by Lacey Black
I let her hand rest mere inches from where my cock twitches with eagerness.
Chasing the liquor with big gulps of water, I finally ask the group, “What is everyone having?”
We order food and visit, discussing details of tomorrow night’s wedding, as well as the dinner afterward. Again. Like we haven’t discussed it to death in specific detail since the news spread that they were getting married in Vegas. I try to focus on the words around me, but I can’t. Her hand. It’s still there. On my leg. And it’s doing crazy things to my mind. Things I shouldn’t be thinking about, especially as we discuss my sister’s impending nuptials to the man sitting next to her with stars in his eyes. The thing going on in my pants shouldn’t even be a blip on the radar at this point.
Jensen orders a round of drinks and groans when I order another water. He mumbles something to the waiter that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I already know he’s up to something.
“I can’t wait to dance,” Marissa says, smiling at the couples heading up the stairs toward the music.
“Me either!” Harper agrees, her eyes sparkling under the lights.
“I can’t wait to watch you dance either,” Rhenn mumbles, placing a kiss on her exposed shoulder. My little sister blushes fiercely but smiles in response. She leans in and whispers in his ear, and I have to look away when his face transforms into something that definitely speaks of dirty talk.
Averting my eyes, I find Jensen kissing on Kathryn’s neck and Latham running his finger down Harper’s cheek like he can’t stop touching her. My gut clenches with something that feels like…jealousy. I’m extremely happy for my siblings that they found love. So why am I suddenly wishing it were me sitting there, gazing at the woman I love like I can’t wait to be alone with her?
I’ve never felt that kind of longing. Even when dating over the last decade. They were nice—great, even—but they didn’t bring out this primal urge to rip off all their clothes in a public place. Something I’d never do, mind you, but still. You get the point. My siblings are there. They’re happy and engaging in healthy relationships, while I’m sitting here alone.
No, not alone, I’m reminded as Freedom flexes her hand on my thigh.
Subtly, I glance her way and study her profile. She’s smiling softly at my sister, her best friend. Her hair is up, a high ponytail with a little butterfly clip on the side. My fingers twitch to slide through those long locks. Something tells me they’re soft and smell amazing, and suddenly, I’m leaning just a little closer to see if I can catch a whiff.
There.
There is it.
That familiar earthy scent I only associate with Freedom.
Our waiter returns with drinks and appetizers. My stomach growls, the warmth of the alcohol still very much present, as a glass of something dark is set in front of me. I glance over at my brother, who just winks and lifts his own glass. It’s definitely not beer, and something tells me whatever’s in this glass is going to kick my ass. That’s the prime reason I won’t be drinking it. I’ll politely decline, settling for my water for the rest of the evening, but then that damn hand moves. The touch, the heat, the familiarity is gone as she turns and talks to Harper. An odd sense of longing sweeps through my blood, a sadness I can’t describe, and that’s when I reach for the glass.
That weird feeling I’ve been trying to ignore but keeps returning all the same.
That weird pull I feel in my chest whenever she’s around.
That horrible twist in my gut when some guy passing by our table stops and engages her in a conversation.
She laughs.
I hate it.
It’s real and natural and…
Fuck.
That’s why I bring the glass to my lips and drink half the contents. It’s sweet and goes down easily, and I’m surprisingly shocked. I’ve never been a liquor guy, not after that one time, indulging too much in college. Now, here I am, begging for that long-forgotten numbness to sweep through my blood, as I finish off the rest of the glass without any food in my belly.
Freedom laughs again, and whatever he says, she agrees. He walks away, a little too much pep in his step, glancing back over his shoulder once before rejoining his small group of friends. I hate him. I don’t know why, but I do. The fact he evoked laughter from Freedom so easily, so eagerly, leaves me feeling like a caged animal, ready to pummel my way to freedom.
Freedom.
My complete undoing.
I want to stay away, but I can’t.
She calls to me like a siren, drawing me in, most likely to my untimely death.
