“Okay, Jordan, I finished as much as I could before we lost the internet connection. And I texted with Becca and Irene. They say Mr. Tuesday is doing fine.”
“That’s good,” he replied, trying not to think of her thighs.
She fished her mile-long to-do list from a stack of papers and tapped each scribbled item.
“I double-checked the scheduled blog posts for the next couple of days and made sure my Own the Eights book club recommendations were up to date, and I texted the director of the rec center where the Shakespeare Shuffle Competition is taking place. He let me know we have plenty of retired schoolteachers signed up to judge the recitations, and he says everything is good to go with the city regarding road closures for the race portion. But I still think we should double-check with the sponsors and the people making the ribbons for the winners, and—”
“Georgie, we’re good, and we’ll only be gone for a few days,” he said, cutting her off before her brain exploded and fire blasted from her ears, or smoke came billowing out of her nostrils.
She crossed and uncrossed her legs, cracked her knuckles, then plucked a pen from her bag.
He glanced her way. “Georgiana, are you okay?”
Jesus! Maybe she had blown a gasket.
“Pull the car over,” she answered, clicking the pen as if she were going for a pen click world record.
He stared at the mass of dense evergreens in all directions, towering majestically along the desolate two-lane road.
“Here? There’s nothing around us.”
“Yes, right here,” she said, speeding up the tempo of the click chorus.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I need you to do something for me,” she replied as the clicks accelerated into a full-on click-tastic calamity of sound.
“I can’t do it while driving? We’re not far from the bridal boot camp. We only have ten minutes to go,” he answered, checking the GPS.
She shook her head. “No, you can’t do it while driving. That would be too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous? What do you need me to do?” he questioned.
The clicks stopped.
“I need your help, Jordan. It’s a Kama Sutra emergency,” she said, lowering her voice as if she were asking him to save the world.
It only took a fraction of a second for his cock to tell his brain to tell his foot to hit the brakes. The tires squealed as earth and pebbles and bits of broken asphalt rose in a dusty plume with particles dancing in the golden glow of the setting sun.
Georgie gasped. “Wow! Remind me to use the Kama Sutra emergency line the next time I need you to unclog the shower drain.”
“Do not pull a false alarm on the Kama Sutra emergency bell,” he fired back as thoughts of their last Kama Sutra reenactment—a little reverse cowgirl on the kitchen floor, following their test bake of the healthy cake—flashed through his mind.
Georgie and cake. After the day they’d had, Christ, that sounded good right about now.
She clicked the pen. “Remember how we once used sex as not really sex but as a vehicle for stress relief?”
Did he remember? How the hell could he ever forget?
He held her gaze. “Are you asking if I’ve forgotten what it was like making love to you for the first time?”
She twisted the hem of her skirt. “No, I’m sure you remember. I was thinking we could get around this no fornication rule if the sex wasn’t for gratification but for stress relief,” she replied, nodding as if she were working this out on the fly.
“That sounds very reasonable,” he replied, ready to unzip his fly and get down to some Kama Sutra business.
She chewed her lip. “I’m not sure if you can tell, but I’m a little anxious.”
A little? Sweet Jesus, that was an understatement!
Luckily, over the past few months, he’d sharpened his boyfriend skills and was smart enough not to point out she was not only a little anxious but more like two pen clicks away from being cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs crazy.
“You do seem a bit on edge,” he answered, damn proud of himself.
She blew out a slow breath. “If we were at a spa, I could get a deep tissue massage or, you know, random spa stuff to help relax.”
He looked around. “But I don’t see a spa.”
“We are out of options when it comes to spas,” she agreed.
His gaze dropped to her plump lips. “We need to take matters into our own hands.”
The tip of her tongue wet her top lip. “It does seem like the only reasonable solution.”
“Come to think of it,” he said as his gaze continued its descent to her thighs.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“I could really use a spa treatment, too,” he finished as his blood supply headed south.
“It has been quite a day,” Georgie added, her breaths growing shallow.
He cut the ignition and took off his seatbelt. “I want to be clear. What we’re proposing is not sex. It’s a spa treatment.”
“Exactly! It’s not sex,” she answered, pointing at him with the pen.
“Bear with me a sec. I want to make sure I’m clear on what you’re proposing,” he said, using the last of his brain cells not already focused on the no sex spa treatment with Georgie to put together one final coherent thought.
They needed to be on the same page if, somehow, the frau ever caught wind they’d broken the no fornication rule. And if she did learn of their naughty disobedience, they’d need a plausible defense. After witnessing the wedding planner’s operation today, he wouldn’t put it past her to have bugged his car.
Georgie clicked the pen, and he unfastened her seatbelt with a click of his own.
“This spa treatment will consist of my cock treating your—” he began as her pen clicking drowned out his words.
“Yes!” she interrupted with a supersonic click speed that would put a woodpecker to shame.
“It works for me. I’m in!” he said, pulling her over the console and onto his lap.
“For the treatment,” she said, still clicking the pen.
He plucked the damn thing from her fingers and tossed it into the back seat.
