And he does. Now and for the rest of our lives.
Isaac
I’m not the type to get nervous, but right now, I’m fucking nervous. I bought a fake fiancé, but it’s my real wedding day.
As soon as I see Veronica walking down the aisle, though, I know I’ve made the right choice. Everything is going to be okay because she and I are together.
She looks beautiful in a white lace gown with a long veil over her head. She went for the traditional look, as a reminder that this thing is for real. As if I needed any more reminders.
Dan elbows me and whispers to me for what has to be thousandth time, “I told you the Exchange Club had everything you needed.”
I grin and hiss at him through my teeth, “Dude, shut up. I’m getting married over here.”
As soon as Veronica’s in front of me, I want to take her in my arms and kiss her. But I remember I can’t do that until we’re officially married. As the officiant speaks, I realize it’s almost time to say my vows.
Shit.
I hope I can remember them.
When the time comes, I stare at her, momentarily frozen. But then she smiles at me, and I open my mouth to let the words flow out.
“I know we had a fast and unorthodox beginning,” I tell her, and she smiles as if to say, you’re telling me. “But I don’t regret a second of it. I love our past— as short as it might be—”
At this, we both pause to laugh.
“I love our present, and I’m looking forward to a long future together. I’ll protect you, love you, cherish you. I’ll be everything you ever wanted a husband to be, and everything I never even knew I could be—and that everyone else probably doubted I’d ever even want to be.”
Here, I look at my dad, and everyone laughs.
When we’re pronounced husband and wife, I can’t believe I have a real bride. A real marriage. A real life unlike any I’ve ever known before.
***
We party late into the night, and our reception is epic. Dan and Stacy appear to be getting it on, and they’re not even two of the most sloshed wedding guests.
I’m tipsy, but not too drunk to be turned on by my new wife. As soon as we get to our hotel room, I carry her over the threshold of the door and she laughs.
“I love you, husband,” she says, as I take off her beautiful wedding dress, being careful not to tear it.
“I love you, too.”
I’ve waited for this night ever since I first took her virginity— even if I didn’t consciously know it. Every time I reached for a condom, I would wish I could fuck her for real – raw, bare, without protection. And now I can.
I take her to the bed and use my tie to bind her wrists to the bed.
“We’re going to react the time I took your virginity,” I tell her. “But this time, I’m going to take all of you. Nothing is going to stand between us. Because we’re husband and wife now.”
“What if I get pregnant?” she asks, turning around to look at me.
“What if?” I ask her, spreading her legs apart.
I take her ass cheeks in my hand and spread her ass and pussy open wide.
“Here’s my pussy that I took for the very first time,” I tell her, slapping her ass with one hand while I stick my finger inside her with the other.
“Oh, my God. Isaac.”
I reach up and play with one of her nipples while kissing her shoulders and her back. I take off my pants and feel my cock hard and strong up against her ass.
This is it. I can take her without protection. She’s my wife. It’s real.
I slip my cock inside her and she whimpers.
“That’s a good girl,” I whisper up close to her ear. “Let your husband fuck you without a condom on.”
“Yes sir,” she says, as I watch my cock slide deep into her eager, wet pussy.
I push it in and pull it out, staring at it as her juices gather on it, making it slippery. I hold one hand on her ass and the other on her nipple as I thrust it in and out of her.
“That’s a good little slutty wife,” I tell her. “Let your husband do what he wants.”
“I’m coming,” she moans, as I reach around and slap her pussy with one of my hands while I twist her nipple with my other hand.
“That’s it,” I tell her. “Come for your husband.”
I grab hold of her ass and bear down into her, pushing and thrusting, being rough with her because I can. I can do anything I want to her, now and always.
As my cock begins to throb, she leans her head back against my chest and looks up into my eyes.
“I’m going to come in your pussy,” I tell her, as I feel the orgasm starting. “I’m going to shoot my load into you.”
“Oh, my God,” she says, “I’m going to come again too.”
I feel myself pulse inside her as my cum shoots into her.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I call out, feeling better than I ever felt before, when the condom blocked the full sensation. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming.”
We moan together and then fall onto the bed, both of us exhausted after a full wedding day and the best sex of our lives.
“That was amazing,” she says, as I curl my arm around the back of her neck. “I want to do that every night.”
“Me too,” I tell her, looking deep into her green eyes. “And now we can. Because you’re my very real wife.”
“And what if you put a very real baby inside me?” she asks, smiling that devilish, flirtatious grin I love so much.
“Then that would just be the icing on top of our very real wedding cake.”
THE END.
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Chapter 1 – Emily
I tap my foot and stare at the clock on the wall of my classroom, which reads 5:03 pm. I’m late for work. Again. I know that by the time I change and head from campus to the hotel, I’ll be so late I just might get fired this time.
It’s all Stacy Peterson’s fault. If I have to hear one more annoying question coming out of her overly lipsticked mouth, I think I’m going to snap.
