by Shey Stahl
“Alexandra.” I look behind me when I don’t hear any noise for a few minutes but the faint sounds of River’s iPad in her lap. She’s sound asleep. Car rides seem to do that to her, but a six-hour car ride was sure to knock her out at some point. It’s hour three when she’s finally passed out and drooling. “She’s upset I brought you.”
He nods. “Does that mean I don’t have to go?”
“Nope. You’re my boyfriend this weekend.”
He cringes at the word again, but still smiles and shakes his head. “I still can’t believe I agreed to this.”
I smile, reaching for my water. “I can. Secretly you’ve always wanted to be my boyfriend.”
He doesn’t answer me, and I don’t push for him to because there are just some things I know I’m not going to get out of him and a title is one of them.
But then I wonder and ask, “Are you sure you want to go?”
His eyes snap to mine. “You said I had to.” He glares. “Did I not have to?”
I deflect and ask, “Is the only reason you’re going because you want. . .” I pause and sneak a peek at River. Thankfully sleeping. I keep my voice soft when I ask, “Because you want to you know. . . seduce me?”
He smiles and mouths, “You mean, fuck you? Because I’m already fucking seduced.”
I nod, my heart jumping into my throat.
Staring out the windshield, there’s amusement to his tone when he laughs out, “Wanting to fuck you is only 99 percent of why I agreed.”
A heaviness centers in my chest. “What’s the other 1 percent?”
His eyes travel over my face, searching my expression. “I didn’t want you going alone.”
We arrive at Muir Beach around three in the afternoon the day before the wedding and Tiller’s looking for alcohol and something to calm his nerves. He’s never been one for formal events and usually, almost always, skips out on all the awards banquets for his events. I can’t say I blame him.
“Do Belle live here?” River asks, holding Tiller’s hand, and her lilac blanket in the other.
“No, honey. She doesn’t,” I say, then turn to Tiller who’s rolling his eyes. “We have to share a room. There are only seven rooms.”
Do you notice the way his eyes light up? I bet you do.
Inside, Alexandra is waiting, tapping her foot like we’re so late it’s unacceptable. We’re only an hour late. I think, and then I remember I never gave her a specific time I’d be here.
“It’s about time,” Alexandra says, rolling her eyes and handing me a packet and what looks like a bottle of hair dye. “The rehearsal dinner is tonight in the conservatory.”
“Um, what’s this?” I hold up the dye, ready to open the bottle and squirt it in her eyes for even suggesting I change for her.
“You need to fix your hair.”
Is she freaking serious? I grab her by the elbow, dragging her away from Tiller and River. “I’m not dying my hair for a wedding you’re forcing me to be a part of.”
Alexandra stares at me, her bony face tensing. She can’t believe I’m going against her. “Your hair doesn’t go with the bridesmaid dresses.”
“Then count me out.” I push the packet back at her. “I’m not doing it.”
Her anguish almost overcomes her control. “You know I need you or the groomsmen will be off.”
“Well tell Vander I’m not walking with him and he can sit out too.”
“Damn it, Amberly.” She presses her hands to her face convulsively. “Stop being like this.”
“You stop. I’m not dying my hair.”
We stare, locked in a battle of will. If Ava were here, she’d intervene at this point and try to make us hug it out, but she’s not, and we’re forced to collide. I catch Tiller’s eyes on mine when Vander comes up behind me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Hey, girl. Looks like we’re dates this weekend.”
Oh no. Tiller’s jaw tenses, his eyes flaring in anger. His protective side stirs and when Vander asks, “Where’s that little girl?” And looks around for her.
Behind us, Tiller picks River up for the first time and holds her. Then she asks to be on his shoulders.
I’m so caught up in the image of him holding River, I forget everything else around me and stare at the two of them. She rests her chin on his head. How precious is that? My heart soars, my pulse racing. I don’t know the expression on my own face, but the one on Tiller’s screams dominance. He’s letting everyone in this small lobby, not only is River taken, I am too because the next thing I know, his free arm is around my shoulder and he knocks Vander’s arm aside.