“That’s right! For the treatment,” he echoed, weaving his hands into her hair as their mouths crashed in a wantonness kiss.
What was it about breaking the rules that made this spa treatment so enticing?
She gasped against his lips. “Jordan, I need to feel you. I need it now.”
His heart rate kicked up as his body went into complete carnal spa treatment mode. Had he ever needed her as badly as he did at this moment? It sure didn’t seem like it.
Georgie pushed up onto her knees as he unbuttoned his pants and slid them down along with his boxer briefs, freeing his hard length.
“You are really ready for this spa treatment,” she said, staring down at his cock with hungry eyes.
“I think you should know by now I do not fuck around when it comes to Kama Sutra emergencies,” he growled.
“And spa treatments,” she said with a naughty-girl twist to her lips.
“Especially, spa treatments,” he reaffirmed, then reached under her skirt and threaded his fingers into the lace band of her G-string. “What are we going to do about these? Panties are prohibited for this treatment.”
She gave him a playful pout. “This treatment room is quite snug, and I don’t have much room to move around. You’ll have to rip them off. That is, if you’re up for some panty ripping?”
Was he up for ripping the panties off the sexiest woman on the planet?
That would be a hell yes!
He snapped the lace of her G-string like a panty-ripping Incredible Hulk.
Georgie inhaled a tight breath as he tossed the remnants of her undergarments into the back seat to rest next to the damn pen.
He cupped her face in his hand. “The spa is open, ma’am.”
“I’ve never needed the spa more,” she answered, her gaze darkening.
He positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock rejoicing in the wet heat of her sweet center.
He gave her a wolfish grin. “I see you’re ready for your treatment.”
“I need all the treatments,” she said, closing her eyes as he teased her, sliding his hard length across her delicate folds.
He pressed a kiss below her earlobe. “I’m positive I can accommodate your request.”
She pulled back and met his gaze as desire flashed in her eyes. “Shut up and fuck me!”
His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
Spa treatment Georgie meant business!
“Yes, ma’am!” he growled.
Lust coursed through his veins as he thrust inside her. Georgie rocked against him, and her knee bumped the recline button, putting them at the perfect angle for him to drive in, deep and hard.
“Yes,” she moaned, gripping the sides of the seat.
He dug his fingertips into her ass, guiding her body in a punishing motion that rivaled even that of her rapid-fire pen clicks. Thrusting wildly, he inhaled her scent, closed his eyes, and let the friction build between them.
Months ago, from the first moment he laid eyes on Georgiana Jensen, his reaction to her had been visceral and all-encompassing. Their first kiss had left him wired and wanting more. Georgie and that messy bun of hers had worked their way into his heart. Her smile owned him, mind, body, and soul.
“You’re beautiful, and you’re mine. Our love alters not with brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom,” he whispered against her skin, incorporating a little Shakespeare into their spa treatment before claiming her mouth in a ravenous kiss.
All the sonnet practice with Simon was starting to sink in. He couldn’t hold back his words as the intensity of their connection, and the heated friction between their bodies ignited into a raging inferno of sensation and desire. Thrust after frenzied thrust, their minds and souls melded together with no end and no beginning, surrendering themselves to pleasure.
Her breaths grew short as she wrapped her arms around him. She was close to meeting her release. He recognized the swell of her chest and the delicious grip of her core around his weeping cock. But he slowed their ascent into ecstasy, rocking her body in long, lusty strokes against him, deepening their connection and squeezing out each drop of hot, wet pleasure from their gasping bodies when something beyond the need for carnal release churned inside him.
This wasn’t a stress relief screw. It wasn’t a spa treatment. And it wasn’t even the excitement of doing the deed when they’d been instructed to abstain. No, this was more. This frenzied meeting of their bodies was a desperate plea for reassurance.
Can we do this?
Can we make it?
Is what we have together enough to endure the test of time?
Hovering on the precipice between pleasure and pain, he met Georgie’s gaze.
“I meant every word I said to you. You’re my everything.”
Gasping as if that was what she needed to hear to quiet the anxiety buzzing through her body, she met her release, writhing and tightening around him. He followed her over the edge, pulling her close, anchoring them together as if their bodies knew some far-off storm was heading their way.
She sighed, and he slid his hand into her hair, savoring the warmth of their bodies as they wound down from the rush.
“I really like the spa,” she said on a dreamy exhale.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I never thought of myself as a spa guy, but you’ve converted me.”
She leaned back and ran her fingertips down his jawline. “We should probably get going, huh?”
“Probably,” he said, trying to read her and see if the spa treatment worked in easing her anxiety.
She smiled, and, in the inky darkness that now surrounded them, he saw his Georgie.
“Thank you. I needed that,” she said with a sated sigh.
He twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers. “Well, we had to give that poor pen a break.”
She chuckled. “All right. I’m going to climb into the back and clean up. Did you pack the tissues?”
She maneuvered off his lap and into the back seat as he adjusted the incline and attended to a little cleanup of his own.
