by Abby Knox
Rosemary had confidence. GiGi had anxiety. It doubled when she had secrets. So had so many secrets going right now, she was practically struck dumb in front of her husband.
She breathed deeply and sighed. How was she going to pull this off? Should she tell him?
GiGi reached into her bag and unfolded a wrinkled piece of paper. It contained the address of a local healer who could help them.
This had been her plan all along: to find someone to rid her and Vann of their shifter curses, allowing them to have children, worry free.
She bit her lip as she studied the address. She would have to somehow in the next two weeks of shooting convince Vann to take some time off and go exploring, so they could “accidentally” run into this healer person, go into his hut, drink some kind of revolting drink, sweat it out, listen while he said some words over them and splashed them with oil, and then this would vomit out the curse. That was what he’d said over email.
She grinned. She could hardly believe that she lived in an age where she could tap into ancient magic on the other side of the globe via email.
GiGi picked up her phone and typed out another email to the healer. We have landed. Hoping to see you soon. Please let me know your fee, I can pay in advance. Anything.
The first week in Phuket kept Vann pretty busy, and GiGi was forced to postpone the meeting with the healer again and again.
And as she waited for her husband to become available to her, her anxiety grew. And as it grew, so did her guilt over their lack of sex. The guilt compounded itself say after day. And so did her reticence, which made her feel even more guilty.
After a week of shooting, GiGi was about ready to explode. They were spending less and less time together, not more. This was not the plan.
Then one morning, Vann woke her up to the shock of her life.
“Babe, someone’s here to see you.”
Before she opened her eyes, she panicked and thought perhaps the healer had come to seek her out.
But when she peeked, she saw it was Rosemary Boudreaux standing over her cot.
“What the…” GiGi was gobsmacked.
Vann kissed GiGi on the top of the head and handed her a mug of coffee. “I have to be off, so I’ll let you two catch up.”
Vann gave Rosemary a wink before he left. GiGi saw it plain as day. Something was up, but GiGi didn’t care, she was so happy to see her Rosie.
The cousins hugged and shared a moment, and then Rosemary got down to the business of why she was there.
Vann
At the end of that day, Vann returned to the hut to find GiGi greeting him completely naked when he walked into their little beach hut.
“I have something to tell you,” she said.
He honestly didn’t care what it was she had to say. Well he did, but he was so excited she was ready to talk and ready to have sex again.
Vann attacked her with the ferocity of three starving wolves seeing a cat for the first time.
He lifted her up, and GiGi wrapped her legs around his waist.
They kissed like they might devour each other’s faces.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard, wife of mine.”
She held on tight while he yanked off his swim trunks. “Fuck me until there is nothing left.”
Vann braced them both against one of the bamboo support beams and went inside.
“Are you wearing a condom?”
“Yes,” he lied.
She breathed and let go of any small inhibitions that might be left, and clasped his manhood inside of her with all her strength.
When he was about to come, he admitted the truth.
“Babe, I’m not wearing anything. I lied.”
She kept him in his grip, but the lust in her eyes did not turn to anger.
“I lied to you, too. I’ve been pushing for a shoot here because—”
Vann cut her off. “It’s OK. Whatever it is, we will fix it. I’m gonna come so hard unless you want me to pull out.”
Her face heated and she bit her lip. “No, keep going. We have lost time to make up for. Get it all out.”
Vann did exactly as he was told. His thrusts continued their animalistic, frantic pace, and her moans increased into screams of anticipation as she worked herself against him.
Their pleasure, frustration and desperation climaxed in howls of pleasure and a loud crack. Vann for a second thought it was lightning striking the hut, but in the next second, they were on the ground, finishing each other off next to a broken support beam and a cloth roof toppling down on top of them like a wilted parachute.
Later, after fixing the hut as best they could, Vann dripped honey on GiGi nipples as she talked.
“I’m not as brave as Rosemary. I sought out the healer because I thought I might feel better about us having kids if neither of us had this curse anymore.”
Vann was listening, but was also laser-focused on his wife’s body. How could she think she would be physically unattractive to him? If she had gained any weight, she had done so in all the right places. Every one of which he was about to enjoy with a little extra stickiness.
He tasted every part of her as she talked. “…but if you’re OK with not knowing, then I am, too. Rosie and I had a good talk and she convinced me that no matter what happens, they will be here to support us 100 percent. I just have one request.”
Vann positioned himself on top of her so his face was in her folds and her face was near his shaft. GiGi took the opportunity to cradle his bits and massage him while he explored between her legs with his mouth.
“Just keep doing that while you talk and you will get anything you want.”
She moaned at the feeling of his lips on her lower lips, teasing out her aching little bud. “I want to go home. I want to raise our family at home.”
GiGi
Vann had agreed to her request readily. It might have helped that she had him inside her mouth at the time and was bringing him to the brink of exploding.
Whatever the case, they both had what they wanted: each other.
After they went for a dip in the sea, Vann told her he had to come clean about something else.