“You’re not her date this weekend. I am.”
River fists her hands in Tiller’s mop of crazy hair. “Yee-haw!”
It’s like she thinks she’s riding a horse, but it’s enough to at least break up the awkward silence in the room. Alexandra pushes Vander away and regards me. “Fine, you don’t have to change your hair, but please be on time for the rehearsal dinner at least. You were supposed to be here three hours ago.”
“She’s here,” Tiller notes, staring down Alexandra. “Relax and pull the stick out of your a—”
I slap my hand over his mouth. “We’ll be there.”
Looking at him, I mouth, “Knock it off.”
He bites at my hand, glaring at me.
I drag both Tiller and River upstairs, the key in my hand Alexandra gave me in my packet. There’s all kinds of crap in the envelope and I hand it to Tiller.
He carries River up to the room, telling her to duck every time we go through a low hanging beam.
All the guestrooms at the inn are different from one another. They have queen beds, bathrooms, and little sitting spaces, but I have no idea how all three of us are going to fit in that bed.
Luckily there’s a sofa-bed and River’s already digging out her stuffed animals from her bag and arranging them one by one. Tiller glances at me, then the bed, but his words don’t match the playful yet possessive expression he holds as he asks, “How well do you know Vander?”
I shrug, the burn of my cheeks not from the question, but from the idea of sleeping in the same bed as Tiller. “Not well. His parents are friends with mine. He was one of Cullen’s friends.”
At the mention of her dad’s name, River looks up at me curiously, but then returns to her animals.
Tiller leans in, whispering, “He touches either of you and I’ll break his fucking hand.”
Look how fucking tense I am. Whose idea was this? I should never be at a wedding. Asking me to a wedding is like asking a priest to a strip club. It’s against my religion, if I have one.
But I go, not because Amberly asked me to, okay, maybe a little bit because she asked me to, but mostly to make sure every other guy here kept his hands off my girl. Or girls. It should be plural, shouldn’t it?
“This is a bad idea, isn’t it?” Amberly points out as we’re walking down to the conservatory, sensing my mood is off since meeting Vander. And while we’re at it, what kind of name is Vander?
I don’t say anything, but I do grunt at her and reach for my cigarettes. We walk into the room that looks like the forest threw up in it. I light my cigarette, keeping my eyes locked on Amberly’s grandmother staring at me in horror that I’m smoking in the conservatory.
“I’m Lillian Johnson.” She’s afraid to ask for sure, but I think she wants to be polite when she asks, “Who are you, dear?” Her eyes roam over my tattoos and my lip ring.
Dear? Did she seriously call me dear?
I smile. “I’m your worst nightmare, love.”
“Can I get you something?” Lillian shakes out with a trembled breath. Can you see her pulse raising? I can, even from five feet away. Her carotid artery is seen thumping rapidly, and if that doesn’t give away her discomfort for me, her wide-eyed look of utter disbelief does.
I don’t know why she’s asking. There’s clearly staff here.
But I bite and say, “Vodka and a loaded gun.”
Amberly levels me a glare, then laughs it off. “He’s not serious, Grandma Lillian.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. I breathe and I shake because I can feel it coming. The rage, the need to get lost, the regret and hatred fusing into a perfect fury of destruction. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Grabbing me by my arm, Amberly drags me away about the time River takes off with a little girl to play under the tables lined with obnoxiously white linens. She rips my cigarette out and tosses it in a nearby garbage can. “Don’t make a scene.”
“I’m not,” I snap, reaching for a bottle of vodka I spot at the bar. I want out of this place and I want to get fucked up. Unscrewing the cap with my thumb, I take a long pull from the bottle and then hand it to her. “Want some?”
She pushes the bottle back at me. “No—”
Her words stop short when her father approaches us, with guess who?
Vander.
“Amberly, your sister is looking for you,” Doug tells her, glaring at me.
