The command in his voice turns me on somehow. I nod and saunter off, wiggling my butt as I walk. What butt I have, anyway. Let's just say I hope the reception doesn't include a twerking contest.
When I glance over his shoulder, I catch him turning away as if he was looking.
Karen puts her hands on her hips.
"Where did you go?"
"Little girls' room," I lie.
"Alright, all aboard."
I climb into a shuttle, with Karen, her parents, some cousins, and finally, Ryan, reluctantly sitting in the back, next to his father, on the opposite end of the vehicle from me.
Karen yawns.
"You've never been to Hawaii before," she observes.
I could afford it, I guess. It's a short hop from Seattle, where we live and work. I just don't have someone to go with, and when Karen goes, it's always with a guy, most recently Bruce for the last two trips. While she's off, I run the store and step into my big girl pants to manage the rest of the team at our startup.
"It's incredible," she goes on, "So warm and relaxed. You'll see."
I turn away from her and stare through the window out at the world. The sun is so ridiculously bright, since it's only two hours after we left, by the clock. It's a world of spectacular greens and explosive blues, a spectacle of glittering ocean and dark mountain slopes. I sigh in amazement as we approach the beach, where we'll be staying.
Her parents booked everyone rooms at a huge, multi-tower resort that dominates a section of beach along Waikiki. When the shuttles pull up, Karen ropes me into helping give out the room assignments. Being in the bridal party, I get a suite.
It takes almost an hour to hand them all out, and by the time everyone is checked in, I'm exhausted. The sleep on the plane was fitful, not restful at all, so light I couldn't even dream.
I look everywhere for Ryan. Where'd he go?
"Come on," Karen says, leading me to the tower where we'll be staying.
It's the tallest and closest to the beach, not far from the open-air pavilion where we checked in. The air is so warm, I want to just stop and breathe it in. It's different from the hot air in Las Vegas, less apt to suck all the moisture off my skin.
The elevator takes us to the top floor, and Karen leads me to my suite, down the hall from hers. After tonight, Bruce will be staying on a different floor, to observe the whole bride and groom hiding from each other tradition, goofy as that is.
Trust me, there's no part of her that he hasn't seen. I blush, thinking that the same now applies to me and Ryan. I used to get so nervous thinking about baring my body to him. All it took was a couple of drinks and I was giving him a freakin' lap dance.
"Are you okay?" Karen says, nudging me. "You went off into space there?"
I blink a few times. "Just hung over."
"Right, get ready," she says, smiling sweetly. "We need to be down for the rehearsal by five."
I check my phone. The time difference threw me. It's three now, so I have two hours. Plenty of time.
Karen disappears into her room. As I finally get my door open, Ryan slips out from the corner of the hallway.
"What are you doing here?"
He hefts a Coke can. "Hitting the vending machine," he says, his voice low. "I'm on this floor. I can get a Coke if I want."
I slip into the room. He catches the door.
"We need to talk."
I stop and take hold of the door. "What if I don't want to?"
"You're my wife," he says in a voice so low it barely registers, more a sigh than a whisper.
I smirk. "Oh, am I now? When you want something, I guess. That must be convenient.”
I start to push the door shut but it doesn't budge. He's really, really strong, and thinking about it makes me all squirmy.
"Just for a minute. Then I'll be out. I don't want Karen to spot me slipping in and out of your room anyway."
"In and out?" I say, arching one eyebrow.
He looks at me for a moment before it registers.
"What are you, twelve?"
I giggle and flounce into the room.
Stop that! No flouncing. You're mad at him, remember?
Stilling myself, I drag my roller bag to the sofa and look around. Nice room. It's almost an apartment. There's even a small kitchen. Kind of a shame that I have to fly back on Monday with the rest of the guests. Karen and Bruce have a whole damn month to themselves out here.
Ryan lets the door clap shut and folds his arms.
"Make it quick," I say. "I need to change."
"Nothing I haven't seen before," he says, smirking.
After I pull my sweatshirt off, his smirk turns to concern.
"Julia, stop."
I stand there in my tank top wishing that I filled it out a little more and put my hands on my hips.
"What?" I say. "I said I have to change."
"I want to talk to you with your clothes on."
"Maybe you don't have anything to offer with our clothes on."
"This is serious."
I peel my tank top over my head and toss it on the couch and kick out of my shoes. Ryan just stands there, impassively watching me undress. I bend and dip to push my shorts down and step free of them, clenching my butt muscles with all my might. I'm still in a bra and panties but I feel naked anyway. Karen talked me into wearing thongs. She said guys just know. I didn't argue.
"Stop it," he says.
I pull my scrunchie free and shake my hair loose like a shampoo commercial and look over my shoulder at him as I awkwardly fumble at my bra. Usually I slip out of the straps and pull the back around to the front, but that isn't sexy.
I mean, is it? I don't think grunting is sexy.
He steps over to me.
"Here, you seem to be struggling with that."
He pops it deftly and I yelp, covering my chest with my arms. Ryan grins, satisfied.
"You jerk," I snap. "You ruined it."
"That was the most awkward striptease ever."
