by Anne Mercier
"Oh my God. Jesse!" Lucy screeches, shaking me so hard I feel like I could throw up. Shit, didn't we just get to bed?
"Jesse, get up!"
"Wha?" I groan, my eyes still closed as I lift my head off the pillow.
"Wake up! You… Me… We… Oh my God!" she screeches again and son of a bitch that is piercing my brain.
"Stop screaming, Luce. What's going on?" I ask, scratching my chest. I look over at her and pause. Her eyes are wide and she looks freaked out.
"What is it?"
"Unh," is all she says and I know it's something huge.
"Luce, why are you 'unh'ing?"
"Married," she whispers.
I pause, frozen.
"What?" I ask, a little freaked out myself.
"Left hand. Ring. Married," she whispers.
I look at my left hand and freeze again. What the fuck? I bolt upright and reach for her left hand.
"How did you get that? That was in my…" pocket, I think, as flashbacks of Lucy and I saying our vows flash through my mind. Fuck me.
"Tell me. What…"
"Unh," I say and she starts to panic.
"That about sums it up. Do you remember what happened?" she asks, taking a deep calming breath.
"Parts of it. It's coming to me slowly. How much do you remember?" I ask cautiously.
"Nothing after chasing fat Elvis through Caesar's Palace."
I laugh at the memory. "That was fucking awesome."
She shrugs. "I only wanted to search him for drugs. It's not a good way to die, overdosing on the toilet for the world to make fun of."
I snort then moan. My fucking head is pounding like someone's got a jackhammer going in my brain. "God, I think we drank bottle upon bottle of liquor last night."
"Tell me about it. Why are we wearing wedding rings, Jesse?"
"Uh," I say, rubbing the back of my neck, not sure how to do this. Is this one of those rip-the-band-aid-off moments? Or is it one of those peel-it-off-slowly moments? I've never been good at this shit. "We hit a couple more hotels and casinos looking for your Elvis and then we found a skinny Elvis. You insisted on telling him all about his fate. We headed to breakfast at Denny's."
"All of us, or just me and you?"
"All of us. When we got there you were so serious telling Elvis his fate. He was so grateful he asked if he could officiate our wedding."
She groans. "I don't remember any of this."
Damn.
"Anyway, Elvis got permission from someone at Denny's to officiate our ceremony there. Apparently Denny's in Las Vegas also has a 24-hour wedding chapel."
"Huh. I guess that's convenient. Drunk people going for breakfast to sober up but don't quite get there before they decide to get married," she laughs.
I laugh with her, relieved at her reaction. "God, Lucy. I thought for sure you were going to be pissed off."
"I'm not pissed. Shocked, stunned, freaking out a little bit, but not pissed."
"Yeah. I was so fucked up I'm surprised I remember any of it. We laughed through the whole thing. You licked skinny Elvis's cheek."
"What the hell?"
I shrug. "Who knows. We were hammered."
"Hammered doesn't begin to describe it."
"Fucking skinny Elvis was a riot."
"Where did you get this gorgeous ring?"
"Ah, that ring I've had for a while now."
"What?" she whispers.
Fuck it. I'll tell her it all. Might as well, seeing as she's my wife. Holy fuck.
"Yeah, I got the ring because I knew I wanted to ask you to marry me—eventually—and if I had the ring handy and inspiration struck, well, I could ask you."
"Why didn't you ask me?"
"Would you have said yes?"
She hesitates, thinking. "I think I would have. We'd have had to talk about a lot of things and I think I'd have wanted to have a little longer of an engagement, at least through the tour." She groans again. "Oh God. The tour. The media. Shit. Cage."
"Yeah, about Cage. He was there."
"Seriously?"
I nod and grin. "He was all for it. He kept shouting 'True love prevails'. Then he and Xander would fist bump."
"Wow. Cage Nichols?"
I nod again and grin. "Hammered. He was hilarious."
"I think I remember a little bit of that. Wow. Where did the wedding bands come from?"