With my eyes locked on Vander, I drop the bottle in my hand to my side, but I don’t let go of it. No, instead, I wrap my arm around Amberly’s shoulder because I need to claim dominance, right?
It’s then Vander stares back at me, and then recognition hits him. “Hey, aren’t you that FMX rider. . . Sawyer something?”
“No.” That was rude, right? I know it. Let me tell you something. A story if you will. They call me Wild Cat. You know that already, probably, if you’ve been paying attention to any of this. But it didn’t necessarily come from my riding ability. It started with Shade, actually. He had an obsession with panthers growing up. Something about their black fur he found fascinating. Not really sure, but who fucking cares. It’s not the point of this story. What is? Panthers are polygamous. Meaning, if you don’t know, they have more than one mate. Now I’ve done some research on them, as had Shade. Adult panthers live alone most of the time and the male and females only get together to fuck. When the mating is over, the male cat goes his own way. Hints how I got the name, Wild Cat from Shade. He was fifteen and high on Vicodin for the first time, even pissed his pants, but whatever. The name stuck and became associated with my riding too.
But here’s another fun fact for you, and this brings me back to Vander. When a female leopard is in heat, she gives off a scent that attracts the males. Guess what happens when two males find interest in the same female?
They fight. I’m not saying I’m going to fight this Vander guy, but I’m also not saying I won’t. You might be wondering what the point of all that was?
Me too. What were we talking about?
He points at me, waving his finger around. Are you looking at him? He looks like a fucking panda with those dark circles under his eyes. I can’t believe he thinks he has a shot with her. Amberly shifts so she’s in front of me, the heat of her body burning against my chest. “Yes, you are. You’re Teller, right?”
Teller? Jesus, that’s even worse than Vander. Does he think I’m a fuckin bank teller?
“His name is Tiller,” Amberly says, correcting him and then putting her hand up. “Go away, Vander.”
He reaches for her hand. “They want to take photos down by the water.”
I tighten my grip on Amberly. My glare burns through the façade I’d put up that I don’t care. I do care. I’ll be damned if this fucker is going to get his hands on my girl. No fucking way. And to make my point even more known, I let my eyes wander to her father and then kiss the side of Amberly’s neck whispering, “Do you remember my warning?”
She elbows me. Hard. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”
And then she leaves. With Vander.
Doug smiles, like he’s satisfied. “Just because she brought you, doesn’t mean I will ever acknowledge you as being good enough for her.” And then his eyes drift, lower, to the bottle in my hand. “You’ll always be a fuck up.”
You know, he could be right. I might be, but he has absolutely no right to judge my life. He’s handed me a score most of my professional career and this is one time he can’t control the podium finish and he knows it. That’s why he’s doing this.
I lean in. “I might be a fuck up, Doug, but it’ll never stop me from fucking your daughters,” I whisper and then walk away.
Told you weddings were a bad idea.
I don’t like to be woken up. I once kicked my brother in the throat for waking me up. It’s like I have ninja skills first thing in the morning. Or all day long. I’m pretty fucking talented if you ask me.
Peeking one eye open, I assess the damage. I didn’t kick her, but I did knock over what looks to be a lamp.
Take a look at Amberly. Christ, she looks fuckin’ pissed, doesn’t she?
“What?”
With her hands on her hips, she points at me. “I can’t believe I invited you to a wedding!”
If I remember correctly, I told her it was a bad idea, didn’t I? “Why?” I don’t recall anything that happened last night once I got started on the vodka.
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember. It seems you’ve forgotten a lot of things lately.” I have no idea what she’s talking about because I don’t remember forgetting anything. Picking up a pillow at her feet, she tosses it at my head. “Like the fact that you took a pitcher of Kool-Aid and vodka to the hot tub with you last night. Grandma Lillian found you passed out in the middle of a blood red tub. She thought you died.”
Admit it, you’re laughing, aren’t you? Amberly’s certainly not. She secretly, or not so secretly wants to kill me.
