive-up wedding chapel was, luckily enough for us, open twenty-four hours. You could either walk or drive up to the service window and be married by a notary.

  This was explained to us when Arcadia breezed over to the service window, her foot finding her ankle in an attempt to curl around it out of habit, only bucking away to discover the tattoo and pain there.

  A light giggle escaped her lips as she leaned into me, “I am so drunk,” she tittered, her hand snaking around my waist, my cock flaring again, “but this is fun!”

  Her glossy lips were beckoning as I angled my head in for a kiss. “It is,” I confirmed sliding my tongue into her mouth and wrapping my arm around her waist tightening the distance between us, slamming my cock into her lithe body.

  She burst into another sweet laugh, when the officiant cleared her throat, growing irritated. I was usually the dominant one in everything. It felt good to let go a little and have Arcadia steer for a while. Albeit, it felt a little like careening down a mountain into a frothing pit of hot lava, but she was right, doing something completely insane was fun. I’d have my lawyers work out our little misstep in the morning, and I’d be unmarried by noon.

  She turned away from me but made sure her perfect ass landed atop my raging erection. I planned on having that ass so many times she wouldn’t be able to sit down. Perhaps I’d stay married to my “wife” for a while so I’d have free reign to use that ass as I wanted for as long as I’d like, with her consent of course. She was in complete control of my cock and every thought in my brain, which was so fried on alcohol it never really sent up any red flags telling me what we were doing was wrong. I already had a tattoo, what was worse than that? Thank God I wasn’t close enough to any kind of sobriety to find out.

  “Here’s the paperwork. Just fill this out, and I’ll have a draft printed out during the ceremony. Do you have any witnesses?” the wedding officiant asked in a bored monotone.

  “No.” Arcadia smiled as she slid the paperwork to me with a pen emblazoned with “Little Drive Up Chapel” on it in bright sparkling pink.

  “I’ll be your official witness then,” she said, sounding a tiny bit more cheerful. “And do you have rings?”

  “Oh no,” Arcadia sounded so drunk. “We don’t.”

  The Officiant brought out a tray of rings for us to look at. “We have them for sale, the price is beside each ring. We have most sizes in stock.” I liked how she was upselling a wedding; it made me laugh.

  “Which ones do you think?” Arcadia looked a little dreamy-eyed as she regarded the rings.

  “Any pair you want,” I said.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Some of these are really expensive,” she whispered.

  I glanced at the tray of tacky gold and platinum offerings, none of them were expensive or even nice in my book. The most expensive pair was the least revolting. They were simple platinum bands with swirls and diamonds etched into the sides.

  “I’d get those,” I pointed to them. Each cost five thousand dollars.

  “Wow,” she glared at me playfully. “You could feed a small country for that price. I just want something simple.” She pointed to the cheapest gold-plated ones at the top. “These will be fine.”

  I shook my head. “At least get the real gold ones.”

  We made a compromise and got two simple gold bands.

  “That’ll be two hundred ninety-nine dollars,” the officiant declared.

  I felt my stomach roll as I whipped out my credit card but ignored it and focused on the ass that had started this trouble in the first place. I thought I saw a note of recognition on the officiant’s face, but it passed, and I focused on the task at hand; the application for a marriage license. I was almost too drunk to see the words blurred across the page but used my instinct to answer the questions. “Name, Last, First … Name at birth, etc.”

  “Hey, are you gonna take my name?” I asked, immediately regretting the question. Poor kid, she shouldn’t take my name. She’d only have to take hers back again in the morning.

  “Sure,” she chirped. “Dean is cooler than Jones.”
She flashed a beautiful smile which had my heart fluttering.

  Fuck it, take my name, keep it even.

  “Dean it is then.” I was gonna burn in hell for being so crazy and reckless, but you only live once, why not get married to someone I didn’t know?

  She cooed as she scribbled the name Arcadia Dean under the “new name” section after I finished my part. The application was incredibly short; it was much easier to get married than divorced I assumed. The thought of divorce filled me with dread, so I stopped thinking about it.

