Tulsa

by S. L. Scott

  Turning in my arms, she cups my face. “I love you.”

  “I’ll love you always,” I whisper back. “Wait for me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I lean my forehead against hers, holding her by the hips while thumbing the side of her very tiny and even sexier lace panties. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  “On you is exactly where I intend to fall asleep. Without you? Never, my love.”

  I kiss her on the forehead and then pull myself away to take a shower. The faster I clean up, the faster I get to my wife. I take care of business and get out and spend a few minutes getting ready for her. After wrapping a towel around my waist, I brush my teeth, do a quick shave, and then slick my hair back since it’s wet and I don’t want to spend time styling it.

  When I open the door, there’s no need for lights. The sunrise illuminates her body, painting her in soft gold. So beautiful. So mine. “I worried you might have fallen asleep.”

  “I had reasons to stay awake.”

  I’m not nervous even though this being our official first time together seems to call for it. This isn’t casual sex, or another girl who added her number into my phone one drunken night in downtown Austin. This is new territory for me because this is my wife. My wife. Damn, that’s the sexiest name, right along with Nikki Faris.

  Lying on the bed looking like an angel in white lace is the last woman I’ll ever be with—sexually, emotionally, or physically—in any way. But I’m not nervous; I feel more at peace than I ever have before.

  “I’ll make sure not to disappoint.” I like the way she looks at me—biting her bottom lip as her eyes follow the lines of my abs and dip lower. I’m tempted to tease her a little longer by keeping the towel on, but who am I kidding? I let it fall at my feet and stand hard and proud for her.

  Stroking my dick a few times, I ask, “See what you do to me? This is just from looking at you, from knowing how good you taste, and remembering how your mouth falls open when you come.” It’s hard not to jump on her, but we should take our time. At least at first, but I’m not feeling very patient. “Bra off.”

  I don’t mean to sound so demanding, but man, I want to take her in ways that aren’t gentle or nice. It’s our wedding night, or morning rather, and I just want to sink into her, get drunk on her warmth, and let her soul embrace mine completely. I want to be one with her in all ways.

  Nikki sits up and reaches behind her back. She slips the bra off, tossing it to the floor, then runs the tips of her fingers just below the lace of her panties. “What about these?”

  “How attached to them are you?”

  “They’re on my body, but they were bought for you.”

  Tilting my head to the side, I run my thumb over my bottom lip, admiring what’s mine. Mine. I sound like a fucking caveman. I pity the fucker who tries to talk to her, much less look her way.

  I’ve never once been the kind of guy to be possessive, but I know now it’s because I’ve never cared this much about someone I dated before. Dated. That word just does not encompass what Nikki and I have been.

  My life changed the second she walked off that stage and into my life. We didn’t need words—there was a connection that destiny strengthened each passing day.

  Mine. The word comes rumbling back as I watch her waiting for me as if I’m all she’ll ever need. I’ll be whatever she wants and everything she needs.

  “Tulsa, stop thinking so hard and come warm me up.”

  I appreciate the invitation, knowing she wants me as much as I want her. “Fuck, yeah, I’ll warm you up.” I climb onto the bed.

  Her legs butterfly open for me, inviting me into her inner sanctum. We could fuck, but we’re not going to. Well, not at first anyway. I can’t wait to be balls deep inside her.

  From taking me deep into her throat to fucking her with my fingers, I know what she can handle and what she can’t. Bending down, I open my mouth, cover her sweet pussy, and exhale a hot breath. Her fingers find my hair, and although the tips of her nails scrape lightly at first, I know she likes to pull when she’s close to coming.

  “Put your legs over my shoulders, baby. I want to feel those heels digging in when I make you come.”

  “No one has ever talked to me like you do.” There’s a soft, lingering moan to her words.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I like when you do it because whether you’re telling me what to do or talking dirty, you’re always doing it with care for me, to make sure I feel good.”

  “That’s what I want. Always.”