Wearing a bathrobe and her hair knotted up in a towel, she flops down next to me and I sit up beside her, bumping my shoulder against hers. It’s then I realize River’s not in the room. “Where’s the kid?”
“She’s with my mom and sister getting her toes painted for the wedding.”
I side-eye her. “Why?”
“Not sure.”
“So we’re alone?”
“Yes.” She gives me that look, the one that says don’t even think about it. But I do. Always.
Without much resistance, she lets me lay her back against the mattress, my hands running over her smooth bare legs. Untangling the knot in her robe, I push the fabric aside leaving her bare for me.
My dark stare finds hers, my mouth on her nipples. She likes it. No, she fucking loves it. Her lashes flutter closed, her hands in my hair as I hover over her.
Pulling myself closer, I stroke her cheek with my thumb. I want to place my hand on her chest, feel her pulse beneath my fingertips. I want to lay next to her and listen to her heartbeat in hopes it’ll calm my mind. I want that sound to end the noise in my head and the anguish pulsing inside me to dissolve.
I draw back, spreading her legs with my knees and then hook my hands around the backs of her knees to bring her hips in line with mine. Pressing forward, I give her my weight and grind my hard cock into her pussy. I don’t enter her, because I still have my boxers on and she won’t let me anyway. If there’s one thing Amberly’s hanging on to, it’s her virginity and I have no idea why.
Arching off the mattress, she moans into my ear, her hips squirming. “River will be back soon,” she breathes out, but doesn’t stop herself from shamelessly rubbing her pussy up and down my cock. It never does. I’ve brought her to every single one of her orgasms and I can say that with absolute certainty.
My hands shake when I bring them to cover her cheeks, my unstable eyes lost in hers. “Do you want me to get you off?” My breathing hitches, a sudden jolt of pleasure shooting through my body at the tiny whimpers leaving her lips. I’d give anything if she’d just let me inside her tight wet virgin pussy. I crave it like nothing before.
She nods, and I want to fucking kick myself for offering because I know I’m getting nothing in return. Or at least not what I’m really wanting from her.
“How long before she comes back?” I ask, my mouth at her ear. With my hands curled under her shoulders, I push up with my hips, driving
her into the mattress.
Her hands fist in the sheets, legs locking around my waist, heels digging into my ass. “Ten minutes, maybe.”
Well, I could blow my load now, but I’d like to draw this out a little, so I keep moving. I haven’t come from drying humping since I was what, thirteen? I don’t know, but I distinctly remember the chick and the fact that I came inside my riding pants and had to finish a motocross race with cum sliding down my leg. Good times. Bad when you’re on a podium finish and when they ask you what drove you to push so hard at the end through those gnarly whoops and your answer under your breath is, “’Cause my spunk’s sticking to my thigh, that’s why.”
Of course, I didn’t say that.
Only now, I’m twenty-three and do you think I care about coming in my boxers?
No. Well, maybe a little, but the way she’s working her hips, desperately massaging my cock with the heat of her pussy, aching with need, I don’t really give a shit what happens as long as it ends with me getting off. She squirms, panting and gasping. She’s so wet, it’d be easy to slightly change the angle and thrust inside her. I don’t.
We rush, or maybe I do, because goddamn this is a nice way to be woken up. Way better than a pillow to the face. With my hands under her ass, I drag my cock over her clit, pushing, dragging, rubbing, anything to create enough friction and just about the time I feel like I’m burning the skin off my shaft, Amberly comes.
It’s the most beautiful fucking sight in the world. I would have given anything to have been inside her, feeling the seizing, the jerking breath and wild buck of her hips on my cock. I pull back to watch, her mouth gently parted, her eyes close, her body tense and shaking underneath mine. I could watch that sight forever.
I want to marry this girl and chain her up so I can fuck her every day. Disturbing, I know. That’s how fucked I’ve become craving her virgin pussy.
When I know she’s finished, I reach inside my boxers and jerk myself off on her stomach.
“Don’t shower.” She rolls her eyes when I smear it in and whisper, “Just so Vander knows your mine.”