No, Samuel may not die, but the carefully constructed façade I erected around him will. It’s slowly crumbling, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing I can do to go back. Nothing I can do but go to her.
She calls.
I answer.
***
The pounding.
So much pounding.
My head feels like it’s going to vibrate right off my neck, and knowing the way I feel, it’d be a welcome relief. I squint my eyes and glance at the clock, which reads ten thirty. The room is bathed in darkness, thanks to black-out curtains, and I’ve never been more grateful for decent window coverings before in my life. I also can’t believe I drank as much alcohol as I did. That’s completely out of character for me, especially when surrounded by my family.
The pounding starts once more, and I realize it’s the door. I stumble from bed, my legs tangled in the sheets and almost causing me to fall. It takes me a good five seconds to stand there, waiting for the waves of nausea to take over my body, but fortunately, it doesn’t happen. At least not yet.
Cool air-conditioning hits my body—I mean my whole body. Why in the hell did I go to bed naked last night? How did I even get to my room? Where the hell are my clothes? All good questions and yet, I have no answers. None. My mind is a big blank sheet of paper where last night was concerned. I remember the show and club we ended up at. My brother talked me into a shot—or was it two? Hell, if the way I’m feeling is any indication, I’d say it was way more than two.
I find a towel thrown on the floor over by the bathroom, so I wrap it around my waist and head toward the door. The pounding starts a third time, and I almost say screw it and go back to bed. But whoever is there is insistent as hell and probably won’t leave until I answer. Throwing the lock, I pull the heavy door open, the light from the hallway blinding me.
I hear a gasp and crack open my eyes, only to find my sister, Harper, standing in front of me. Her mouth is hanging open so far, it practically drags on the ground. “Hello,” I grumble running my hand over my forehead as my eyes finally adjust to the onslaught of light.
She takes in my appearance at the door, probably just as shocked to see me in a towel as I am to be answering the door wearing one. “What are you doing?” she whispers, her eyes bouncing from my bare chest to my eyes.
“Sleeping. It’s what people do in a hotel room,” I tell her, already wishing I were back in bed, back in the darkness.
“Why are you here?”
That gives me pause. I know I drank a lot last night, but why the hell is my sister surprised to find me in my room? “Why are you here?”
She seems to glance around, checking the number on the door and looking back my way. There’s no hiding her confusion. “Did you sleep here last night?”
“Yes,” I grumble. Why the hell is she asking stupid questions.
“Naked?”
I pull my towel tighter around my waist. “Apparently.”
“Samuel,” she starts, then stops.
“What, Harper? Why are you at my room?” I ask, hating that I’m being a tad rude to my sister on her wedding day, yet really just wishing for another hour or two of uninterrupted sleep before all of this wedding whoopla begins.
I expect her to be a little snippy by my impoliteness, but what I wasn’t expecting was her response. A response that changes the entire course of my life. A response that rocks me clea
r down to the core.
“This isn’t your room. It’s Free’s.”
Chapter Six
Freedom
Voices.
They’re close, yet seem so far away. Through the fog and clouds, a ray of sunshine peeks through, beckoning me awake, yet making me want to hide and pull away at the same time. I bury myself under the thick comforter, trying to grab on to any piece of recollection I can find.
Las Vegas.
Dinner.
Drinks.
Dancing.
More drinks.
More dancing.
There was a guy. I remember his light hair and bright eyes. He couldn’t really dance, but I’d had enough drinks I didn’t care. The beat in the club was deep and heavy, much like the beat in my head right now. We swayed to the music, laughter from my friends settling around me as they did the same.
Eyes. I felt them on me the entire time, drinking in my moves like a fine scotch that’s aged to perfection. Savoring. Tasting.
Hands. Not the ones from before, but a different set. Familiar hands that not only touched my skin, but my soul. I can still feel them sliding against my arms, his long legs moving in time to the music as he pressed his body to mine.
