The Wedding Game

by Quinn, Meghan

  “You really like me. You’re crushing hard, aren’t you?”

  “Get over yourself.” She laughs, still pushing at my chest.

  “Luna and Alec sitting in a tree . . .”

  “Oh my God.” She laughs again. “You’re obnoxious. Thank you for reminding me.”

  “You like it,” I say, grabbing her hands and pinning them above her again. I move my mouth over hers, and she immediately kisses me back. Her lips are just as eager as mine. “Stay the night,” I say, in between kisses. “Just to let me hold you.”

  “Farrah is expecting me back.”

  “Text her. She likes me.”

  Luna smiles against my mouth. “She does, but I should get going.” She presses a few more kisses across my mouth. “You have work, and I have some planning to do and a lot of projects to catch up on.”

  “Then see me tomorrow. Come over.”

  “That I can do.” I release her hands and sit back on my heels. She glances down at my crotch and laughs. “Might want to go take care of that.”

  “At least I’m not the one who has to walk back to my apartment with arousal in my leggings.”

  “Don’t call it arousal. Good God, what are you, fifty?” She stands, grabs her bra, and smooths down her shirt. “It’s a quick walk.” Leaning down, she places a soft kiss on my lips and grips my jaw. “You and me, right? No one else?”

  It’s her way of checking on what this is between us, making sure I plan on being exclusive, and I really like how upfront she is about it—it shows she cares as much as I do.

  “No one else,” I answer, my eyes on hers.

  “Good.” She gives me one more kiss and then takes off toward my door, where she slips her shoes on and grabs her bag. “See you tomorrow, Chris E.”

  “Tomorrow . . . Luna Moon.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ALEC

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “I would never,” Luna says with a cheeky smile.

  “I’m not kidding, you can’t laugh.”

  “Please, Alec.”

  I sigh and show her my drawing of my centerpiece—she snorts and quickly covers her mouth.

  “I told you not to fucking laugh.”

  “I didn’t. I, uh . . . had a bug fly up my nose.”

  “There are no bugs in my apartment,” I deadpan, giving her a serious look.

  “Microscopic. You can’t see them because you’re a man, and men have terrible eyesight.”

  “Says who?”

  She waves her hand vaguely. “All the professionals.”

  “What professionals?” My eyes narrow.

  “You know.” Her smile widens. “The researching kind.” She snorts again.

  I toss my paper to the side and lean back on the couch. “You’re really fucking nice, you know?”

  “Don’t be like that,” she says, climbing onto my lap, just where I want her.

  Worked like a charm.

  I place my hands on her legs and smooth them up to her waist, but she stops them, her eyes narrowing. “Oh no you don’t. Nice try, mister, but none of that tonight.”

  “What?”

  She removes my hands from her body and sets them on my stomach. “We’ve been doing that all week. You have to make a centerpiece in two days, and instead of making out with me, you need to focus on what you’re going to present to the judges on Saturday.”

  “But your tits help me think. Your nipples are like magical idea devices. Let me suck on one—I’m sure an idea will sprout in seconds.”

  “Yeah, well, you sucked on them last night and nothing came up.”

  “Oh, something came, all right.”

  She rolls her eyes and gets off my lap, leaving me half-hard and wanting her. “Where are you going?”

  “You need to come up with some ideas. I was hoping your drawing would be magical enough that we could spend the rest of the evening with our hands down each other’s pants, but it looks like we’re going to have to actually practice.” She picks up a heavy canvas bag she brought with her and carries it over to the couch. She sets it down and unzips it, revealing an array of tools and craft accoutrements—everything we need to make a centerpiece.

  “Uh, you know, I’m feeling a little worn out from work. I think we should just do the hands down the pants thing. That seems more relaxing.”

  She gives me a “get real” look and starts unloading the bag.

  “I’m serious.” I fake a yawn and stretch my arms over my head. “You know, maybe we should just go back to my bed.”

  “If you’re so tired, then how would you be able to perform?”