“I’m just confused about the part of the project where we talk about the different parts of Albuquerque,” she says.
That’s it, I think, and then I remind myself to take a deep breath.
The thing that I really want to do— which is to rip out Stacy’s highlighted hair, strand by strand— might feel good in the moment, but it won’t get me out of here any faster. I try to think fast: how can I to get her to shut up?
“Emily, the locale differentiation portion was your idea,” says Professor James. “And a great one at that. Why don’t you explain it to Stacy?”
Oh, great.
While I’m pleased that Professor James— who is not only the teacher of this class but also the head of the entire Social Work Master’s Program— has noticed my ambition, and while I want this project to be a success, I really don’t have time to explain such obvious matters to Stacy— who will undoubtedly be asking me the same question tomorrow anyway.
She is definitely the weakest link in our group, and the main reason we had to stay after class and ask for extra help from Professor James. When I agreed to do it, I’d had no idea we would be here for two more hours. I’d obviously underestimated her stupidity.
It’s always the rich girls who are clueless. Somehow a guy just like Stacy swindled my own dad out of his life savings in some kind of ponzi scheme. He hadn’t had a lot of money but what he had is gone now. And that’s why I think rich people are shameless: they look for any chance to make more money, even by taking advantage of poor people like my dad.
“Our program should identify differ
ent areas of town and incorporate plans for each of them, so as to show where the areas of need are greatest,” I explain, although the dumbfounded expression on Stacy’s face remains the same. “The needs of girls in the South Valley, for instance, will be quite different from those of girls in the Northeast Heights.”
“Because…?” prods Stacy, her face a blank look.
Oh, my God. I want to explode.
I want to tell her, “Because girls from the South Valley— like me— have poor parents and poor school districts and underfunded resources, whereas girls from the Northeast Heights— like you— have rich parents and rich school districts and very well- funded resources.”
But I don’t. There are some things that someone like Stacy will never understand— not just because she’s an airhead but also because she has no clue. She’s never had to understand them. And I have no idea why she’s enrolled in this class or why she wants a Social Work degree. I have an instant distrust of rich people and I almost wonder if she’s here to spy on us poor people, or work against our efforts.
Figuring out Stacy Peterson is not my problem right now, I remind myself. Making it to work as soon as possible is. So, I throw out an idea.
“Let’s get together to discuss this further, and I can answer your questions one on one,” I tell her.
I instantly regret my offer, but at least it works.
“Sure,” says Stacy. “Professor James, will you be able to meet with us too?”
So that explains it, I think.
Perhaps the entire reason Stacy wanted to have this after- class meeting was to get up close and personal with the professor. Maybe that’s the sole reason she enrolled in his class. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was also the main or only reason she’s pursuing a Social Work degree.
“Of course,” Professor James says, and I swear he blushes a little. “Just let me know when works for both of you. And anyone else here who would like to come,” he adds, looking around at the rest of the group members.
But I have no time to compare schedules. I’m already tossing my laptop into my bag and starting towards the door in a hurry.
If I lose my job, I won’t be able to attend school here, and school’s my life. At twenty- four years old, I have no husband, no kids— not even a boyfriend. I hate to admit it even to myself, but I’ve never even had sex.
I came close once upon a time with my boyfriend Wade in high school but that all ended and it was for the best. At least, that’s what I usually try to tell myself. Even though I haven’t been able to find anyone who makes me remotely interested in them compared to the way I felt about Wade.
Ever since things didn’t work out between Wade and me, I’ve thrown myself into my studies and my goals for the future. It took me a while to realize that such a future didn’t include him, but at least I’ve been building the kind of life I want without him since then. And that kind of life includes keeping the job that helps me go to school, even if that means rushing out of class in order to do it.
“Great, thanks Professor James,” I tell him. “I’ll get back with you tomorrow about a time that works. Bye everyone.”
“I was wondering about the grant- writing portion…” Greg, a fellow student, begins, and I hesitate at the door, lingering while deciding whether to stay just a little longer.
Unlike Stacy, Greg actually has a good question. The grant- writing portion is my weakness, and something I need help on. I’ve helped develop most of the program that will comprise our future foundation, but, without funds, there will be no way to make it a reality.
“Can we please discuss this at our extra session?” I ask, hoping not to incur the wrath of my fellow students.
Most of them, other than Stacy, are as serious about this degree as I am, except that many don’t have to work a job in addition to going to school.
“I have some questions too,” I explain. “But I have to go.”
“Why don’t those of you who wish to stick around today do so,” Professor James says, much to my dismay. “Since everyone is here and might not be able to come back at a different time, it makes the most sense to just keep going. Greg can share his notes with you, Emily, and you can ask any questions you have that don’t get answered today at our next after- class meeting. We also have a lecture coming up on grant- writing next week, and a guest speaker to help out.”
“Okay,” I say, resigned. “And thanks.”
