THAT MAN 5 (The Wedding Story-Part 2)

by Nelle L'Amour

  “But—”

  He cut me off. “Fuck ‘but.’ You need to be punished.”

  He’d punished me once before. But it was playful. I’d screwed up pancakes and he’d fucked me on the kitchen floor, dousing me with maple syrup. But this was different. There was intensity to him now I’d never known before. It both frightened and excited me.

  He flipped me around so I was bent over the hood. My hands splayed on the cold metal. The headlights pressed against my middle. My head was bowed down, but I could still see his enraged reflection in the windshield. “Blake, what are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m going to fuck some sense into you.”

  A retribution fuck. I was strangely aroused. “Fuck you, Blake.”

  “Fuck you, tiger,” he growled, shoving down my skirt along with my panties in one swift swoop and then spreading my legs apart.

  His giant cock needed no warm-up. And apparently, my pussy wasn’t going to get one either. With a loud carnal grunt, he thrust his thick length into me. And began to ram me. This was fucking with no mercy. I winced. He slapped my ass. I winced again. Hot, salty tears sprinkled my cheeks. He pounded harder, digging his nails into my hips. I rocked into him, oddly enjoying every erotic minute.

  “Blake, why are you doing this to me?”

  “Because. Thrust. I. Thrust. Love. Thrust. You.”

  “Don’t you have a better way of expressing yourself?” I blissfully wept the words.

  In response to my question, an arm wrapped around my waist and I could feel his fingertips trail down to my soaking wet center. He began to rub my clit fervently while he continued to pummel me. Shrieks escaped from my lungs as an orgasm spiraled inside me, taking every cell with it. But before I could climax, he pulled his hand away, leaving my hot bundle of nerves bereft.

  “Blake, please,” I pleaded. “I need to come.”

  “I need an apology.”

  “Anything.” I was desperate.

  “Say you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And that you’ll never disobey me.”

  “Never.” Nonsense.

  “Good.” To my relief, his hand returned to my clit, and he circled away. My orgasm resumed as if there had never been an intermission. It was coming at me at full force. Crashing through me. “Oh, Blake,” I screamed out as his own powerful climax met mine. A head-on collision. No pun intended.

  “Tiger,” he groaned, pulling me back against him as his hot release coated my thighs.

  I felt him pull out and then he flipped me around. A mixture of madness and passion flickered in half-mast blue eyes. They held me prisoner as he cradled my face in his large hands. Tenderness replaced the fury.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was soft.

  I nodded. His unblinking eyes bore into me.

  “Tiger, I almost lost you once. I can’t lose you again. If you die, I die. You own my heart.”

  My lips quivered at his powerful words. Lifting one of my hands, he slipped it under his suit jacket and held it against his heart. I could feel it beating against my palm. I gazed up at his beautiful face. “Blake, one more promise. I’m never going to leave you.”

  “Thank you baby. I needed to hear that.” He held me close to him, as if never wanting to let me go.

  Chapter 14

  Blake

  We headed home in one car. Mine. I told Jen to leave hers in Venice. She protested, but I told her I’d have someone from the office pick it up in the morning. And if one of the local gangs vandalized or jacked it, I didn’t give a shit. I’d buy her a new car. And it wasn’t going to be another Kia.

  We drove in silence. Her hand stayed clutched on my hand gripping the shift. Sam Smith’s “Stay with Me” played on the radio. The words of this soulful singer’s song resonated deep inside me. How close I had come to losing my tiger. One time after another. I didn’t want to think about it. I just knew I couldn’t live without her.

  When we got to our condo, I valeted the car and led her through the lobby, my arm wrapped around her shoulders. We were almost one.

  Once inside the apartment, I drew a hot bath. The rope fantasy I’d had earlier in the day had gone down the drain. It just didn’t make sense now. Right now, I just needed to hold my tiger. Let her know she was mine. Make up for punishing her. And rid myself of guilt. I felt bad about my angry fuck, yet she’d seemed turned on, not offended.

  After peeling off her clothes, which I intended to burn since Dickwick had touched them, I helped her into the tub. My tub was luxurious. Big enough to let six foot three me stretch out, and it had a Jacuzzi. Truthfully, due to our hectic work schedules, Jen and I hadn’t enjoyed it much. Mostly, we took showers together.

