by Amy Faye
"You like that?"
"Shut up and finger-fuck me," I breathe. Blake shuts up, and he starts moving harder, faster. Practically jamming his hand into me as hard as he could go, until I could feel my entire body start to tense up and I ran over the finish line screaming his name.
He started to slow as I started to lose my grip on myself. I let out a long, low breath and start to relax; he pulls himself free of my pussy and I can hear his own labored breathing. Then I feel his weight on my hips for a moment as he pushes himself upright, and I hear the sound of metal on metal.
"You ready?"
"Ready for what, baby?"
"Ready to serve your man," he says. It might have sounded silly any other time, but in the post-orgasmic haze I wanted literally nothing more.
"What do you want?"
"I want your lips wrapped around my cock," he says. "And then I want you to choke on it."
"Mmm… I'd like that."
He guides me upright and guides my mouth to his hardness until I open my lips and admit it between them. He fills my mouth from the first inch, but there's another, and another, and another.
And then he pulls back away before he's thrust all the way. He rocks his hips back forward again. He doesn't move my head, and I don't move it, either. I'm happy to let him fuck my face, if that's what he wants to do.
"You ready?"
I nod, my mouth too full of his hardness to speak. He doesn't wait long before he starts thrusting in earnest. This time he doesn't stop short; his cock, too long for my mouth, slips down my throat. I almost gag, but I manage to hold myself back. The sound that let lets out makes it more than worth it.
He pulls out again and thrusts in again.
"Jesus your mouth feels good, babe."
I put a hand on his hip and pull myself back. The breath entering me makes me feel good all by itself.
"You think it's good with my mouth, you should try my pussy."
"God damn," he growls, and stares at me. "Your wish is my command."
Then he lowers his hips and enters me, and from the first thrust I'm seeing stars. My voice slips out, and I'm glad, all too glad, that we're not at his house any more.
Nobody would have a single illusion about what we were doing if we were, because 'fuck me' is the tamest thing to come out of my mouth, until I'm a quivering mess full of his hot, potent cum, and my vision's turning all kinds of funny colors.
25
The wedding is soon. Very soon. In an ideal world, nobody can do math, and we can tell them all that the child was conceived not long after we got engaged. That's the good news.
The bad news is that it's all been a crazy rush, and I'm starting to go nuts at this point, because it's a crazy rush that always has to center around Margaret. Today, though? Today is a complete turnaround. It's where everything finally pays off and I'm not left waiting on Margaret to do anything. There's a tight schedule to keep, and I'm going to keep it, regardless of whether queen bitch is there or not.
I take a deep breath. Deep breath. Deeper. My head starts to go numb, because I can't take a breath deep enough to make myself feel better, but I'm already flooding my brain with oxygen.
"Hey, babe, just checking in," Alina says. She's got a look on her face. An unpleasant one. And I know I should really stay here, making things that much easier, I really need to see what could possibly piss her off this much if it isn't me.
"What's wrong?"
"You're going to want to come see this, babe."
"Okay?"
I follow along behind. It's a bad idea to be out here, and I know it. But it's a small chapel, and I can probably get in and out of whatever before Blake sees me. I hope he's got the good sense to stay in his room, unlike somebody.
It's Margaret, of course. Shuffling into the pews, like she owns the place. All of that is perfectly normal. What's not perfectly normal is her dress.
It's an honest-to-god wedding dress, the bitch. And oh, apparently now it's fine to dress like a… what was it she called me? Big-titted bimbo? Because she's got cleavage most of the way down, and I…
I take a deep breath. And then a second. Because I'm so mad that I can't think straight, and at this point, I'm so fucking stressed that all I want is to have a good cry.
That's not an option, though. If I let one single solitary tear fall down my face, my makeup's going to be ruined, and I can't have that right now. Not before the ceremony. After.
"God damnit, Margaret," I say softly. Hollie comes up behind and peeks her head out from the door.