I know I should stay so that I don’t miss anything. Greg’s notes aren’t exactly thorough, or even completely legible for that matter.
But I have to keep reminding myself that if I don’t keep my job, I won’t be able to afford school. My student loans are generous but I also have to pay for the apartment I rent, as well as all my other expenses, which somehow seem to always spiral out of control. I’m no good at handling money, especially since I never have enough of it.
I leave the group I want to stay in— as long as Stacy’s done asking asinine questions, that is— for the job I hate. But I hope I still have the job, since I desperately need it.
As I hurry to work, I can’t help but think about Wade again. How would my life have been different had I stayed with him? I suppose I’d be a military wife. It’s probably best that he and I didn’t work out, so that I could concentrate on what I truly want to do. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to forget about him— clearly, after five years, I still haven’t.
But I have to get my head out of memory lane and onto the road that takes me to work. Because this isn’t five years ago. This is the here and now, and I’ve got a job to get to, ASAP.
Chapter 2 – Wade
I stand on stage, scanning the crowd and all the dressed up, pretty women. Which one of them do I want to take home tonight?
It would be nice if I could find one I want to see for more than one night. Last night I was with a voluptuous vixen I couldn’t wait to tie up, but she turned out to be dumb as bricks, with a personality even less interesting.
The sex was okay, but not worth having to see her again for. Fucking a girl is never a problem for me— they line up down the block— but finding one worth sticking around to fuck again is always more of a problem.
And I’m not talking about finding a girl for a relationship. I don’t do relationships. After I’ve been in two failed relationships —or, I suppose, one and a half, because the second one failed so soon and so epically it barely counts, not to mention the fact that it never really got off the ground, anyway— I know my limitations. The only commitment I want with a woman is her promise to let me have my way with her again if I like what I get the first time around, which these days has become more and more rare.
Getting them into bed, though, is hardly the problem, and I know I could have any single woman in this room tonight. I’m a decorate war veteran, having served two tours of duty in my four years with the United States Air Force’s Special Operations unit. My job was to parashoot out of helicopters and rescue fallen soldiers. Tell that to a girl and see if she’ll turn you down— especially if you still have the physique to prove it.
“Tonight I would like to present the Albuquerque Young People in Tech award to Wade Covington,” the announcer states, jarring me back into reality and reminding me of yet another reason I have no problem fulfilling my voracious sexual appetite— I’m a tech genius and I’m filthy fucking rich.
“Mr. Covington has demonstrated remarkable abilities to start and grow a tech company, and it’s paid off handsomely,” the announcer continues.
“Woot woot,” call out the members of my former unit at one of the tables in the front.
They make snide jokes like, “He sure is handsome all right. What a pretty boy.”
“Mr. Covington took what started out as a well- intentioned idea and turned it into a billion dollar company,” the announcer states. “His innovation and accomplishments are a shining example of local boy made good, and it is with pleasure that I grant him this award.”
“There�
�s nothing good about this boy,” my friends call out.
The announcer looks at them a bit surprised, as if he’s not used to such rowdiness in this fine establishment. And he’s probably not. That’s my friends for you.
I look over at them with a mixture of gratitude and envy. I’m glad they’re still here to support me after everything we’ve been through together. But I still get fucking upset that I can’t be active duty service with them anymore. Even though I’ve done much better in the private sector, making tons of money and staying safer both physically and mentally, I loved being a pararescuer with them.
And now I lost that chance, just like I lost other opportunities in my life. Such as that first relationship I fucked up, which haunts me to this day.
But now’s not the time to think about that. Now’s the time to accept this award.
“Thank you,” I tell the announcer, as I approach the podium and take the plaque from his hands.
“I would like to thank Albuquerque Young People in Tech for all your help. As well as the members of my former USAF pararescue unit,” I say, nodding to my buddies. The Bradford brothers are there, as are many other old friends. “Thank you for the support and inspiration.”
“Aww, ain’t that nice,” come their mocking coos. “You never could have done it without us.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter to them under my breath, but I’ve missed their jokes and the comradery.
“Congratulations once again,” the announcer says to me. Then he turns to the guests in the ballroom. “And with that, it’s time to enjoy your dinner.”
“What dinner?” some of my friends complain. They’ve never been known for their politeness. “We have no dinner.”
The announcer furls his eyebrows in confusion.
“I’ll certainly check on the status of dinner,” he says, nodding his head at me before scurrying away.
I head over to my friends’ table, glad to be out of the spotlight. I’m no pro at public speaking. Although I run a large company, I’m usually behind a desk, making things happen on a computer or barking orders to assistants. It’s not in my nature to stand up and gracefully accept an award— I think such things are rather silly. I prefer to keep moving, keep being productive, rather than let either criticism or praise slow me down. But the young entrepreneurs foundation that presented me with the award tonight had provided a lot of funding and support for my enterprise and without them
Knock Me Up, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Page 66