  I wiggle my fingers at her—the same fingers that made her come twice yesterday. “These aren’t tired.”

  She pushes my fingers away. “Why are you such a dignified lawyer in your real life but an immature frat boy when it comes to sex?”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining yesterday, or Tuesday.”

  “Settle down.” She smiles to herself, but I catch it.

  “Ha, admit it, you like that I’m an immature idiot.”

  “I would never admit to liking that.” She stops unloading for a moment, holding a glue gun and a jar of glitter. “I will admit to you having a great mouth with an equally nice set of fingers.”

  “And you as well.” I wink.

  Her face reddens, and I know what she’s thinking about: how she pulled my pants down yesterday and not only gave me the best hand job of my life but also ended it with her mouth on my cock, ruining me for every other woman out there. The way she sucked and pulled . . . fuck.

  “I’m getting hard,” I say.

  “Seriously, Alec?”

  “What?” I shrug. “You’re hot, you give good head, and you’re smart—all turn-ons for me.”

  “Gives good head—think I should put that on my résumé?”

  “Uh . . . no.”

  She laughs and unpacks more of her bag. “We’re focusing on the centerpieces. I told you I would help you think of some good ideas, and that’s what we’re going to do. You want to help Thad . . . right?” She lifts a brow.

  “You’re an evil wench, you know that?” I scrub my hand over my face as she chuckles. Sitting up, I survey the different items Luna’s brought over—ribbons, twigs, a glue gun, and feathers, lots of feathers. “Aren’t centerpieces made of giant flowers and shit like that?”

  “Yes, but don’t you remember your theme—Flamingo Dancer? You have to incorporate that somehow. And last I recall, there were no flowers involved, since you didn’t choose any, which means you need to get creative with feathers.”

  “Oh, I know how I can get creative with feathers.” I flash her a wicked grin.

  “I’m going home.” She stands, but before she can even move an inch, I pull her back down on the couch, laughing the whole time while pressing kisses along her neck.

  And she lets me.

  “Don’t fucking move—do you understand?”

  Wearing nothing but her bra, Luna is sprawled over my bed, hands gripping the black bed frame above her head, her legs spread and her chest heaving.

  In just my boxer briefs, I circle her before grabbing a white feather from the nightstand and kneeling on the bed. Centerpieces were forgotten the minute I started running this feather up and down her arm, and then her neck, and back down again. When a moan escaped her mouth, I knew exactly what was going to happen next.

  “Alec, please.”

  I ignore her and draw light circles around her belly button with the feather, loving the way her stomach contracts with each pass. I don’t have to reach between her legs to know she’s wet. I can tell, just from the way she’s wiggling under my touch and the impatient look in her eyes.

  I’m going to have some fun.

  I brush the feather down her waistline, to her pubic bone, where I swish it back and forth until I’m barely grazing it over her slit. She sucks in a sharp breath and spreads her legs farther. I bring the feather back up to her stomach and graz
e the front clasp of her bra. Leaning forward, I unhook it, letting the sides fall and exposing her perfect tits.

  I bring the feather up between her breasts and then circle one nipple, which peaks quickly. I move to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, passing back and forth, watching as her breath catches in her chest, as she swallows hard and wiggles beneath me, her hands itching to move.

  “Are you throbbing?” I ask, bringing the feather back down to her center.

  “Yes,” she gasps.

  “Do you want my mouth on your clit?”

  “Yes.” She nods. “Badly.”

  I run the feather back up her body, around her nipples, between her cleavage, and then around again, creating a figure eight with my motion. Her chest lifts from the bed, her breasts begging to be touched, her eyes glassy with lust.

  It’s almost painful how hard I am. If I were any less of a man, I would have her let go of the headboard and feel my cock, drag her hand over it, work me to relieve my aching, pulsing length.

  But I’m not that kind of man. I move the feather back down one more time, teasing her with whisper-like passes over the juncture between her thighs, turning her legs into quivering messes.

  Just as she lets out a long moan, I position myself between her legs and test her slit with my finger.

  So fucking wet.