"Elvis knew a jeweler down the street who opened for us to pick out bands."
"Skinny Elvis or fat Elvis?"
"Skinny Elvis. You freaked out fat Elvis so bad I thought he was going to get a restraining order."
"Oh come on. It wasn't that bad."
"Luce, you tackled him."
She runs a finger along her rings. "Well, he ran away and I didn't tackle him hard."
I laugh, I can't help it. The memory of Lucy flying through the air and landing on top of fat Elvis is fucking classic.
"Anyway, the jeweler came in very handy. At least I helped pick out wedding bands. I remember that part," she says.
"You did."
"I can't believe we got married—drunk married in Vegas with skinny Elvis at Denny's."
I nod, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Jesus Christ, my mom is going to have a fit. Oh God. She's going to go on and on about how we don't have a prenuptial agreement and how it was irresponsible of us to get married without family there."
And there it is. Damn. As much as I don't want to, I'm going to give her an out if she wants it.
"Well, if you wanted to, I suppose we could get the marriage annulled."
She gasps. "What?"
"I'm just saying, it's an option."
"From the looks of this room with my bra hanging from the lampshade and my panties on top of the TV, I'm pretty sure we had sex, which means annulment is out of the question."
"If you wanted an annulment, we could pretend that didn't happen."
"Is that what you want?"
Fuck no. Hell no.
"Truthfully? No. I wouldn't have gotten married this quickly but really what do rings and a piece of paper change between us?"
"I don't want to annul the marriage, Jesse."
Thank Christ.
"I wouldn't have wanted to get married this soon but if you'd asked me to marry you, I'd have said yes. We could have been engaged for six months or a year. In that time we'd have gone on tour and got married after that."
"Since when do we do anything normal, Luce?" I ask her with a chuckle.
"Valid point. I need ibuprofen and water. Then a pot of coffee. No prenup. You better not screw up, Mr. Rockstar."
"You either, Blush Baby."
"Ugh. That nickname needs to go away."
I grunt. "Not going to happen."
"Who came up with that, anyway?"
"Your Vegas crowd and I guarantee that's going to catch on quick."
"Gah. The room looks like a tornado hit it."
I grin and wiggle my eyebrows. "Not a tornado, just us. Wild drunk crazy monkey sex."
"Monkey!" she sings and I laugh. "I kinda figured with my bra on one side of the room, my panties ripped on the floor, and my jeans on the other side of the room, that it was a wild one. I do remember part of that." She gasps. "And I do remember you calling me ‘wife’."
I nod. "I love you, Lucy, more than I ever thought I could love anyone. Each time I think I couldn't love you any more than I do at that moment, my heart goes and proves me wrong, you go and prove me wrong. I'm not sure how we'll handle this with the press or your mom, but I can't say I regret it."
"You say that now. Wait until I'm old and gray with saggy boobs and arthritis."
"You'll still be beautiful to me."
She throws herself at me and hugs me tight, so damn tight. "God, you're so amazing, Jesse. I love you so, so much—husband."
I chuckle. "I love you too, wife."
"It's kinda weird."
"We'll adjust."
"We will. If I can adjust
to living in the same house with Xander who is constantly panty-checking me, I can adjust to this."
"I'll be honest. I kinda like that you're wearing my ring and you've got my last name. Luciana Kingston."
"Mrs. Jesse Kingston. Do you know how many times I wrote that on my notebooks in high school?" she laughs.
I make a face. "That's not weird at all."
"What? Maybe my writing it sealed our fate. I did make a list of wishes one day."
"What did you wish for?"
"I wished I'd meet you and we'd have a special connection."
"Came true."
"I wished we'd make music together, write songs, and sing together."
"Came true."
"Wow. Yeah. I wished you'd kiss me and, uh, we'd have crazy insane sex."
"Came true, but wild drunk crazy monkey sex."
She nods. "Maybe my list was magic."
"Maybe you've got Nana Russo's mojo."
"That's not supposed to work for personal gain."