  I watched as she sunk into the breast-deep water. Her sigh was like a symphony to my ears. Turning on the Jacuzzi, I shrugged off my clothes and joined her, settling behind her. She was in my arms, her slender body and head resting against my chest and shoulders. The water gurgled around us, the bubbling jets caressing and massaging. We were in a zone.

  I grabbed a large sponge, squirted some liquid soap on it, and then began to wash her everywhere. Dickwick needed to be erased.

  “I’m sorry about tonight,” I breathed against her delicate neck as I washed the back of it and her shoulders. “Did I hurt you?”

  She arched against me, splaying her hands on my thighs under the water.

  “No, Blake. You can never hurt me.”

  I pondered her soft words. They were true. I wasn’t capable of hurting my tiger. My burning desire to protect her and fear of losing her ruled me. I’d never thought about the consequences of my actions with any woman. She made me feel things—emotions—I’d never experienced. And sometimes go to extremes. Kill for her if I had to. I wanted to be her superhero forever.

  Silently, I continued to sponge her. She hummed into the percussion of the bubbles. As I soaped her tender tits, her chest rose and fell against me. My cock rose beneath her. Her half-wet ponytail tickled me. Impulsively, I pulled it loose from its elastic band and it free fell, cascading over her shoulders like a velvet cape. The silkiness grazed my chest.

  Keeping one hand cupped on her pert rosebud-tipped tit, I reached for the tube of shampoo. The only one she used. Gloria’s Secret Very Cherry Vanilla. I squeezed a few dollops onto her hair and, with both hands, began massaging it into her scalp until there was a rich lather. The erotic squishy sound and intoxicating scent aroused me, my cock and heart swelling with love and lust, one physically, the other emotionally. I had to have her. Not fuck her. But make love to her. She was thinking the same thing.

  “Oh, Blake,” she said dreamily. “Take me. Make love to me.”

  Gently, I lifted her hips onto my erection. She lowered herself onto my thick, aching length, taking me all the way. God, she felt good. So fucking good. I squeezed my eyes shut and let her know with a moan. On the next heated breath, I was gliding in and out of her, my mouth showering her with kisses everywhere it could, my hands working her slick clit, the water bubbling with love. We came passionately together.

  Oh baby, stay with me. You’re all I need.

  Chapter 15

  Jennifer

  Time flew by. The weekend of our wedding was here before I knew it.

  On Friday, December nineteenth, the day of the rehearsal, the familiar ring of my cell phone jolted me out of my sleep. I hadn’t slept well at all. The last minute wedding details had vexed me, and both my mind and my stomach were aflutter. I was wound up as tight as a ball of yarn but could unravel at any minute. Moreover, I was sure I was getting my damn period. I’d been cramping on and off all week and the littlest thing made me cry.

  The smell of fresh coffee wafted in the air. Blake was already up and out of bed, for sure in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was seven a.m. The phone rang again and I stretched my arm to reach for it. With half-closed eyes, I registered who was calling. It was my mom. Of course, I had told her to call me when they were
about to take off. My parents would be here in two hours. In plenty of time for the rehearsal and dinner tonight. I’d wanted them to come out earlier in the week, but unfortunately, Dad couldn’t forego his final, much-needed therapy sessions—especially since he was bent on walking me down the aisle.

  My mother’s teary-eyed voice sounded before I could even say hi. “Jennifer, honey, I have terrible news.”

  My heart leapt into my throat and I bolted upright. An inner panic button went off. Had something happened to my father? “Is Dad okay?” I choked out.

  “Honey, he’s fine. But our flight has been canceled.”

  “Mom, what do you mean?” My words were rushed and pitchy.

  “It’s blizzarding.”

  “Oh my God. What about a later flight?”

  “I’m not sure.” My mother’s voice wavered. “According to airport officials, the storm is expected to get worse.”

  Tears pricked my eyes, and I could feel a knot in the pit of my stomach. How could this be happening? As a tear escaped, Blake, in just his pajama bottoms, strode into the room, holding two steaming mugs of coffee. He caught a glimpse of me and rushed to my side.