And that body. A flush spreads over me as pieces of the night before start to slide together like a jigsaw puzzle. That torso, surprisingly rippled with hard muscle, and those arms, strong and steady as he held me close. He could move, I recall, as we danced to the thick pulse at the club.
It wasn’t the only thing…thick. I definitely remember that as he pressed against me, hard and ready.
More booze.
I should have stopped, but I didn’t—I couldn’t.
Like courage, I needed it to advance my night to the next phase. There was only one thing I wanted, and I wanted it with this man. This stranger. Who danced like a god and enticed me, drawing me in with his magnetism and ease.
And yes, it was familiar. His scent, his touch, his everything.
I remember leaving the club, my hand tucked securely in his. We walked, laughed, and…kissed. God, so much kissing. He pressed me against every wall, every doorway, every hard surface as we made our way to our destination. We stopped along the way, another club with a harder beat. Rap music filled the air, but I didn’t seem to care. Neither did the mystery man.
We danced, our bodies so close I didn’t know where I ended and he began. His lips were soft, yet firm, as they skimmed my hot skin, leaving me completely breathless. We drank from shot glasses a warm amber liquid that was smooth, yet potent. Then, we danced some more, our bodies mimicking sex. Hot, sweaty, stinky sex.
I don’t recall what happened next, really. I needed air desperately, my body craving it as much as it was the man. We stumbled outside, giggling and kissing the entire way. I recall…the lights. So many lights, which I guess, is pretty common when you’re on the strip in Vegas.
And then there was music.
It was different.
It was low and intimate.
It was…recognizable.
My brain struggles to piece it together, slivers of the beat refusing to connect or make any sense. I stay buried beneath my blankets, struggling to remember the end of the night. Or early morning? Hell, it could have been any time. Obviously, I met someone and enjoyed the hell out of my evening. I’m currently hiding in the darkness, completely naked, and listening for those voices.
An odd sense of awareness seeps through my pores as the voices grow loud—or at least, one particular voice.
Harper.
Suddenly, it all comes back with the intensity and shock of a twelve-car pileup.
The walk in the night.
Kissing.
The jewelry store.
Elvis.
A hummingbird.
I sit up, my hair hanging in my face like a protective shield from the onslaught of sunlight. My hand shakes as I slowly bring it to my face, the ruby and diamond ring shining like a spotlight in the night. A gasp is heard, but I’m not really sure it’s from me. No, definitely not from me. I couldn’t form coherent sounds if my life depended on it. I’m too busy trying to figure out how the hell I managed to get married in the last ten hours and barely remember it.
“Free?”
I slowly raise my head to face my best friend. Sure, Harper looks like she’s seen a ghost, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief, but it’s not really her I’m focusing on right now. No, my eyes are riveted to the man standing beside her. He’s wearing a towel and nothing else. His hair is in complete disarray, a look I’m definitely not used to seeing, yet turned on by that image all the same. It’s also the first time I’ve noticed the length of his hair. It’s definitely a little longer than usual, like he missed a cut or something. His jaw hangs as low as his sister’s as he stares back at me with big distressed eyes.
Samuel.
I fucking married Samuel Grayson last night.
Or this morning.
Whatever. Semantics.
His eyes drop as he stares at…my chest. I pull up the blanket, the starch white comforter that’s slightly tangled around my legs. “Holy shitballs,” I mumble, falling back onto the pillow, my brain jarring and my vision blurring.
“Holy shitballs is right!” Harper hollers, completely inside my hotel room now.
“Can you quiet the noise a little, please?” I ask, my brain trying to crawl from my skull.
“Did you two… Are you… Oh my God, Samuel, what is that on your finger?” she bellows, trying to keep her voice down but failing miserably, as she points at his hand.
I glance up and watch as he tries to hide his left hand behind his back, but I already know what she’s referring to. I put that ring there. I have no clue how we were able to stand up straight, let alone long enough to speak words and follow tasks. Yet, we did it. Beautifully.
