Drunk in Love

by Anthology

  Just as I think I’m about to cum before her like a fucking amateur, her pussy bears down on my cock one last time, then starts convulsing around it. I can’t hold back again, there’s no way it’s humanly possible. One more power stroke and I howl like the fucking animal I am as my orgasm barrels out of me, filling the condom, and emptying my soul. I’m fucking spent.

  I’ve never had a woman take this much from me and be able to dish it right back. I’m dumbfounded and impressed and fucked. Totally fucked. I need to have her again. I need to taste her, play with her perfect tits, and lord knows, I need to shove my cock through her smart-ass lips.

  I hold onto her for a few more minutes until we’re both able to catch our breaths. I need to dispose of the condom, which is feeling really disgusting at this point. I’m able to scooch her forward enough so she is able to find purchase on the desk. I see her bend her legs and stretch her neck and back, so I take the opportunity to ditch the condom in my private bathroom.

  “Be right back, sweetheart.”

  I’m gone no more than two minutes, dumping the condom, washing my hands, and grabbing her a wet cloth, which is something very new to me. But before I can offer to help clean her up, she already has her dress back on and is shimmying back into her panties.

  I’m stunned. And impressed. And I should be pleased. But I’m also pissed. Having these…feelings…is unacceptable!

  She turns around and asks me to zip her up. Zip her up! No ‘when can I see you again?’ No ‘can I have your phone number?’ Just ‘can you zip me up?’ Again, that should make me happy. I’m a one and done guy. I told her under no uncertain terms that this - we - will never happen again. So, why doesn’t this feel right?

  She then ties her hair into some really fucking hot knot thing on her head and grabs her purse. But before she heads for the door, she does the most intimate, most personal, most breathtaking thing. She gently lays her right hand on my right cheek and looks at me. Really looks at me, like she’s trying to memorize my face, knowing that we will never be together again. I feel…I don’t know…disappointed? But I tamp it down. So I do the same to her, unable to look - or walk - away.

  Seconds later the spell is broken, her face now as impassive and bitchy as it was when she first entered my life. She turns around one last time and throws a “Thanks for the O,” over her shoulder before she walks out of my life, like we just enjoyed an innocent coffee date. Oh, and then she winks at me before shutting the door. She winks!

  I shake my head, chuckling at her audacity. One and done my ass.

  The End…for now.

  Rose and Cord’s story will continue in Naked Trust, coming late 2017.

  You can already add it to your Goodreads here: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34068269-naked-trust

  ABOUT M.D. SAPERSTEIN

  Hi! My name is M.D. Saperstein. I am currently a stay at home mom with my two gorgeous kids. I wasn't always a full time mom, though. After graduating from the University of Florida - Go Gators! - I attended law school at Stetson University. I spent the next 10 years practicing law. I also spent some time counseling mental health patients in an out patient psychiatric hospital. But, until having my own children, my most rewarding job by far was licensing families to receive abused and neglected foster children.

  So, that brings us to today. In my spare time, while my children were napping, I started editing novels for other authors. The more I edited, the more ready I felt to write my own. I just needed a new and exciting story line. Once Hey There, Delilah was conceived, the ball starting rolling very quickly. A bunch of stories later, and I was hooked!

  I spend most of my free time with my husband and children. But when I get some "me" time, I love to read. Mostly romance and erotica, but I don't discriminate - a good book is a good book, no matter the genre.

  CONNECT WITH M.D.

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  www.AuthorMDS.com

  FUNYUNS AND I DOS

  Meghan Quinn

  1

  CHAPTER ONE

  Porter

  “You’re sweating way too much.” Paul, Marley’s brother and unfortunately my best friend, says as he touches my forehead. “Moist.” Rubbing his fingers together, he studies me, a skeptical look in his eyes. “Why are you so sweaty?” On a gasp, he asks, “You’re not planning on leaving my sister at the altar, are you?” Puffing out his chest, taking the big brother stance, he continues, “I swear on Lucifer himself, if you have any intentions—”

  “I’m not leaving your sister at the altar.” Exasperation is heavy in my voice.

  “Then why are you sweating so much?”

  “I don’t know.” I walk around the small cottage I’m stuffed away in with Paul. “Maybe it’s because it’s the most humid day in Jamestown today. Maybe it’s because this little shack I used to call a home doesn’t have air conditioning. Maybe it’s because you refuse to shut your damn mouth while you’re breathing, making this cell block I’m standing in a living hell.” My voice rises with every sentence.

  I might be losing it just slightly, but it’s not because of the heat or pre-wedding nerves, it’s because of the damn waiting game I’m playing. I just want to be married to Marley. It’s been far too long with all this planning and making sure everything is right. If I had the chance, I would have taken her down to the courthouse the minute I told her I loved her, but I respected her wishes of wanting to get married on her parents’ farm.

  “You’re sounding a little hostile and frankly, with all the sweating that’s going on, I’m a little nervous you might lash out irrationally at me. Do you mind if I step into the house to grab my jock strap in case you decide to kick me in the balls?”

  Knowingly, I say, “You don’t have a jock strap.”