  After completing the paperwork, I stood up blurry eyed, seeing two of the officiant in the small window tucked into a stucco wall. The wedding was shorter than the application.

  “Do you, Xavier Dean,” the officiant asked with another twinkle of recognition and a smirk this time …

  Damn, this was now probably going to be in the press.

  “I’m not that Xavier Dean by the way, in case you are wondering,” I interrupted thinking of the horror I’d face if this hit the press.

  “Right, of course,” she said with an all too sly wink. “You just look so much like him and all, just like the billboard,” she said with a disbelieving air.

  “That’s good to know, in case the real Dean ever decides to marry here.” I gave her an equally smarmy smirk, firing up my intensity. “I’m sure he’d hate to file any kind of lawsuit or anything garish.” I winked at her, and she continued the ceremony.

  “Do you take Arcadia Jones to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  Arcadia looked at me with those large gleaming doe eyes. Her smile was playful and bright. This is fun, her expression said, and so I answered, “I do.”

  Arcadia’s face beamed with joy, “And I do too!” she interjected before being asked.

  The officiant was much more somber asking Arcadia if she wanted to take me as her husband, to which Arcadia excitedly answered, “I do,” a second time, and we were married.

  We left the drive-up wedding chapel as husband and wife, carrying a fancy-looking marriage certificate that said as much. Now to find my hotel and fuck my wife silly. Unexpectedly, she threw herself into my arms, wrapped her legs around my very tender and sensitive cock as we kissed long sweet and slow right in front of the exhausted and bedraggled person who married us.

  “You guys can get a room now,” she said with biting scorn as she closed the window, leaving Arcadia and me alone on the street with our tongues sword playing for dominance.

  When Arcadia was finally tired of holding herself over my cock with her legs clenched tightly around me, she shifted down my body and found her shaky footing again. “Can we go to your place? I’m not sure I’m ready to tell my dad just yet.” She cringed a little as she glanced down at her phone. There was a long string of messages from “Dad” on it; enough to fill the screen.

  “Maybe you should answer his calls and let him know you’re alive at least,” I suggested. The last thing I needed was an angry father breathing down my neck. She turned off her phone and pushed it into a thin pocket of her dress. I realized her identification, credit card, and everything fit into that small pocket.

  “I’ve told him already a hundred times I was going to be out, not to wait up. He wanted me to meet a friend of his, but I’ve refused already. He’s just being bossy. Best I stay out and wait for him to cool down a bit. I’m twenty-nine, I’m a grown up. He can learn to chill.”

  I certainly hoped that chillin’ was what he was learning because if he found us, it would be hell. I wasn’t up for the wrath of an angry father, but she seemed to have a fair point, so I left her family drama to her. “Well, I’m not gonna worry if you don’t worry,” I said, feeling a little trepidatious and much less drunk. Marriage definitely sobers you up fast. I was still hazy, but not blurry eyed anymore.

  “I’m not gonna worry. So where’s your hotel?” she asked, taking up my hand sweetly in hers.

  I was ready to do this; I was ready to collect my winnings for losing at the craps table, and I was finally going to have Arcadia Jones’… er um, Dean’s ass! I had a hard time remembering where my hotel room was. It was easy enough to find the hotel, but the suites, I forgot which floor they were on. I became instantly overwhelmed with noise as soon as I entered the lobby with Arcadia on my arm. It was that horrid dinging and clanging again that had me disoriented.

  “Excuse me,” I asked the front desk agent. “I seem to have forgotten my key and room number.” I gave her a sheepish grin. “Xavier Dean,” I confirmed, sliding over my driver’s license.

  “Yes, Mr. Dean,” she said, with her eyes batting. “I know who you are, you’re in room 1252. Here’s your key card.” She slid both my ID and my room key card back to me with a large luscious smile.

  Oh, how I loved women, and then I looked to Arcadia. I worried I might feel a pang of regret looking into her bright sparkling green eyes, but it was quite the opposite. She was even lovelier than the front desk agent, and I was truly excited to spend the night with her.

  “Shall we go up?” she asked bouncing sweetly on my arm.