Suddenly, my best friend starts laughing. She throws her head back and lets loose a full-body laugh that has her eyes leaking water. “What’s so funny?” Samuel mumbles, trying to process her sudden shift in personality.
“I can’t believe you two got married! I mean, I honestly knew this day was coming, but I never thought it’d be this soon. I thought for sure we had a few more years before you two realized you were secretly in love and pining for each other.”
Samuel scoffs and stutters. “I’m not…we’re not in…love. Far from it.”
Harper snorts. “Right,” she replies, pushing the long strands of red hair that fell from her face during her giggle-fest. “Anyway, I should let the newlyweds get back to it. I’ll make an excuse for the brunch, but Free, you should probably make sure you’re down at the spa at three, and Samuel, you’re meeting in Mom’s suite at five.”
My lips don’t seem to want to work. I can’t believe how blasé she is about this entire thing, like it’s totally natural for her brother and her best friend to marry in Las Vegas mere hours before her own wedding.
She waves her hand. “It’s fine.”
“What?”
“You said that out loud, silly. It’s totally fine. If it were anyone else, I might be a little perturbed, but not you and Samuel.” She shrugs. “You two were meant to be together, and I’m happy for you. Though, I guess I’m a little ticked I didn’t get to stand up beside you.”
Realization sets in.
I got married. Without my best friend. Without the only person who’s stood by my side through life’s many ups and downs. And boy have there been a lot of downs. My childhood which was a tad bit unusual than most, moving to Rockland Falls to live with my grandma, growing up and always feeling, well, different. Boys were always curious, which is why they dated me, but they always ended with disappointment.
“We’re not married, Harper.” Great, Samuel finally finds his voice.
“Actually, we are,” I mumble, wishing I could just crawl back under the covers and wake up in someone else’s life.
“I’m going to go downstairs. If you guys decide to join us, brunch
is in the restaurant,” Harper adds with a smile as she heads toward the door.
“Well, we’ll just get it annulled,” he states to me, as if he isn’t standing in front of me wearing nothing but a towel and a scowl on his face.
Harper snorts as she reaches the door. “Uhh, I don’t think you can do that.”
“Why not?” he asks, incredulously.
I follow her eyes as they settle on the nightstand beside the bed. “Well, it looks like this marriage was already consummated. Twice.” Her laughter spills into the hotel hallway as she leaves our room.
The silence is heavy as realization sets in. Oh yeah, there was definite sex here last night. Twice. It comes back to me piece by piece, in vivid Technicolor. The wall, the shower, the vanity, the couch, the bed. We may have only used two condoms, but we pretty much christened every surface in the room until we were both exhausted.
There’s an ache between my legs as I recall how we spent our morning as husband and wife. My eyes glance up and connect with the bulge, the one barely concealed behind thick terrycloth, and my body starts to hum with anticipation and need.
“What are you looking at?” he asks, glancing down to his growing erection. Yes, it’s growing. And growing and growing. Yes, definitely a grower. Apparently, Samuel has been hiding a Louisville Slugger behind his formal suit pants on a daily basis that even I couldn’t have been prepared for.
“Nothing,” I reply, trying to avert my eyes, but I can’t seem to look away. My nipples start to tingle.
His sigh fills the hotel room. “Listen, Freedom, I don’t know what happened last night. I never drink hard liquor, let alone that much. Everything is very…well, it’s missing. I don’t remember anything after a certain point.”
“What do you remember?”
Samuel comes over to the bed and has a seat on the edge. His back is…ripped. Holy shitballs, his back is fucking cut like a diamond, but that’s not all. There are red welts in long streaks. I lean forward, my face burning with mortification as I realize they’re scratch marks. A lot of fucking scratch marks, actually.
He lowers his head, only making those damn marks on his back stand out that much more. “I remember drinking before our dinner was served. Your hand—” he starts, but cuts himself off.