by Karina Halle
“Turn around,” he says breathlessly, stroking himself as he gazes down at me with sex-dazed eyes. “On all fours.”
Fuck yes.
I do as he asks, insatiable and trembling with anticipation.
He drops to his knees behind me and flips up my dress until it’s bunched around my waist.
Then I hear him suck in his breath.
He lets out a fucking laugh.
“What is it?” I stiffen, trying to turn around and see.
“Are you…” he starts, still laughing. “Are you wearing Sponge Bob underwear?”
Oh, right.
“Uh, yeah,” I admit. “It’s one of the few pairs that fit me now.”
“Is it wrong that I’m terribly turned on?” he asks lightly.
“If you don’t fuck me like you’re terribly turned on, then yes, it’s wrong.”
“Let me see the other side, turn around,” he says, grabbing hold of my hips and trying to twist them.
“No!” I cry out but then he grabs my waist and flips me around until my legs are spread and he’s staring directly at Sponge Bob’s crazy smile.
“That’s just…very you,” he says, grinning. I can’t tell if he’s smiling for me or my underwear. He could practically have a conversation with Sponge Bob at this point. “But, sadly for Mr. Square Pants, your pants are coming off.”
Impatiently he yanks down them down my thighs and tosses them aside. I’m glad Winter is out with Shelly right now because he’d be making off with them already. That dog loves my underwear as much as he loves Brigs’ shoes.
Brigs then slips the straps down over my shoulders and pulls down the bodice until my breasts bounce free. His eyes burn over them and desire pools between my legs, begging for his touch. He cups my breasts, heavy in his hands, and turns his attention to one as he licks in long draws of his tongue, teasing, until he closes his mouth over my nipple and sucks. I feel myself stiffen in his wet, hot mouth, everything so heightened, so sensitive and I’m moaning, wanting more, so much more.
He does the same to my other breast, sucking it so deep in his mouth that my spine arches and I feel like he might just consume me here and now. I grab the back of his head, not caring if I mess up his hair, and dig my nails in, moaning. My breasts spill in his hands, too much for him to handle and he’s hungry, frenzied, wanting more.
“Fuck, Brigs,” I swear, unable to take it. “Fuck me.”
“Yeah?” he asks softly, his voice thick with desire.
I nod and quickly flip back on my hands and knees. This won’t take long at all.
But Brigs isn’t always one to rush. At least he doesn’t rush on the one day he needs to rush.
He places his wide palms on my ass and pulls my cheeks apart before lowering his head. I tense up as I feel this tongue between the crack, swooping down into my cunt and up again. My whole body seems to flinch until his tongue, relentless, tireless, starts to wear me down, skirting over the most delicate areas until my skin swells with need.
“God, you’re so fucking beautiful, Mrs. McGregor,” he says, taking his fingers and lightly tapping it against me. He blows on me – that’s something new – and the ache for him to ram his cock inside me is so acute that I feel like I’m going blind to the world, that there’s only him and me and this primal desire for each other. A desire that takes over everything, even a wedding ceremony.
He keeps blowing, the air causing my nerves to dance, my skin to tighten, and then slowly pushes his thumb in my ass while positioning his cock. I’m so open for him, wet, swollen, greedy and, with a firm hold, he pulls me back onto his shaft.
I gasp as he fills me, my body expanding around him, the angle and the wild lust and the hormones and emotions filling me up with so much want and need and joy, that I must be glowing like the sun inside. With deliberation he eases himself back in and bites my shoulder playfully.
“Mrs. McGregor,” he murmurs again, in my ear, licking down my neck.
Then the bites are harder and he’s holding my waist tighter and with a few hard pumps, he’s packed inside me, deep and tight, and I’m clenching around him.
More, more, more.
My lungs ache for air and my fingers dig into the rug and he’s pounding me, rough, almost brutal and all thought is gone. I’m just chasing my relief, panting, trying to catch up with my heart which is reckless in my chest.
This is good.
This is so fucking good.
I love, love, love this man.
My husband.
Brigs pistons back and forth, striking deep, like he’s forcing the air out of my lungs. Again and again he slides in, savage, and his grunts are louder, his grip slippery on my hips from sweat. His words are dirty, asking me if I like it, asking me if I want his cock harder, telling me how sweet my cunt feels. His accent grows huskier with pleasure.
I’m on the edge.
I shift and his cock hits the right bundle of nerves.
It’s like a match is struck inside me.
Boom.
I’m exploding, splintering into sharp fragments that burst again and again until I’m liquid starlight and warm silver that slides through my blood.
Brigs comes immediately after me, a guttural roar ripping from his lips, his breathing raspy as he tries to catch his breath. I’m still pulsing around him, trying to bring reality into focus. My vision is soaked with bliss.