  If she was having any second thoughts, I wasn’t seeing them in her sweet smile. Perhaps I wouldn’t annul our wedding right away. I wondered how long the statute of limitations for annulment was anyway, maybe wait till the last day, just in case. While I wasn’t entirely unhappy with the situation at hand, I did note to myself, I probably needed to stop at seven drinks in the future. I wouldn’t have ended up with a permanent skin marking and a wife if I had.

  As soon as we got into the room she marveled at the size of the suite with childlike wonder. She must’ve come from some money as she didn’t act crass or too overly impressed but noted the fine furnishings and the opulent space. It was the penthouse, so we had glittering views of the strip. She was astonished by the view as well. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling picture window and surveyed the land below.

  “This is incredible,” she breathed as I slid up behind her, finally ready to claim my prize.

  “This is,” I said as I dove my aching, pant-clad cock between her amazing ass cheeks.

  She wiggled her beautiful ass around on my dick a few shakes when I leaned into her ear, bating it with my warm breath.

  “Ready to consummate our marriage?” I asked, my voice dripping with sexual tension.

  She lifted the hem of her dress, revealing more of that perfect ass. My hand grazed across the soft skin, and I’d marry her again and again for this moment, this moment when all of it was mine, every inch. As much as I wanted to take her right there facing all of Vegas, my cock ramming right up inside her pussy with her ass jiggling on my stomach, I also wanted more. I would ride her to the moon and back. So as much as I wanted to be a feral beast … my mind was begging me to be calm for her sake. I slowed myself down, gazed into her eyes and wanted to know her. The drink had cooled in my system some, and I stared at her glorious face. Still flirtatious, she was like a soft summer breeze; light, airy, and hard to catch.

  She turned from the view and put her hands on my shoulders, gently rubbing her fingers across my taught muscles, wanting to bridge the distance between us.

  “You’re tense.” She smiled gracefully, knowing what was to come.

  I leaned into her. “It’s because I want to fuck you,” I breathed into her neck as I kissed it.

  “Make love to me then.” She turned fully around to face me. “I don’t want to be fucked.” She gave a sly grin as she raised her leg and circled it around my waist like she had on the dance floor. “I’m your wife, if only for tonight. Make love to me like I’m something precious,” she sweetly instructed as her pussy raked across my needy cock, then pressed into it hot and wet. “Because I am.”

  Her mouth met mine with a gentle kiss. I opened my mouth and swirled my tongue on hers as her hips ground against me. My erection was now painful; I had to relieve the pressure.

  I broke our kiss only to rasp, “I promise, I’ll not ruin you … but a good fucking …”

  She lifte
d her hand to my lips, tenderly placing her forefinger there. “Is for Vegas and one-night stands. A one-day marriage is more. Let us be more … if only just tonight.”

  She was my goddess, my muse, so bold, so beautiful, and so right. We owed each other more than a hot fuck; we owed each other a piece of ourselves to remember when we were no longer here in this room together. She let her hand graze across my cheek, inflaming desire in every single nerve in my body. She ignited the fire within me. That hand then traced down the side of her body to the hem of her short flirty dress.

  “Do you promise?” she asked, momentarily hesitant.

  “I promise,” I breathed as I waited with baited breath for her to reveal what she’d kept barely hidden under that dress.

  She lifted the dress over her shoulders and let it slink to the floor. She was wearing a soft lacy bra that held her beautiful breasts firmly in place. Her tits were small but perfect. She was lean and delicate, but I could see the contour of muscles lining her legs, arms, and stomach. A surfer girl … and a marine biologist; fuck she was everything. I couldn’t help myself, I was done waiting, she’d opened the door a crack, and I was ready to charge right through it.

  I picked her up bridal-style and carried her to the bed thinking I should have done this across the threshold of our hotel room. Since we were playing out this fantasy, I should’ve played it to perfection. Having her in my arms felt good. She felt right with her head nestled into my chest. My heart warmed. Usually, I bedded a woman with mastery and skill, but she had my heart beating; this little surfer nymph/scientist was more thrilling than I ever imagined she’d be.