"Listening to your sister talk, you have a lot of experience with them."
He frowns.
"I'm not as bad as she says I am."
Still covering my boobs with one arm and hand, I push my hair back over my shoulders.
"Nobody could be as bad as she says you are."
He pokes my hand.
"You can stop it with the covering up."
"Why?"
He shrugs. "You're not covering anything I haven't already sucked on."
God, I must be blushing over. I have to look away from him to stop from bursting out in a giggle fit. He follows me as I grab my roller bag and pull it.
Towards the bedroom.
He stops at the threshold.
"I came in here to talk to you about something serious."
"We are," I say, turning to face him.
"Take your arm off your chest."
"No," I say. "Just because you married me doesn't mean you own my tits, Ryan."
"God, you haven't changed at all."
"Neither have you. Do I need to remind you of the time my mom found a stack of Playboys in your room?"
He sneers. "Found them and showed them to my mother, you mean."
I huff and toss my head defiantly, like an angry horse. "So what do you want?"
"I want your arms at your sides."
"Why?" I demand, coyly.
He swallows. "Because, if you were completely casual in being topless around me, I'd be bored with you, but you're covering yourself and it makes you look innocent and sweet and it makes me want to shove you onto that bed and do things to you."
My legs almost buckle from under me.
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Are you cold? You're trembling like a leaf."
He steps into the bedroom. I stand my ground, but my other hand instinctively goes to cover up between my legs, panties or no panties.
He hooks a finger under the waistband and snaps it against my skin.
"Lacy black thong,
" he says, "I figured you for more of a granny panties and spanx type."
I scowl. "You don't know me at all."
"Don't I?" he says, taking one lock of my hair lightly in his hand, twining it around his fingers. "I've known you since you were a little girl."
"You weren't a much bigger boy."
"No, I wasn't."
"When you got older you started treating me like garbage," I say.
"And you still wanted me."
I shudder.
"What are you doing?" I demand. "This morning you throw me out, and now you're all seductive again. Tell me this isn't just a way to piss off my sister because she called you a manslut."
He laughs, and his laughter tickles along my skin like invisible fingers. He sounds like the big bad wolf, and here I am, Red Riding Hood in a black lace thong that won't stop sucking itself up my butt.
I've been taking half steps backwards this entire time, and we're next to the bed all of a sudden, and my heart is pounding. That's why I'm shaking, part of it.
"I lied. I already knew what kind of panties you wear before I walked in here."
God, hearing him say panties turns me on so much. Why, though? It's such a stupid word. Panties. It sounds so goofy.
"I guess you would."
"I kept the ones you left in my room."
To prove it, he pulls them out of his pocket and takes a deep breath with them pressed to his face.
Frantic, I try to snatch them out of his hand, but he jerks back and keeps them away from me. Then, all of a sudden, he's got both of my wrists and is holding them at shoulder level. He looks at my now exposed breasts.
"There they are," he says.
"They are they are," I say, rolling my eyes, trying not to sound as trembly as I feel. God, I'm going to explode if he doesn't stop staring at my chest. His hands are strong and gentle at the same time, inescapable without being hurtful.
"You have magnificent breasts," he says. "Did you know that?"
"Flatterer," I say. "You're just saying that because you know I'm self-conscious about it."
"I thought you said I didn't know you at all."
I tug at his hands, trying to free my wrists.
"Let go," I say.
"Say please."
I huff. "Please."
"Softer, like you mean it."
"Please," I say again, drawing it out into a breathy whisper.
He releases me, and I step past him, pulling my suitcase up onto the dresser so I can unpack.
"All that and you're just going back to what you were doing?"
I shrug. "I guess. Quit staring at my ass."
"Why? It's a great ass."
I look over my shoulder. "Now you are just trying to flatter me."
When I turn back, I have two seconds before I yelp as he locks his arms around me, trapping mine against my chest. He pulls me back and sits on the bed, keeping me in his lap.
His breath is hot on my ear and his cock, rock hard in his pants, pushes up against me, making the silky underwear I have on feel as if they'd just give way with a hard pump. I shiver.
He whispers to me. "You told me last night that the first time you ever had an orgasm, you were thinking about me. Tell me about it.
Before I can answer, his hand cups my breast, and his hand slips into my underwear. I gasp and shudder like I've been dunked in ice water as his finger slides into my body, and he plants a soft kiss on my shoulder.
"Why?"
"I like thinking about you coming," he says.
I steel myself and wriggle loose. To my surprise, he lets me go, and I stand up.
"I'll tell you if you promise to stay married to me."
"I can't marry you, Julia."
"Then get out. I'm not your special sock for the weekend."
"I just don't want to hurt you."
"Then why are you doing this?"
He doesn't answer. He stands up and looks at me once, brings his finger up, and brushes the tear from my cheek. I let him, just to feel it.
"I'm sorry I can't be what you want me to be."
I blink a few times. "What does that mean?"
"Doesn't matter."
After checking to make sure the coast is clear, he slips out of my suite and leaves me sitting there all hot and bothered and filled with something like concern and fear. Not fear for me, not fear for him.
When he said that...the pain in it was so deep it cut me, too.