"What's up?"
"Mother of the groom," Alina calls back. "You're going to love this."
Hollie crosses the distance and looks. She, at least, doesn't say anything. I think that's good, but then again, I could be wrong. It could be very bad. Especially when I see that she's got that look in her eyes and starts moving.
"Just. I just need. I don't know. Go get Blake and tell him I need to see him."
"Forty-five minutes before your wedding?"
"I can't fucking do this, okay, just go fucking get him!" I can feel my eyes already stinging. "I just need to see him and try to feel better, okay? Just for like. One second. Is that so much to ask?"
Alina looks at me for a long minute, and then nods. "Okay, hon. It's your big day, okay? Smile."
I smile at her and I know I must look absurd because my eyes feel like they're welling up full of every tear on the face of the planet Earth, and I'm just holding them back through sheer force of will.
An instant later, there's a commotion from the other room, a clash of glass, and I hear a grunt; it sounds like Hollie. Then, a hundred times too audible to be natural, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"
I peer out to see Margaret's eyes sized to fit ping-pong balls between her eyelids, and she's staring at someone on the ground. I know instantly who it is, even though Hollie is hidden by the crowd.
First, because the timing is perfect. Second, because she's apologizing so profusely and making sure everyone within a city block heard it. Third, and most importantly, because she'd been carrying a glass of Cabernet that left a big red stain all over Margaret's dress.
"It's ruined!"
"I'm so sorry. I really didn't… I just tripped, and… Oh, jeez!"
There was a general sense that Hollie was about to get the shit kicked out of her, until Margaret decides that she was tired of making a scene. "Well, I've got to go now, to get a new dress. Thank you so much. Don't let them start without me!"
I silently decide in that instant to make this as quick as possible. If we worked at it, we might be able to do more than just start without her; we could finish without her, too.
"Babe?"
I turn at the sound of Blake's voice, but there's nobody in the hall behind me. For an instant I start to wonder if this is a dragon thing, or what. Then I see a hand, hanging past the corner.
"I'm sorry, I know we're not supposed to see each other, but…"
"Just come here, okay? Hold my hand."
I take a deep breath and cross the distance and take his hand in mine. He feels strong. I can't imagine Blake nervous. I can imagine him angry, and I know that he would have been, if he'd seen his mother's dress. But I can't imagine him scared. But that's exactly what I am. I'm terrified.
"Blake? I'm scared."
"Don't be scared, okay? You're probably the single most protected bride there ever was. Definitely the most protected that wasn't the daughter of a President or a King."
"Not like that, you idiot."
"I didn't just mean because of my family. Because if the friend you sent to get me is any indicator, those girls of yours will kick the hell out of anything that comes your way. We're going to be fine, okay baby?"
"I love you," I tell him. He squeezes my hand.
"Just stay here another minute, okay? You'll feel better."
"I've got stuff to do, still."
"And you can do it. Just a minute, okay? It'll make me feel better. I can't stand worrying about you."
I stay. He squeezes my hand again. I like it more than I should, but I can't help myself. It's just nice. And he's right. It does help. But at the same time, it just makes things worse.
Because there's a smile on my face, but the dam broke, and now my makeup is ruined. Hollie's got her work cut out for her.
26
I don't know what I had expected. I knew what I was in for from the beginning, and I knew exactly what it was going to be like. At least, I should have known.
But as I walk down the aisle, a thousand strange eyes on me, two of them Margaret's in spite of my best intentions, and all of them judging me, I'm overwhelmed. I hadn't realized how alone I would feel, how terrified. Nothing can be a problem, not really, not if you give yourself plenty of room to fuck off at the end of it.
But I can't keep running. I have to stop and face what's happening at some point, and it might as well be now, right? So I take a deep breath, suck in my stomach, and think of warrior princesses and stuff. Things do feel a little bit better when I make it to the altar, and Hollie and Alina are standing there watching me, too.