“You mean about something other than not wearing a condom?” she teased.
“I mean about something else. Come with me.”
They walked up the beach away from the water until they came to the main road, where a car was waiting.
The cab took them to a huge Buddhist temple in the hills. When they were let out of the car, GiGi was surprised to see Rosemary there, with Ash and with all of their children. Lionel, Betsy, Gavin and Chastity and their daughter, and Penny and Bobby and their dog, Sam, were there, too.
GiGi broke down in tears immediately. They were all dressed as if they were going to a wedding. She could barely get out the words, “What is going on?”
Moments later, Rosemary had GiGi dressed and made up in a lavish wedding dress, and one of the monks in charge of the temple was there to conduct their vow renewal. In addition to family, about 400 Buddhist monks, townspeople and tourists were looking on, which amounted to this wedding being an even bigger spectacle than she had ever been to.
She finally had the wedding she’d always wanted as a little girl, and she never saw it coming.
As GiGi felt Gavin’s seed take hold inside her, she smiled and knew things never go quite as expected, but they will always work out in the end.
The End
Part III
Chasing the Night
By Abby Knox
Chasing the Night
The morning after …
Chastity was on the prowl at her cousin’s bachelorette party, bound and determined to finally lose her virginity. Mission accomplished, but she doesn’t remember much about the main event. Now, on the hunt for coffee and carbs, the de-flowered debutante’s walk of shame has her missing her mystery man at every turn.
Gavin wakes up naked and alone in the woods, with vague clues and fuzzy memories of the one-night stand
that unfolded after his best friend’s bachelor party. But this wolf does not do one-night stands. He’s determined to find this perfect woman who rocked his world, and claim her for his own.
Chapter 1
Chastity, 8:30 a.m.
The bride’s wildcat cousin from Baton Rouge was having a rough morning.
Chastity DuChamps opened one sleep-crusty eye. She shouldn’t have done that. The sunlight streaming through the blinds instantly seared right through her eyeballs and into the back of her skull.
Whenever she visited her cousin Rosemary in New Orleans and slept overnight in one of the many guest rooms overlooking the lake, she always woke with a slight bit of confusion over where she was, at first. But that feeling would dissipate in a few seconds as wakefulness took hold. There was always the lovely four-poster bed, and a huge window seat with lush pillows and blankets. She would often be awakened with the aroma of coffee and fresh beignets prepared by the cook and all-around wonder-woman Lety, who served guests as if they’d ordered room service.
This morning was not anything like that.
This little room was not becoming more familiar to her the more she woke up. She peeked around for clues. The only thing 100 percent certain was that she was definitely not in her uncle’s house on the lake. This room had a fucking popcorn ceiling, for starters. And these sheets were not Egyptian cotton.
How she got here was another mystery. The only clear memory was she had started the evening at Rosemary’s bachelorette party last night, which had begun with a five-course dinner, with lots of champagne, at the mansion. Everything after that was a blur. Judging from her current state, she’d say the party was a roaring success.
Chas gingerly rolled to one side, stood up and realized she had been asleep in her party dress. She had a pattern of its sequins embedded into the skin of her arms. Those arms were now searing with the pins-and-needles sensation of having been slept on for a very long time. Shaking them awake, she thanked god her legs were working, if a bit wobbly, because she had the urge to pee more than she had ever had in her life. She looked around. There was a door to a small room in the corner. That had better be the bathroom, she thought, because either way she was going to pee in it.
It was indeed a bathroom, and after she had relieved herself, she checked her reflection in the shabby little wall mirror.
This was the one day she was thankful for bad lighting. Never mind that she had obviously skipped her nightly makeup-removal-and-moisturizing routine, because the real story here was the giant love bite on her neck.
She watched her eyes grow huge and fearful in the mirror.
Had she been making out with a giant leech? Because that was the only level of suckage that might possibly have produced such a bruise. No way that was going away before the wedding in two days. Shit. Forget about her own mother killing her; that old lady would have to get in line behind the bride Rosemary and Aunt Betsy.
Focus, Chas. Focus. Where are you? And who were you kissing last night? Chas closed her eyes, and then she sniffed. A man’s scent. All over her. Like, really all over her.
She did not hate this scent, whoever it was. Too bad he wasn’t here so she could interrogate him about this giant hickey.
She stumbled back to the bed to look for her phone. Surely the GPS could tell her where she was and how to get back to the mansion. She could probably enlist some of the other bridesmaids to help her sort her evening out. She really didn’t want to bother Rosemary with any of this.
As she dug through the mess of sheets and blankets, Chas got her biggest clue about the night’s events. There, in the middle of the bed, was a small spot of blood. Her mind raced. Did that really happen? The ache between her legs and her sore thighs gave her the answer. Yes, some serious shit happened, and happened rather enthusiastically, she surmised.
Whoa.
So…not a virgin anymore. On the one hand, mission accomplished. On the other hand…dammit, I missed the whole thing.