  “Yes I do,” Paul replies, slightly insulted. “Remember I made one once Marley learned my nuts were a prestigious punching bag for her?”

  Scoffing, I ask, “You mean the coconut shell with the strings? Why the hell do you still have that?”

  “Like I would ever get rid of it. No way.” Standing, he removes his tie and says, “I think I’m going to go find it.”

  God, he’s so annoying right now. “I’m not going to kick you in the balls, settle down.”

  “Yeah,” he drawls out. “I’m still going to go because you’re not a lot of fun to be around right now.”

  “You’re my best man, you’re supposed to stay by my side the entire time.”

  Sighing, Paul says, “Honestly, I’m starving dude and I can’t just sit here and eat fucking carrots and celery with you. I need some Funyuns and beer. Just let me get some Funyuns.”

  “You’re on a diet,” I point out. Ever since Paul’s wife, Savannah, got pregnant and had a baby, Paul found it necessary to gain weight right along with his wife, but now that the baby is here and Savannah has lost the weight, Paul has yet to toss the Little Debbie snacks to the side and pick up a head of lettuce. Savannah purposely put carrots and celery in my little shack for Paul, making my wedding day a fucking treat as you can tell.

  Moaning and holding his stomach, Paul goes into his drama queen mode and honestly, I really don’t care if he’s at my side right now. There is only one person I want to see. Maybe if I get Paul out of my way, I can sneak out of this place and go see Marley.

  From that thought, a bright idea pops up in my head. “Hungry, huh?” I sound sympathetic toward him. “I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I have a secret stash of food out in the barn.”

  Perking up, Paul rubs his hands together, listening intently. “You do? Where?”

  “Promise you won’t tell Savannah I sent you there?”

  “Promise.” He’s salivating, ready to pounce on my instructions, it’s almost pathetic.

  “Okay. Second floor of the barn, past the hay bales, tucked away in the ceiling near the old rakes and hoes.”

  “Rakes and hoes, rakes and hoes,” he
repeats to himself. “Got it. You’re a lifesaver, man.”

  “Take your time,” I call out as he exits my little shack. Peeking out the window, I watch him sprint across the yard, belly leading the way straight into the barn. That will occupy him easily, especially since there is no stash of food.

  Don’t judge me. I need to see my girl.

  There will only be one more obstacle in my way, Bernie, Marley’s dad.

  Looking out the window, toward the old oak tree we plan on getting married under, he’s arranging the hay bales that are blanketed in quilts, making sure they look just right. From here to the main house, it’s a good ten second sprint, one with very few objects to hide behind.

  I have two options, I can go for it, full sprint and not look back, hoping and praying Bernie won’t see me, or I can try to sprint to the tractor, then to the garden, then to the oak tree that flanks the main house, and then to the back porch where the kitchen rests. But that’s a gamble because that’s where the caterers are and I don’t want to cause a commotion.

  Knowing I will probably have to sprint it, I take off my tie, dress shirt, dress pants, and dress shoes and swap them out for my old Nikes, workout shorts, and undershirt. This will do. With a stomach full of nerves, I stick my head out the front door, the humidity hitting me even harder, a thick blanket of moisture suffocating any sort of air intake. At least there was a fan in the shack I could stand in front of. I will be making this one hell of a sprint. Glancing over at Bernie, who has his back to me, I shoot a quick SOS out to Marley’s mother who passed away many years ago, hoping she can help me out in some way, and sneak out of the shack, quietly shutting the door so Bernie can’t hear.

  Hiding behind a post, I take a look at Bernie again who has his hand on his beard, stroking it and studying the alignment of the bales.

  You can do this. A ten second sprint is nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, I make sure the coast is clear and put it into high gear. Pumping my arms, I set my sight on the house ahead of me, counting to ten in my head, knowing I can do this.

  Groom on the loose!

  With a quick turn of my head, I take one last look at Bernie to make sure everything is clear just as I get to the house in time to trip up the front porch stairs and crash into the table of programs waiting to be handed out to guests upon their arrival to the farm.

  Fuck me.

  Clattering of the wooden bowl they were resting in echoes through the front porch as I slide against the porch floor.

  “What the Harry S. Truman is going on up there?” Bernie shouts, most likely heading this way. Hell, I know the man like the back of my hand, he’s for sure heading this way.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Not having enough time to stand and sprint to the front door, I spastically army crawl across the floor until I reach the only thing on the porch that will hide me; the wicker furniture. Please don’t be see-through, please don’t be see-through.

  The tell-tale sound of Bernie’s work boots hitting the porch stairs sound off and I shiver in my sneakers, hoping he doesn’t see me.

  I know it sounds ridiculous. I’m a grown man on my wedding day hiding behind wicker furniture, sweating about the fact that my soon-to-be father-in-law is going to catch me and yell at me, but if you have ever seen Bernie McMann’s scary eyebrows scorching anger in your direction, you would totally understand.

  I DO NOT want to see the eyebrows on my wedding day, so I hold my breath and try to channel my inner chameleon.