I smile at them, and Alina gives a little nod. Hollie looked like she was beaming before she came into sight, and I don't think that her smile could get any wider. But somehow, she manages it, even still. I can't afford to cry now, though. And I'm not going to let myself.
Blake turns and looks at me as I step up to the altar. He's got a stoic expression, which is unusual for him. He's usually got a hot temper, and is quick to show any emotion at all, but today he looks flat. At least, that's what I think, until I see his jaw working tighter and tighter with every second until he loosens it again, but only halfway.
The music stops, and I stand there with it. The ceremony goes the way I expect it to. Blake's vows are interrupted, as little as possible, by the fact that as he's telling the room how much he loves me and values me, he starts breaking up in tears.
Then we kiss, and there's an instant where I don't know what's going to happen next. I know what the plan is, but there's a look in Blake's teary, red-rimmed eyes that I recognize, and it's one that I'm hoping for. Even counting on.
He takes my hand in his and takes me for the walk down the aisle. Together, as man and wife. It's tradition, but there's something else there, too.
I walk with him, and then suddenly he's pulling me along and we're running, and I should be panicked but I'm not. I'm laughing. My left shoe slips and comes off; I kick off the right and start running after him.
I may not look like much, but I was a State track runner-up and I can haul ass if I want. The dress is sufficiently loose that aside from the corset keeping me from taking a proper breath, I've got nothing to worry about with restrictions.
Three hundred yards down the street, he ducks into an alley, and I turn to follow him. Just out of sight of the chapel is his car, and I slip in and lean back against his chair, laughing.
"God, Margaret's going to be having a fit."
"She'll get over it," he says. The engine kicks to life and growls. "After all, it's not every day that her life is 'completely ruined!' is it? So now she gets to complain to anyone who will listen. If anything, we did her a favor."
I know I shouldn't be so pleased about all this. I should have gone along with the whole schedule. The dinner in two hours, after we get bridal photos. Let Blake's family give speeches and hope that Margaret has the good sense to let me have my moment.
But I'm glad that this is how it's happening, and I don't care what anyone says.
"Where do you want to go next?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I've got two tickets on the next flight out of here, but if you just wanted to go to Disneyland, I could always make that happen," he says. He looks at me with a completely flat expression for a moment. Only a moment, and then his whole face breaks out into a grin.
The car starts moving, and I don't need to tell him what I want. He already knows. What I want is to be with him, and be somewhere where Margaret can't fuck her up. As impossible as that is to believe.
I lean back and close my eyes, and before I know it, we're at the airport. I shouldn't be surprised when he goes around to the back and pulls out two suitcases, packed some time this morning when I wasn't looking.
"Wait a minute," I tell him. He does, one of the suitcases halfway out. "Is this one mine?"
"That's what the 'C' on it stands for, yeah. Or did you think it stood for 'Cool guy' and the 'G' was for 'Glamour girl'? I didn't think of it that way, give me a minute and I'll swap them around."
I give my new husband a look, and he smiles. There's a lot that's going to have to change. Like my bank information, for example, and the name on my library card. But there are some things that don't have to change, and Blake giving me shit is apparently one of those things.
"I just need a pair of shoes, okay? I'm not about to walk through an airport barefoot, even if they would let me."
He unzips the bag a little way, and lo and behold, tucked right inside are a pair of tennis shoes. I take a minute to pull them on.
I'm smiling, and I'm laughing, and I'm enjoying myself, and for the first time in a long time, I feel almost normal.
I tell myself again, that I have nothing to worry about. No reason to worry.
So what's the feeling in my stomach that something's about to go horribly wrong?
27
I'll start by saying that a trans-Atlantic flight, if you've never taken one, isn't nearly as bad as they say. I only gnawed off both my arms out of boredom, not both my legs, too. And of course, a particularly creative couple can figure out a few ways to pass the time, though if you ask me, it's illegal, and worse than that, it's cramped, which means that in the end it pretty much isn't worth it. Then again, the rush you get knowing that there's someone right on the other side of a paper-thin wall? Can I change my recommendation?