Now she was desperate to find her partner in last night’s crimes. She looked around the room for clues, but all she found were her pashmina and her shoes. There was something else, too: a soreness on her butt.
What in the world?
She lifted up her dress and twisted her torso enough to see what it was. A bandage. She lifted the tape around the bandage to reveal a tattoo of a Valentine heart that looked like it had been clawed by a wild animal. On the heart was a letter “G” written in elaborate calligraphy.
G? Who the fuck is G?
She had to find her phone.
Oh man, she also needed water. And coffee. And a large JB Chicken crispy breakfast biscuit slathered in butter and ghost pepper jelly. And ibuprofen, stat. But first, her phone.
Ignoring the little blood stain on the bed that represented the end of her innocence, she kept rifling through the sheets, pillows and blankets. Finally, she found her clutch purse, under the bed.
She opened her clutch and breathed a sigh of relief as she plopped onto the floor. A few undamaged brain cells must have started working again, because she suddenly had the brilliant idea of looking at her photos. Yes! Of course! Surely there would be photo evidence of what happened last night.
She ignored the little red dot that indicated she had several unopened text messages and tapped the photo icon on her phone screen. Up popped an album marked “G.”
Because, of course. Drunk Chas had gone to the trouble of creating a whole separate photo album. But Drunk Chas could not be bothered to do any favors for future Sober Chas by fully naming the dude who presumably had “taken her flower.” That would be her mother’s phrase for it.
She held her breath and clicked on the album marked “G.”
What opened before her was a series of images that would make any brothel madam blush. Good lord! Who was this acrobatic and… whoa! Tanned, muscular specimen with a six-pack that you could bounce a quarter off of? She swiped through and felt the heat rising her to face. She got a glimpse of long, wavy brown hair. Nice. A shoulder with a Jolly Roger tattoo.
Really, dude?
There was a hip tattoo that matched hers, only with the letter “C.” “Oh god,” she groaned. What tattoo artist in his or her right mind would allow this to be done on a pair of drunks?
She saw in the thumbnails there was a face. Her heart skipped a beat and she was about to click it when another one distracted her. A pretty shocking one.
Oh my. Was that his…it was. Oh god. Yeah, she clicked. Who could resist?
Wow.
Well.
She checked herself. Was she actually grinning at a dick pic right now? This was a first.
That explains why she was finding it hard to walk this morning. And why she had somehow agreed to matching tattoos, because damn. That member in that photo could probably convince just about anyone, man or woman, to sell both kidneys in exchange for a thorough night of hot sex.
Enough, Chas. Get to the face. We need to identify this bad boy.
She clicked on the thumbnail of his face. It wasn’t a full face. Most of the screen was taken up by her own smiling, drunk-ass face, with the presumed G’s face taking up about one eighth of the screen at the top right-hand side. She saw a brown eye, sun-kissed skin, long, wavy hair. Did he have a beard? She could not tell. She kind of hoped so. He was most definitely a hot piece of ass, beard or no beard.
Nothing to indicate a name, though.
Crap.
And who was she, exactly? Five years ago, at the age of 17, she was Miss Junior Baton Rouge 2012, cutting the ribbon on the new YMCA splash park, smiling wide for the newspaper photographer. Now she was on the floor of a weird apartment, in the dress she’d worn the night before, desperately searching for clues about the man who took her virginity.
She pressed the “home” button to go back to her text messages for more clues. But as soon as she did that, everything went black.
Wait, what?
Yep. Her phone was dead.
And she
was pretty sure she did not have a phone charger. Sure, hell-bent on losing her virginity last night, she’d remembered to tuck a condom, a passport (she didn’t drive, so no license) and her daddy’s platinum card into her clutch. But a firewire? Why on earth would that be necessary?
There was also a bigger problem here. Not only did she not know who G was, not know where she was, and not know where her fellow bridesmaids might be, she also did not know if she’d messed up the whole encounter by shifting into a wildcat last night.
That last detail was pretty important, too, because it could have meant the difference between her supposed partner being alive and walking around with the glow of a freshly laid man, or being in hiding and scared to death.
Or worse—actually, very literally dead.
Chapter 2
“G,” 8:30 a.m.
Oh shit. Am I dead?
Because that would really, really suck. Nobody wants to wake up dead after the first time they ever have sex.
Because, as it turns out? All the fuss, all the songs, all the heartache, all the drama? It happens for a very good reason.
Because, G decided upon waking up, sex was good.
Better than good. Pretty fucking great.
Now, if only he could remember who she was and how it all started.
He opened his eyes in hopes that it wouldn’t all disappear like a really amazing dream. The sun was still mercifully obscured by the trees.
The fuzzy events of the night did not disappear like an amazing dream that he wanted to close his eyes and get back to. Things had actually happened. Some really fucking sublime things.
It was all real. At the nearly freakishly old age of 25, G had finally lost his virginity. All of his buddies at Ashton Boudreaux’s bachelor party would be very happy for him.