  “You do, babe.” Running her knuckles gently over my temple, she says, “You have movie star good looks. That jaw. Your eyes. That slicked back hair. God, you’re gorgeous.”

  “Did you marry me just for my looks?” I ask, punctuating it with a wink.

  “No.” Her hand goes to the top of my head, and she pushes down, not so subtly. “I married you for your oral skills.”

  “Such a sweet talker, but I get the hint.”

  This time, she winks at me. “Thank you for not making me say it. Now get to work, rock star.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sitting up, I start on her left hip and rip the lace right the fuck off and then move to the other side. She never makes a peep, but a sassy little grin sits on her face. I toss the ruined fabric over my shoulder and move in to take what’s mine.

  Inhaling her delicate cherry fragrance makes my mouth water and my dick harden even more. I dive in, tongue first.

  Her body moves to the rhythm I set; her little cries become notes that unfold as the melody develops through sucking, licks, and nips. She’s squirming beneath me, begging for more.

  One finger.

  Two.

  When she’s ready, she grabs my hair and pulls, yelling my name loud enough for neighboring guests to hear. Her heels dig in as she arches into me.

  I lick her clean from her orgasm and then slide up until I’m hovering over her, our lips mere inches apart. “I want you to taste your sweetness on me.”

  Her eyes are glazed with bliss, and she whispers, “I have before.”

  “Not as my wife.”

  Her arms strengthen around my neck, and she pulls me to her, her mouth taking mine, making claims of her own.

  She’s intoxicating, making me want to fuck her hard and fast. We’ve had the protection talk before. She’s on the pill. We’re both clean. I’ve never had sex without a condom, but part of the possessiveness consuming me when it comes to her is that I want her in all ways. I want to feel connected to her without barriers, but it’s not my decision to make.

  The past has a way of catching up with your future. The warning comes back to haunt me. “I want you.”

  “I want you,” she replies with a lazy smile gracing her lips.

  “I want to feel all of you.”

  She’s a smart woman and knows what I’m getting at. “We’re married. I want that too, Tulsa.” Thank the skies above. She holds my face between her hands like she holds my heart—with love and care. “It’s only us forevermore.”

  “Only us. Forevermore.” Slowly, I reach between us and position myself. “I’ll go slowly.”

  She nods, but it’s the first time I see anything but confidence in her eyes. I kiss her and push until I feel her body tense, and then I stop. Touching her cheek, I whisper, “Relax, darlin’. Just you and me forevermore.” I kiss her gently. “I’ll take good care of you.”

  After taking a deep breath, her eyes close, and her body releases the tension. I slide in a few more inches and watch as her mouth widens, and she sucks in a breath. When she opens her eyes, she says, “I’m sorry. It’s been—”

  “It’s okay. I know. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

  “I don’t want you to stop. I want this, with you.”

  Whispering against her neck, I say, “You feel so good,” and push in most of the way.

  “I love you.” Her arms are around my neck holding me so tightly.

  Her skin i
s soft under my kisses, and her body starts to move at its own rhythm. I push all the way in and savor the sensation of being wholly embraced—my body and my soul. I’m captivated by this woman, my queen. “I love you.”

  I start to move, slowly at first and then faster. She’s slick, so wet for me. She kisses my shoulder while her breath heats my skin.

  We move. We make love. We fuck.

  “I love you,” I say when I release into her. I don’t stop until parts of me, once untouched, pour into the deepest parts of her. Reaching down, I tease her. I flick when she likes it rougher, and I caress when she’s moaning into my ear. I feel complete when she comes, tensing and then melting into the mattress beneath me.

  Rolling to the side, I hold her in my arms, and we lie together as husband and wife, watching the sun torch the sky as it rises. She says wistfully, “I hope it’s always like this.”

  I will spend my life showing her what real love means. I kiss the back of her neck and then make a promise I intend to keep. “It will be. I swear.”

  26

  Nikki

  Even though I was exhausted, I watched Tulsa sleep for more than an hour before I gave in and fell asleep myself.