“I guess we should go,” he says after a few moments, slowly pulling out.
I love how he feels bare. I guess one good thing about being pregnant is that you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant again.
But fuck, even though the both of us are worried, because who doesn’t fret about bringing a life into this world, especially in this day and age, I know I’ve never wanted something more. I know Brigs has never wanted this more. It’s beautiful and it’s real and it’s ours.
It’s life.
And it goes on.
Brigs helps me up to my feet and I quickly yank my underwear back on. We both fix each other a bit – I straighten his bow-tie, he adjusts my breasts back in my dress – and then we quickly hit the road.
We’re lucky with traffic today and we get to Hyde Park with a few minutes to spare. The photographer is hanging out halfway to the gardens and once she sees us, starts walking over, snapping as she goes.
Brigs turns in his seat and puts his hand up in the air.
I put my hand in his.
“Are you ready?” he asks me, shaking my hand in the air.
I nod, beaming at him. “Am I ever.”
He places his hand on my stomach. “Are you ready Ramona?”
We both wait for the kick that doesn’t come.
“Not yet,” I tell him. “Give her a few more months.”
We get out of the car and join hands, walking toward the photographer. In the distance, beyond the Round Pound in the Kensington Gardens, we can see Max, Shelly and Winter waiting for us.
Brigs nudges me in the side as the photographer keeps snapping and jerks his head at the Serpentine. “Afterward, how about we have our wedding photos done on the pedalo?”
“No way,” I tell him, laughing. “That’s asking for disaster. Especially with this dress and hair and makeup. We survived the pedal boat once, I won’t survive it again.”
“Oh come on, it’s not like you’re a walking disaster.”
“Hey!” someone yells at us from behind. “Excuse me!”
We both whip around to see a woman coming out of the Kensington Palace. She’s waving at me. “Your dress is tucked up into your knickers!” she yells, pointing at her own ass in demonstration.
Oh my god.
No.
I crane my neck, twisting to look behind me, and I gasp. It’s true. I see Sponge Bob staring right back beneath a bundle of white tulle.
Brigs bursts out laughing and I hear the photographer snapping away with my ass now on view for everyone to see, including Shelly and Max and everyone else in the park.
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br /> “Stop laughing and help me!” I yell at Brigs as he tries to yank the dress out of the waistband but he’s doubling over, laughing so hard that he can’t. He nearly falls to the grass, and then I nearly fall trying to yank it all out of my underwear.
Finally I’m covered and I’m smoothing the back of my dress frantically, my cheeks flaming hot. There’s a lot of fucking people in this park – people who are snickering – and somehow the fact that it was Sponge Bob makes it worse than that time in Rome.
“Oh, I hope the photographer captured that,” Brigs says, tears rolling down his face as he grins at me. “That was the best moment of my life.”
I roll my eyes, trying to downplay it all. “Well lucky for you, Professor Blue Eyes Brigs McGregor, the best moments of your life are just starting.”
He stares at me sweetly for a long moment and kisses me on the lips. “That they are.”
He grabs my hand.
And we keep on going.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The minute I started writing The Play, I couldn’t wait to write The Lie. I remember walking through Burgoyne Bay on Salt Spring Island, where I live, with my husband and my dog and discussing the plot for The Play and the rich backstory of Lachlan’s brother, Brigs. It’s funny, even the name Brigs comes from one of my husband’s friends on the island, son of musician Randy Bachman.
I knew from the beginning that Brigs’ story would be a hard one to take. That it was risky to publish anything to do with infidelity. I knew this already from publishing Love, in English but even so, it was a story that broke my heart and gave me hope. I had to tell it.
Flash forward a few months to San Diego, where my husband, dog and I were renting an AirB&B outside of Ramona and Lakeside (thank you Victoria, Ed and Zena!). I threw myself into The Lie and wrote and wrote and wrote.
Until I got some feedback that screwed me up (they know who they are ;) though I am very grateful for honesty) I started to think that maybe The Lie wouldn’t a novel so easily swallowed. I had doubts. Would I be punished for writing such a controversial story? In an industry where so many authors are flogged for writing about infidelity, no matter how unglamorized it is, no matter how much the protagonists suffer, is it wise or safe to publish a book that takes such matters and presents them in a raw, real way?
The thing is, though, I don’t care about being safe. And I have to thank my Facebook group, the Anti-Heroes, for having faith in me and insisting I publish the book anyway. This is for you guys. Thank you for believing in me, believing in my stories and believing the world needs more books that are told from the heart, no matter how ugly and real that heart may be sometimes. Love you!