No matter how much 'distracting' you do, it's not going to last more than a couple of minutes, though, and a trans-Atlantic is twelve hours if you're lucky. Which is to say that by the time we finally set down, in Petersburg, where you'll recall I speak none of the language, I was just ready to get out, damn the signs all being in gibberish letters.
That said, I did flip through a 'Russian in six hours' book. I think I might be able to say 'hello' if I try hard.
The real trouble with Russian is that half the letters look like one letter but mean something totally different. A 'y' is a 'u'. A 'B' is a 'v'. A 'p' is an 'r'. Don't ask me to explain how this happened, but I at least learned half the alphabet, and I've been on a plane for twelve hours so I'm just hoping to get a chance to use any of it.
I think I might hear the word 'girl' in the middle of someone's sentence. I know that one. Devochka. Though I had heard it before, and now I'm just confirming that it means what I already thought it meant, it still fills me with a little thrill.
Blake reaches up and pulls out the bags, and I follow him out. I don't know what I expected. Someplace cold, I guess. But it isn't really the season for that, now that I think about it. It's not much colder than it was back home. Most of the signs, at least in the airport, have English on them. All in all, it's not half as terrifying as I thought.
Then we start to get moving and I'm terrified again. Everyone around us is talking at a thousand miles a minute, and I understand exactly none of it. Worst of all, Blake doesn't seem upset by any of this, so I feel like the crazy one.
He walks confidently across the terminal like he's been here before. Then again, maybe he has. Anatoly lived here for years, and they service this area. Even if it's not his usual region, it's not hard to imagine that he might have been called on to come out here.
He turns back to me and smiles. "You feeling alright?"
"I'll be fine," I lie. There's no way I'm going to admit that I'm scared out of my pants of being in a place where I don't speak a word of it. Wait, there's 'Devochka' again.
"We don't have to leave the hotel room if you don
't want," he suggests. He winks, and I flush.
"You're bad," I tell him. I don't need to add that I love it, because he knows, and because he would keep doing it regardless of whether or not he had my permission, and both of us know that.
"Am I so bad?"
"You know you are."
"You're right. I do know."
We go around to the baggage claim, get the rest of the luggage, and then it's Blake's turn to make this all happen. I don't precisely know how we got the rental car; I assume it was the usual way, but they spoke gibberish for fifteen minutes, Blake gave the guy his credit card, and then we went off to climb into a luxury sedan.
It doesn't have the sex appeal of his usual ride, but what it lacks in style, it makes up for in substance. I'd kill to have a ride like this. Then again, I guess if I had a car this nice, I could just live in it, and not bother with the whole 'house' thing. After all, it's sized like a house on wheels.
He seems to know where our hotel is. The man at the desk greets us in Russian. It's got a halfway familiar sound to it, and I think the greeting he used was probably in the book, but not one of the things that stuck in my twelve-hour crash course.
So I smile stupidly, and Blake does the talking, as usual. We're a good team. Then the guy surprises the hell out of me as he hands us the keys and says, in perfect English, "have a nice day."
I look up at Blake, my eyebrow raised. Did he do that? Did he tell the guy to say something, or something like that? Blake's only answer is a smile, and then a frown, and then his mouth gapes open.
My first thought is that I have the worst imaginable zit, and that it's showing through my makeup. But as I start touching my face to try to figure out what the hell Blake's looking at, he grabs me by the arm and starts pulling. Gone is the gentle joking around and the slow speed. He wants to be gone. Which means that it's probably something other than my complexion.
"What's the problem?"
I turn and it doesn't take long to figure out what the problem is. The problem is a Greek goddess striding across the room with a look on her face that was ready for war. Well, Nia was about to learn that I could go to war, no problem. That I would.