I shrug. "Whatever it is, it brought us together. Fate, the universe, Nana Russo's mojo."
"It's been a bumpy ride already. Hopefully the road smoothes out soon."
"Don't hold your breath, Cupcake. We've got a four-month tour coming up in two weeks—groupies, media, gossip—and to top that off, we've got your mom."
She sighs. "Again, why can't you bullshit me just once?"
"Because if I've got to go through all this with my eyes wide open, I'm dragging you right along with me."
"Awww. If that isn't true love, I don't know what is."
I snort. "You grab the ibuprofen and water and I'll order us some coffee and breakfast."
"Bacon, please. And a Coke. Coke is the cure-all for hangovers."
"Who fed you that line?"
She shrugs. "I don't remember."
"There is no cure-all for a hangover. See, if I were to feed you a line of bullshit, I could say wild monkey newlywed sex is the cure-all for a hangover."
"But you don't feed me lines of bullshit, you just drag me through whatever hell we've got to face."
I throw an arm around her shoulders and squeeze her close to me. "At least we're facing it together, right?"
She nods and then she gets a mischievous look on her face. Oh shit.
"That's true. That means I don't have to face my mom alone."
Fuck me. I groan.
"Isn't being married fun?"
Chapter Twenty-one
Lucy
“I don’t care, Luciana. You spend all of your time working and you want to spend extra time away from me talking to your mother? Do you not want to be with me anymore? Is that what’s going on here?” Ian asks, manipulation evident in his words but it sparks the guilt in me and I cave.
“No! That’s not it at all. She just was telling me about—”
“Luciana,” he says calmly, too calmly.
I press my lips together.
“I don’t give a fuck about what your mother had to tell you. I don’t give a fuck that filming ran over. What I do give a fuck about is how we spend our time together. Since we don’t have quantity,” he sneers, “we better go for quality, don’t you think?”
I nod, a bit afraid of the crazed look in his eyes.
He nods back. “Good.” He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and squeezes hard—too hard—then pulls me to his mouth where he forces his tongue inside mine. There is nothing nice about this kiss. It’s meant to punish and I know tonight is going to be ugly.
Ian pulls back and looks at me. “Did you enjoy fucking him today?”
“Ian, it’s acting and it’s all fake,” I say, trying to placate him.
He smirks and it’s sinister. “I saw you. I watched you when he touched you, sucked on your tits, and rubbed his cock against your pussy.”
“Ian.”
“Shut. Up,” he demands quietly. “I saw you, Luciana. I watched as you faked enjoying his mouth on you, his body on top of yours, and I also watched you come while he fucked you.”
“I didn’t—“
He punches me in the stomach and my body folds in half, pain washing over me as I struggle for breath.
“I fucking saw you, Luciana. You fucking came with him. There’s no faking that.”
I want to scream that I was just acting. I was in character! I wasn’t Luciana, I was Libby. I gave everything to the role as I always do. It wasn’t on purpose that my body reacted to Harm. Harm was David in that moment, an attractive man and I admit it, I, as Libby, enjoyed the feel of his body on top of mine, his hard body rubbing against my soft one. And I surprised us both when I came for real and then, when he came, we both were lost. That’s never happened on a set before and anyone watching wouldn’t have known we both orgasmed, but Ian would. And he did. Now I would pay the price.
“I think you need a reminder of who your body belongs to.” He rips my clothes off and pushes me backwards to the bed and throws me down. He doesn’t wait, he thrusts his fingers into me and I’m dry, completely unaroused and this enrages him more. He pumps his fingers harder and faster while I fight back the whimpers that are strangling me.
“No?” he asks.
I don’t respond.
He grabs my upper arms, his fingers biting into my flesh, then he gives me a hard shake. “You don’t want me? Is that what your body is telling me, Luciana?” He shakes me hard again then pushes me down on the bed again—hard.
I shake my head in denial, but I know better than to respond, so I stay quiet. I continue remaining silent as I watch him take off his clothes then fist his already hard cock.