  “Jen, what’s the matter?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, handing me one of the mugs. It shook in my hand.

  “Mom, hold on.” Setting the mug on the nightstand, I told Blake what was going on.

  Tilting his head back, he huffed a breath. “Jeez. Just what we don’t need.” My eyes stayed riveted on him as he scooted across the mattress to retrieve his cell phone on the other night table.

  “Blake, what are you doing?” I snapped, my nerves getting to me.

  “I’m going to see if we can send my father’s private plane or the company jet to get them.”

  Oh, my Blake! I relayed this news to my mom as I listened intently with my other ear to the conversation Blake was having with someone who must be from the Conquest travel department. His eyebrows were knitted as he went back and forth with them.

  “Fuck.” He flung the phone on the bed. My heart sunk deeper. I knew it was not good. His eyes met mine.

  “Jen, they’re closing the airport. No planes are allowed to depart or land.”

  Shit. It was even worse than I thought. With a lump in my throat, I shared the bad news with my mom. Tearfully, she told me she was going to ask Father Murphy, who was with them, to pray. As I was about to say good-bye, my dad got on the phone. Tears of my own were now streaming down my cheeks.

  “Hi, Dad,” I sniffled as Blake massaged my shoulders.

  “Jennifer Leigh McCoy, you stop crying right now. Your mother and I may not be there tonight for the rehearsal, but we will be there tomorrow for your wedding. I said I was going to walk my little girl down the aisle, and I never break my promises.”

  No, he never had broken a promise in all my life. I wiped my eyes. With a final sniffle and an ounce of optimism, I told my darling dad I believed him and how much I loved him. My love for him, like for Blake, was immeasurable.

  *

  Blake went into the office for a few hours while I took the day off. I still had a million details to attend to, plus Enid had insisted I get my hair, nails, and makeup done for tonight’s events. And a facial. Soon after Blake departed, I canceled all my appointments. The day was gloomy—for the first time in a long time, gray and overcast. Mirroring exactly how I felt. Mom and Dad had gone back home, and all my googling made me feel worse. The blizzard could last up to twenty-four hours. And it was spreading across the Midwest. Despite my father’s promise, the reality that my parents might miss my wedding was eating away at me. And on top of all my worries, I felt like pure crap. More than just tension. Shooting pains stabbed my gut. I was beginning to worry if it was something beyond nerves and the onset of my period. Was I getting sick?

  Blake returned mid afternoon. His sultry voice awoke me; I’d dozed off.

  “Jen, it’s almost four o’clock. You should start getting ready.”

  As I fluttered my eyes open and sat up, another one of those sharp pangs dug into me. Clutching my stomach and grimacing, I let out a soft moan, but not soft enough to be unnoticed by Blake. He dashed to my side.

  “Are you okay, baby?” His voice was thick with concern.

  “Blake, I think I might be coming down with something.” It was that time of year the flu was rampant. Many co-workers had come down with it, along with Blake’s college roommate, Jake, who was not going to make it to the rehearsal or wedding. Even though I’d had a flu shot, it didn’t make me immune.

  “Are you sure?” My soon-to-be husband tenderly kissed my forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”

  Well, that was good news. Maybe it was just nerves.

  “C’mon. Let’s take a shower together and get ready.”

  Maybe a shower was just what I needed.

  Wrong. We fucked. I felt worse.

  *

  The rehearsal at Blake’s parents’ house started at six. I was wearing the stunning ivory dress Blake surprised me with in Paris along with my mother’s lovely cashmere birthday sweater while Blake was dressed in one of his sexy tapered dark suits. He looked dashing. I, to be honest, still looked—and felt—like crap. Even the makeup I’d applied, including the little extra blush and eye shadow, couldn’t camouflage my pallor or glazed eyes.

  We got there a little early. Mayhem. Pure mayhem. That’s the only way to describe the scene. It was like a movie production. Except crazier and more chaotic. Workers were everywhere, and amidst them was a frazzled Enid, dressed to the nines, heels and all, shouting orders through a megaphone. Hundreds of white folding chairs were being set up in the Bernsteins’ vast backyard for tomorrow’s ceremony, and a giant tent was in the process of being erected for the reception.