Chapter Four
Ryan
I went in there to calm her down and break things off. I really did.
Sure, you did. That's why you had a stiffy before you walked in the door.
Shut up, brain.
One look at her and I couldn't. How did this happen? How did I take her to an altar and marry her?
I wasn't thinking.
Correction. I wasn't thinking rationally. I followed my heart, and my heart had me grab Julia, bang her like a tin drum, and marry her all in the same evening. Then, apparently, go at it some more.
It's really unfair that I don't remember the last few rounds. Maybe I'll dream about them.
God she's so beautiful. I can't stop thinking about the sight of her naked. I have to go to this stupid rehearsal for the wedding and I'm going to be hard the entire time. I'll have to hike up my pants and wear my shirt untucked, I guess.
Worse, she'll be there. She's the maid of honor. At least I'm not in the wedding party itself and I won't have to stand up there looking at her while two people recite vows in front of me.
I've heard that screed from Karen before. The whole you suck, you bone too many girls, you're an asshole shtick. The difference is that this morning, it hurt. It was legitimately painful, and I shudder thinking about, and even worse, Julia heard it. She heard those things about me.
Why couldn't I just say sure, let's stay married!
For what, to get your dick wet? Are you insane?
It was more than that. The way she looked at me. She was trying not to, but she couldn't stop herself. The need surrounded her like heat waves from a hot iron. When I pulled her on my lap, she would have done anything I wanted, and the list of things I could try is a mile long. Anything to hear her gasp and moan like that.
How did this happen? I used to see Julia as nothing but annoying. This person that was constantly in my house and I didn't know why. Apparently, it was so Karen could have a playmate, and so our housekeeper could save on daycare. All I knew was that she was underfoot, and she would help Karen play pranks on me.
Then we all started getting older and she started growing from an annoying gawky girl into a slender, graceful woman, albeit one who wears silly looking glasses, doesn't know the first thing about fashion, and carries herself like she thinks her own hideousness is an affront to the world.
Not that I blame her. Growing up next to my sister must be tough. It was a little jarring to be walking in Paris and see a picture of her on a fucking billboard.
Sure, my sister can be a lingerie model, but I get posted on one Instagram on a yacht with ten topless women and all of a sudden I'm the “embarrassment.”
I have to just let Julia go. I have to.
The thought of what my father will say to her, what he might do if he finds out I married the housekeeper's daughter, horrifies me. She doesn't deserve that. Karen doesn't know. To her I'm the golden child and I can do as I please and she's the one who has all the expectations.
If only she knew this elaborate spectacle of a destination wedding is a way to pressure me to get married so I can have a son and “carry on the family line.”
If I ever have a kid, it'll be after the old bastard is dead. I wouldn't want him to have one minute to corrupt my child.
Child! Children! I stare at my hands. What happened to the vow, Ryan?
I can't have kids. For the same reason I can't marry Julia, family troubles aside. If she ever finds out what I did when I was off being a “war hero,” she'll never look at me the same, if she looks at me at all.
/>
I guess I get drunk on it. It's easy to get sucked into being around somebody that looks at you like a goddamn superhero. Julia looks at me like I make the sun rise. I bring my fingers to my nose and sniff, tasting her scent on them. I still have her underwear in my pocket. What's left of it, anyway.
It stays there when I take the elevator to the ground floor. Directly opposite when the door opens is a little shop selling ukuleles to tourists. Some of them are a grand a pop or more. The guy running the counter gives me a curt nod, as if assuming I'm privy to some shared secret.
The resort where all this is happening is a bit of a maze. There are five towers, ours being the biggest and closest to the ocean. When I walk outside, I'm directly facing a low roofed structure that's open to the breeze. The "front desk" of the hotel is under there. Off to the right there's some bars and restaurants, and off to the left there's more. Right behind the check-in desk is a small outdoor bar under a fake thatched roof.
I jog over and order a scotch and soda. A little pre-gaming for the rehearsal and dinner. Check my watch. I've got an hour. This is supposed to be casual. I hope Julia shows up in a hoodie and not something slinky like she had on last night.
After the hot swell of booze rushes down my throat, a bitter laugh bubbles back out. That dress I literally tore from her body and left in shreds on the floor, which I also kept and now resides in my suitcase?
That was her wedding dress.
Christ, I was right. She deserves so much better than me.
When Bruce spots me and starts walking over, I reach down to make sure that ball of silk and elastic is tucked deeper in my pocket before I can stop myself. He walks past me first, gets a seven and seven from the bar, and saunters over to hop up onto the tall stool I've taken.
"We haven't really had time to talk," he says.
I bristle. I'm not into the whole "what are your intentions towards my sister" thing. We're not that close, and while I may be several kinds of Neanderthal when it comes to women, that is not one of them. Karen can make up her own mind and live her own life, she's a big girl. Having survived my parents is proof of how tough she must be.
"No," I say, "we haven't."
Thus the dance begins, and we settle into that awkward phase where two guys are feeling each other out before they have a substantive conversation. I almost mockingly ask him about the weather out here. Warm enough for ya?
Unexpected Bride Page 6