  My phone buzzes, bouncing across the top of the dresser, disturbing my sweet dreams. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to move from the warmth of his arms, but I know I can’t stay.

  As much as I don’t want to, I have to leave. Bitterness consumes my happiness. I hunker down, wanting all parts of my body pressed against his. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I just want to be with my husband.

  “Good morning,” Tulsa says, his voice groggy with sleep.

  “Good morning.” I roll over and finally open my eyes to find his just little squints. Reaching up, I touch his cheek just as he touches mine. “We got married last night.”

  I could bask in his smile all day. “We did.” Leaning forward, he kisses me when I expected a cute boop. I like the boops, but I prefer the kisses. “How are you feeling?”

  “Happy I married you if that’s what you’re asking. No regrets.”

  “None.”

  “Are we being selfish?”

  “No,” he says, “We’re doing what makes us happy. As long as making us happy doesn’t hurt anyone else, what harm’s being done?”

  He’s right. “None.” I yawn unexpectedly. “I’m tired, though. How are you? I can’t believe you were tasered and then arrested. Are you okay?”

  “Thankfully, it was only a stun gun. No permanent damage done. The worst part was not getting to spend time with you.”

  “It’s bad enough we had to play a role after the wedding, but then for that to happen to you.” My chest hurts thinking about him being in pain. He’s a strong guy, a big man, but even he can get hurt. I don’t know if he’s putting on a front, but I’ll do anything that helps him forget. Hugging him, I kiss his chest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

  I rest on my elbows, hoping to see him smile. He never disappoints. Weaving his fingers into my hair, he asks, “Ready for round two?” Oh, holy hell, I am.

  I move to my back as he rolls on top. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Delicious kisses lead to everything more.

  I was only fifteen minutes late to brunch with Lauralee. She let it go after telling me I glowed. When I look at her, I could say the same.

  “Did you have sex with my brother?” I ask in horror as my memories from last night come rushing back.

  “What, why? Huh . . . me . . . I. Pfft,” she stammers, and scoffs, and then laughs while waving her hand around like I’m ridiculous. “God. Nikki. Pfft.”

  “The lady doth protest too much. Good grief. Please tell me that’s a no?”

  “No. Of course not. Did you just quote Shakespeare?”

  “I did. Sometimes a little Shakespeare is needed.”

  “What are you ordering?”

  Staring at her, I’m thinking she either banged my brother, which is ew, doesn’t want to tell me, or she doesn’t want me to know. I think she wants to let it go, and quite honestly, I do too. “I’ll just pretend this conversation didn’t happen.”

  We order our food, and as usual, the conversation over the hour turns to odd facts and pop culture. With a mimosa in one hand, she asks, “Did you know that you can get customized dildos?”

  I spew my orange juice, spraying my brunch plate. “Good lord, Lauralee. Are you still drunk? What the hell?”

  “I might still be tipsy, but I’m definitely not drunk,” she says matter-of-factly before bursting into laughter.

  While she’s laughing, I ask, “Customized how?” Because, yeah, my interest is now piqued.

  “Of your loved one, your S.O., or whoever you can get to shove their dick into a tube full of molding goo.”

  I push my plate away. “Obviously, we’re done here. Why are we talking about this, and how do you even know about customized toys?”

  She shrugs. “The internet.”

  “I can only imagine what your browser history looks like.”

  “Speaking of, if something happens to me, destroy my laptop. My father does not need to know about my Danny Weston obsession.”

  “The model?”

  “Supermodel.” She touches her throat like she’s about to orgasm—in public. “God, he’s everything. Did you see the underwear campaign he did last fall?”

  “Guess I missed that one.”

  “I’ll send it to you.”

  “Only if you stop rubbing your throat like that.” I glance at the table next to us where three guys who appear to have major hangovers, judging by their bloodshot eyes and clothes that are too flashy for eleven in the morning, sit.