Please, please, please I silently beg. I’m not sure who I’m begging but I know he’s going to hurt me much worse this time, so much worse.
Tears form and I blink rapidly to stop them from falling. It’ll only please him.
He crawls up over my body and pushes my legs apart with his knees. He’s stroking his cock and I know he’s lost touch with reality when I see a bead of precum form at the tip.
He leans over me and positions himself at my opening.
“Put it in,” he tells me, panting.
I don’t move right away and he punches my ribs. I cry out, unable to hold back any longer, and the tears begin to fall.
“Aww, poor little Luciana. Did I hurt you? Are you going to cry like the spoiled little bitch that you are?” he grins, evilly.
I don’t respond and he just continues to watch me, then starts thrusting his cock against me.
“Put. It. In,” he pauses. “Now!” he shouts when I hesitate.
I lift a shaky hand and reach for him. I rub the head of his cock up and down my slit hoping some of his precum will provide some lubrication. The second he’s positioned at my opening, he slams forward, tearing through my dry tissues and I let out a whimper.
“That’s it, Luciana. Whimper. Beg. Cry. Remember who’s fucking you and the only one who will fuck you from now on. I’m going to fuck you and show you how a real man fucks—hard and long and I’m going to make you come so you remember whose body this belongs to. It doesn’t belong to that fucker Harm. It’s mine.” Slam. “Mine!” Slam. “Do you fucking hear me?!” Slam.
I let out a sob and then do the only thing I know to do to make this end sooner. I reach up and pinch my nipples, hoping to get some wetness between my thighs so I can fake an orgasm or he’ll keep going all night, wet or dry, he’ll fuck me until he knows he’s gotten my body to do what he wants.
“That’s right, Luciana, squeeze those pretty titties.”
I do, and then I lift and lower my hips against his once I get wet between my thighs—all the while knowing that wetness has nothing to do with Ian and everything to do with what I’m doing to myself.
I look just over his shoulder so it seems like I’m looking at him. I imagine Jesse Kingston above me, fucking me hard as we lose control, greedy for one another. When Ian leans down and bites my breast I see Jesse licking my nipples, rolling them between his fingers
, arousing me further.
I meet Jesse’s thrusts, hard and fierce, his whiskey-colored eyes blazing into mine as he brings me closer and closer to orgasm. Oh yes, Jesse, I whisper in my mind. I slide my hand down and start circling my clit, paying no mind to the monster abusing my body. I continue to fantasize about Jesse. His cock, his panting breaths, his whispered words, and when he groans I rub my clit harder and close my eyes.
I’m going to come. I have to. I can’t fake it. He’ll know.
Then he lets out a moan, high and girlie and I hate it. It sounds like whines each time he thrusts when he comes.
Jesse. I want to come for him. I want to please him so I arch my back, letting his cock hit just the right spot while I press hard on my clit. “Jesse!” I scream out, sobbing uncontrollably, trying so hard to come but unable to get there. With Ian I just—can’t.
“Luce, baby.”
I sob some more.
“Come on, Cupcake, wake up,” Jesse whispers, pulling me to his chest, rocking me.
“Jesse, oh God,” I cry, inhaling the scent of my husband. Ocean, sandalwood, and yum. Nothing could ground me faster than the smell and feel of my Jesse surrounding me.
“What happened?” Xander asks from the doorway.
“Nightmare,” Jesse tells him, his tone grim.
“Jesse.” I say his name over and over and over again, holding him so tight I’m afraid I’m going to hurt him. When Xander comes up and hugs me from behind and Sera on the side, I let out a few more sobs before I can finally catch my breath.
“What was it, Luce?” Sera asks softly.
“Ian,” I whisper, shame and humiliation washing over me.
“Motherfucker,” Jesse curses.
“Honey,” Sera says to Cage and I glance up to see them engage in a silent conversation. I look to Cage who is standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, tic in his jaw. He nods at me then Sera and she nods back.
“Why is that motherfucker still alive?” Xander asks.
“He won’t be for long,” Cage says with a hard-edged tone.