“Yeah, there should be a travel pack of Kleenex in my toiletry bag,” he answered, getting situated.
“Oh no!” she cried.
He turned. “What is it? I know the tissues are there. I just did a whole blog post before we left on the necessities every guy should pack before they hit the road.”
“No, the tissues are here, but I’m not going to have enough underwear. I packed for three days exactly,” Georgie said, zipping her bag closed.
Dammit! He shouldn’t have gone all sex hulk and torn them off—but panty tearing seemed so hot in the moment.
“I’m sure they’ll have someplace to do laundry,” he answered, totally not sure, but really, really hoping they did.
Georgie was an indoor curled-up-with-a-good-book-in-a-comfy-chair kind of woman. While she loved her meandering walks and communing with nature while meditating, after living with her the last three months, he’d learned she also liked the conveniences of indoor plumbing and their eco-friendly washer and dryer.
As did he.
Not to mention, his heavy-duty industrial smoothie maker was damn amazing.
“Do you really think they’ll have laundry service available?” she asked, twisting her way back into the passenger seat and fastening her seatbelt.
“I’d imagine,” he answered, starting the car.
They’d lost the last of the sunlight beneath the canopy of evergreens, and he turned on the headlights. After driving for a few minutes, what looked like a large structure up on a hill emerged between a break in the trees.
“That might be where we’re headed,” he said.
Georgie pressed her hand to the window. “It looks like a lodge. How fun!”
Thank Christ!
They could handle a lodge.
Lodges had clean linens and room service, and there may be an actual spa at this place.
A wave of relief washed over him as they came to a fork in the road.
“What do the directions say?” she asked.
“We’re supposed to veer left,” he answered.
They stared ahead at two signs. One read, Knotty Pines Lodge and Resort in fancy lettering while the other, more of a glorified piece of cardboard, read Alpaca Boarding and Wilderness Boot Camp.
The Knotty Pines Lodge sign had a huge arrow pointing to the right.
The fucking right.
“So, we’re not supposed to turn right?” Georgie asked, staring up at the twinkling lights on the hill.
“No, the GPS says to veer left,” he answered, swallowing hard.
“Could it be wrong? We’re here for Bridal Boot Camp. The sign says wilderness boot camp,” she offered up.
It also said fucking alpacas, but he didn’t have time to worry about that.
“No, I’m pretty sure our destination is down that way,” he said, glancing to the left down a dirt road.
Georgie was back to twisting the hem of her skirt. “Maybe it’s another resort, and they’re having a new sign made. It does get quite windy in the foothills. This might be a temporary thing. A quick fix,” she said, her voice going up a nervous octave.
This was not good!
“That’s got to be it,” he agreed, doing his best to sound upbeat and not terrified at the prospect of running into an angry alpaca in the wilderness.
He took his foot off the brake, and the car inched forward as the headlights revealed a slice of duct tape on the cardboard sign with bridal written in angry block letters.
“I guess this is the bridal boot camp,” Georgie said, staring at the sign.
He couldn’t look away either. “Yep, it seems to be the case.”
She glanced up at the twinkling lodge. “No Knotty Pines for us.”
Georgie nodded as he turned the steering wheel to the left and maneuvered the BMW SUV down a dirt road.
“Mrs. Gilbert says she loves knitting with alpaca yarn,” Georgie threw out, her voice still hovering in that uneasy octave.
“I’m sure the animals are kept far away from the boot camp,” he replied.
She nodded. “You’re probably right, but it might be nice to pet one.”
“Oh yeah?” he answered, working to keep his voice out of the holy-shitballs-what-the-hell-were-they-walking-into range.
But before he could dwell on the not so pleasant attributes of alpacas for another second longer, they pulled up to a giant gate.
He cut the ignition. “What do you think we do now? I don’t see anything around here?”
“Let’s see if we can open it,” Georgie offered.
They got out of the car and walked toward the metal structure when the click of a shotgun being cocked stopped them in their tracks.
“Hello?” Georgie called, coming to his side.
“Are you here to try to steal an alpaca?” came a man’s gruff, raggedy voice.
“No, sir,” Jordan called back.
“You don’t like alpacas?” replied the stern voice from the depths of the forest.
“They’re lovely animals, but we’re here for the bridal boot camp. I’m Georgiana Jensen, and this is my fiancé, Jordan Marks. Is this the right place?” Georgie asked, sharing a wide-eyed glance with him.
Jordan held his breath, praying this was not the right place when a woman’s husky laugh peppered the air. Georgie gasped and grabbed onto his arm as a woman carrying a lantern emerged from the trees with a man close behind. Decked in camouflage, the couple looked like the grandparents’ version of GI Joe figures.
“Buck, don’t you tease these young folks. They’re our last arrivals, the City Feet people who signed up last minute.”
“Beat. It’s CityBeat,” Georgie corrected as the wilderness couple stared at them in the hazy darkness.
“And don’t worry. We aren’t expecting any special treatment,” she added in what sounded a hell of a lot like her beauty pageant voice.
Own the Eights Gets Married Page 9