  One smiles, but I look away, pretending I wasn’t just busted. “Hey.” When my gaze flicks back their way, he says, “You’re that singer chick.” He turns back to his friends, snapping his finger. “You guys know her. We saw them last night . . . um. What was her name?”

  Another guy asks, “What was the band’s name?”

  Lauralee and I just watch as they ask each other instead of me. The third guy says, “Faris?”

  Lauralee caves and corrects them, “Faris Wheel.”

  The first guy points at me with a huge, goofy grin. “That’s right. Shit, you’re hotter in person than on stage.”

  I want to roll my eyes so badly but go with the air quotes instead. “Here’s an insider secret: I’m actually ‘in person’ when I’m on stage too.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Unfortunately, I do. “Yes, I do.” Even though the situation is all wrong, the “I do” I say reminds me of last night and the vows I exchanged with Tulsa, and I smile, my mood turning around just in time for the man next to us. “Thank you for the compliment.”

  “Can I get an autograph?”

  The other guy who knew Faris asks, “How about a picture?”

  I glance at Lauralee, who’s smiling politely. She’s been in this situation before with me and knows the drill. “I can take the photo.”

  The guys hop up from their table and surround me. The smell of tequila is strong wafting off them, twisting my stomach. I didn’t get drunk last night, but I had a few. Their hands cover my back and shoulders, and I start to feel a little uncomfortable. I still smile when Lauralee says to, and as they slowly pull away, one says, “You want to go out sometime?”

  “No, thank you.” I don’t know why I say thank you other than it seemed like the thing I was supposed to say.

  He leaves, but I swear he gives me a dirty look. Now I roll my eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I dig out cash from my purse and set it under the saltshaker. It’s more than enough to cover the bill with a good tip, but I don’t want to wait for change. The vibe from those guys isn’t friendly, and I don’t feel comfortable without Laird or Shane to back me up if something happens.

  As we walk out, I realize that role now belongs to Tulsa. How would he react if he’d been here? Tulsa acts on inst
inct. Would he rush me out of the place or punch one of them? Yes. Of course, he would. He and Laird are so similar.

  Oh, God.

  “Did I marry my brother?”

  A woman outside the restaurant looks up from her phone and gasps.

  “I didn’t marry my brother,” I snap.

  The woman double gasps and covers her mouth, offended, again, by my comment. Lauralee says, “She didn’t marry her brother. All right?”

  The woman turns her back to us, and I grab Lauralee’s sleeve, tugging her toward the casino. “We need to go.”

  “Why are you talking about marrying Laird?”

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  What do I say? What do I say? “I’m not talking about marrying Laird.”

  “I’m so confused. What are you talking about?”

  Marrying Tulsa, but I can’t tell her that. Not yet. Ugh. Cutting through the lobby, I see Tommy pulling his suitcase up ahead. “Shit! Tommy. We have to hide.” I’m tempted to duck, but I’m too late. He sees me.

  He knows stuff. Too much. He and Rochelle are the ones who handled the situation last night. I just wonder if he knows everything.

  When we approach, he greets us first. “Good morning.”

  Why am I sweating? “Good morning.”

  “You heading home soon? Or spending a few days here in Vegas?”

  Such a simple question, the honest answer getting buried in the lies. “No,” I reply, shifting on my ankle. “Just . . . I . . . um . . .

  Lauralee looks at me, furrowing her brow. “I thought you were coming back to LA with me?”

  “There’s been a change in plans.”

  Tommy looks from her to me, and his eyes widen. “You’re heading to Austin to do some recording, right?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m doing. Recording in Austin.”

  She tilts her head, and from the look on her face, I know she’s onto me. “Where the Crow brothers live? That’s convenient.”

  Tommy rolls his suitcase in front of him. “I should get going. I’ll see you in Chicago.” We hug. He whispers, “Congrats.”

  I may not have had the chance to be an emotional bridezilla, but the depth of what did happen has caught up with me. Choking up, I can’t answer, so I nod instead. I’m married.