  “What’s going on up here?” Bernie says out loud to no one. Through a slot in the furniture, I see him look around, hands on his hips, right before he bends down to start stacking the programs neatly. “Darn squirrels,” he mutters, which takes every bone in my body not to chuckle to myself.

  After collecting the programs, he places them back in the wooden bowl that rests on a little vintage white table and walks back out to the hay bales. I let out a long, slightly uneasy breath I was holding since I knocked over the damn programs. Giving it a few seconds, I glance a look over the furniture, see that once again Bernie is distracted, giving me the all clear. Stealthily, I make my way inside the house and up the stairs where I know Marley is getting ready.

  One more obstacle, Savannah.

  This one is easy.

  Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I pull up Savannah’s number.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I say to myself before I send a text to Paul’s wife.

  Porter: Might want to head to the barn, Paul it making his mission to find Funyuns right now.

  Cringing, I press send and wait patiently in the bathroom opposite of Marley’s room. It doesn’t take long before Marley’s door opens and I hear Savannah say, “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

  Her heels click along the wood floor and under hear breath I can hear her faintly say, “That damn man and his Funyuns.”

  Her footsteps echo down the stairs and that’s my cue, coast is clear. I take no time in making my way into Marley’s room.

  The door to her bedroom creeks when I open it, drawing her attention. Standing there, in a pool of white is the woman of my dreams, stealing my breath right from my lungs.

  Holy fuck. She’s going to be my wife.

  “Porter.” Slightly shocked, she looks behind me but I quickly shut the door.

  I prepare for the onslaught of you-shouldn’t-be-here and the it’s-bad-luck-to-see-the-bride but they don’t come, instead her face softens and she runs into my arms, dress following behind her.

  “Baby.” I bury my head in her hair, loving how the soft waves rub against my chin. “I just had to fucking see you.”

  “I needed to see you, too. I hate all this waiting.” Her voice is so sweet in my ears, just what I needed to calm my raging heart. “How did you get up here without getting caught?”

  I chuckle and press a kiss on her forehead. “A series of distractions. The tricky one was your dad, I almost got caught but luckily I think your mom was looking out for me.”

  “She wouldn’t have approved of this little rendezvous of yours.” Marley’s smile stretches from cheek to cheek, sucker punching me straight in the gut. This woman owns me.

  “Eh, I would have convinced her with my charm.”

  Marley rolls her eyes and tries to pull away but I don’t let that happen, instead, I back her up to her dresser, pressing her against the top and gripping her cheek. “Why did we have to sleep in different beds last night? Not having you next to me all night was torture. I didn’t get any sleep.”

  “Neither did I, but you know my dad, he loves traditions.”

  “I would have married you the minute I put that ring on your finger.”

  “I know, but this day is going to be so special, not just for us, but for my dad as well.”

  It’s the truth. Bernie is a good man who loves his children more than anything. Having his daughter’s wedding under the big oak tree on his farm is a true honor to him, hence the hay bales having to be perfect.

  “There is a way we can make it more special,” I say, leaning in closer, our lips so close.

  “Yeah, what do you have in mind?”

  “How committed are you to having your hair and makeup stay this fucking perfect?”

  Laughing, she says, “Very committed.”

  “And this gorgeous, breath-stealing dress. What’s the level of not wanting to ruin it?”

  “A very high level,” she answers, a small kiss to my lips.

  Scanning the dress, I notice the size of the bottom, fabric toppling over in waves, making it quite poofy, a dress I never expected Marley to pick but I love it nonetheless.

  “Hmm, this might be challenging.”

  Moving her hands to my undershirt, she plays with the hemline and says, “You’ve never been one to backdown from a challenge.”

  She’s damn right about that. Hell, I made Paul go on a wild Funyun chase with no end in sight, I dodged Bernie, and made it past the matron of honor, a white dress shouldn’t be stop
ping me.

  Taking the challenge head on, I formulate a plan in my head. I just need a taste of her, a taste long enough to last me until after the wedding.

  Pressing my palm against her cheek some more, loving the way her skin feels against mine, I kiss her and break the distance between us, soaking up every drop of Marley I can. Her hands find my waist and play with the waistband of my shorts. As much as I would love to shuck my clothing and take my soon-to-be-wife up against the wall right now, I know we don’t have time for that, so instead, I mold our mouths together, loving the way our tongues work together seamlessly, seeking each other out. Taking a little bit of time, I let our breaths mix as I start to lower myself to the ground.

  The minute our mouths disconnect, Marley asks on a gasp, “What are you doing?”

  On my knees now, I lift up the skirt of her dress. “Hold this, baby and spread your legs.”

  “Porter.”

  “Do it, baby. I want you to come on my tongue before you walk down the aisle. I need to taste you, now spread them.”

  Like the good listener she is, she spreads her legs and I work my way under her skirt where I part her little white thong to the side and start peppering her center with kisses, occasionally running my tongue along her slit. A low, slow moan drags out with her breath, taunting me. Wanting to not rush things all too much, I continue to tease her, never applying too much pressure, just giving her enough pleasure to start to drive her crazy. With every pass of my tongue, she spreads her legs wider, angling for me to touch her clit.