  “Goddammit. How hard is it to fill a bowl of water and stick a stupid fish in it?” Enid screamed into a walkie talkie. And then into her ringing cell phone, “What do you mean, you idiot? I asked for Beluga caviar, not Sevruga. Just deliver it, but after tomorrow, you’re fired.”

  “Oh, hello Jennifer,” she said in a most condescending tone upon taking note of me. She snubbed Blake, who had his arm wrapped around me. I told her my parents wouldn’t be coming to the rehearsal because of a snowstorm.

  She rolled her eyes and let out a haughty huff of air. And then she narrowed her eyes at Blake. “Seriously, Blake, this would have never happened if you’d married Katrina.”

  Though she was a continent away, the mention of her name made my skin prickle. Blake held his own.

  “Seriously, Enid, you need to get your head examined. You’re one sick bitch.”

  Like mother like daughter. Enid’s jaw dropped to the floor and stayed there while Blake ushered me away to mingle with our guests.

  Seeing friends and family was a welcomed comfort.

  Overlooking the backyard, the elegant, spacious veranda began to fill with all the wedding party participants—from the eight hired blond bimbo bridesmaids from Central Casting to those near and dear to us.

  Blake’s sister Marcy, upon arriving, gave me a hug and then observed me in true doctorly fashion.

  “Jennifer, are you all right? You look very pale.”

  “Yes. Just a case of pre-wedding nerves,” I said as another gut-wrenching pang stabbed me. The good actress I was, I smiled through the pain. Perceptive Libby shot me a concerned look. Her sharp, analytical mind could cut through bullshit like a knife.

  Enid’s thundering voice intercepted my thoughts. She held her megaphone to her face. “Attention, everyone. The rehearsal is about to begin.”

  One by one, Enid gave the wedding party their marching orders as if she were General Patton. With Rabbi Silverstein already at the altar, Grandma led off the procession. She was followed by the groomsmen, who proceeded in pairs and included Chaz and Jeffrey, and then by Blake’s best man, Jaime. With a squeeze of my hand, Blake was the next to go. His parents flanked him. As he stepped onto the verdant lawn, Blake looked over his shou
lder and blew me a kiss. For a fleeting moment, my gloom lifted. I blew one back at him.

  As he disappeared into the ominous night, the bevy of bridesmaids, which included Gloria and Marcy, trailed behind him.

  Libby and I were the only ones left. Along with Marcy’s twin boys, the ring bearers, and Mrs. Cho’s daughters, the flower girls. They had managed to score a snow globe and, huddled on the floor in the corner, were watching the little fish inside it swim around in circles. Squeals and laughter filled the air.

  “Children,” barked Enid. “Your turn. Chop chop!”

  The children ignored her. They were too busy playing.

  Scowling, Enid marched over to them. She snatched the snow globe and, to my wide-eyed horror, tossed it across the room. The glass shattered and the fish went flying.

  Mrs. Cho’s sweet little girls burst into tears.

  “Meanie!” cried out one of the twins.

  My eyes traveled to the fish flapping madly on the floor by my feet. In my overcharged emotional state, tears seared my eyes. The poor little thing. He was gasping for air. I could feel his pain. At this very moment, I, too, felt like a fish out of water. Helpless. Suffocating. Desperate. I fell to my knees and scooped the tiny orange creature into my palms. In a heartbeat, Libby, wearing one of Chaz’s little black dresses, was by my side with a bowl of water. My Libby! Always there for me!

  “Get up, you ridiculous girls,” seethed Enid as I struggled to get the fish into the bowl. He was squirming and jumping in my cupped hands. The captivated children had gathered around us.

  Libby’s freckles jumped off her face as they did when she was enraged. She cranked her neck and gazed up at Enid.

  “Shut up, you bitch!” she barked as I finally managed to get the fish safely into the water. It happily swam about.

  The cheering children burst out in laughter. “She said the b-word,” singsonged one of the twins.

  Enid was livid, but for the first time all day, I was on the brink of laughter. Libby didn’t hold back and high-fived one of the twins.