  I part her with two fingers and then dip my head between her thighs and press my tongue against her clit. She hisses in response.

  Very lightly, I move my tongue up and down, lightly, just enough so she can feel it without pushing her over the edge.

  Just a tease.

  “Fuck,” she moans. “Alec . . . please.”

  Loving that she’s always saying my name . . . rather than God’s, I begin to flick my tongue up and down.

  “Yes, just like that. Oh Alec . . . oh, right there.”

  I move my hands up her thighs to her breasts and pinch both of her nipples at the same time. Something unintelligible flies out of her mouth as her hips buck up against me. I let her ride my tongue as she builds and builds and builds . . .

  “Alec, yes, you’re so good. You’re so good.”

  Fuck, that makes me even harder. My cock grinds against the mattress as I swivel my tongue, savoring every last bit of her arousal until . . .

  “Oh fuck.” She bucks against me and then screams out my name, her orgasm ripping through her faster and harder than ever before. “That . . . oh, Alec.” Her head falls to the side as she catches her breath.

  After a few seconds, her beautiful eyes open and a lazy smile spreads across her face. “Take off your briefs,” she says. “I want you to straddle my face so I can suck you off.”

  Holy fuck, I very well might love this woman.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Huh?” Luna looks up at me as she twirls a feather between her fingers. “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  She glances down at the feather and then back up at me. “Is this the one we used last night?”

  “Nah, I saved that in my nightstand. You know, just in case you ever want to run it up and down my dick again.”

  Her breath catches in her throat as her cheeks redden once again. I’m starting to notice a trend here. She’s a dirty girl, but talking about it brings out her innocent side.

  Last night, after I made her come, I was about to follow her orders and straddle her face when she pushed me back on the mattress and instead teased me with the feather—and Christ, I came just from that. It was slightly embarrassing, coming so hard from just a feather, but if I had the option, I’d do it all over again.

  “We can do that again, you know . . .”

  “No.” Her eyes snap up to mine. “Tomorrow is a big day. We are not going to be distracted.” She points to the half-finished centerpiece on my coffee table. “Focus, Alec.”

  “Fine.” I sigh and pick up a twig I dipped in gold paint. “At least talk to me about something so I’m not constantly thinking about sex every time my fingers run over one of these godforsaken feathers.”

  She chuckles. “Hope you don’t get hard on camera tomorrow when you’re fondling these.”

  “Hell, I didn’t even think about that. Women have it so easy—they don’t show any signs of being aroused.”

  “Women have it easy? Did you really just say that?”

  I pause, considering my words. “I would like you to strike that from the record.”

  “Consider it expunged.”

  “Thank you, Madam Counselor.” I tip my head in her direction, and she rolls her eyes.

  “You can be really corny sometimes, you realize that?”

  “Yup, but I know you like it, because every time I’m corny, you grace me with that perfect smile of yours.”

  “And there’s the charm.” I wink in response and turn back to the centerpiece. I start messing around with a mass of fresh feathers as she asks, “So . . . are you nervous about tomorrow?”

  “Not really. I mean, I feel like this is the best I can do, given the resources and theme.”

  “No.” Luna sets down her feather. “About seeing your mom.”

  “Oh.” I set down the feathers I was working with as well and lean back on the couch. Luna scoots in closer and puts a reassuring hand on my thigh. “I’m not really nervous—more concerned about what I’m going to say, how I’m going to react. I have a lot of pent-up anger toward my mom. I’ve been stewing over things for years that I never talked to her about. I don’t want it all to come flooding back tomorrow, you know?”

  “I understand. Maybe if you talk about it with me, you can get it off your chest so you can have a nice day tomorrow, before you ease into solving those issues with your mom.”

  “Maybe.” I sigh. “But I really don’t feel like talking about it. Opening that can of worms right now would make it hard to shut tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” She looks off to the side. “Then tell me something else, something to help get your mind off it all. What’s your favorite meat?”

  “What?” I laugh. “That’s what you’re going to ask me? What’s my favorite meat?”

  “I panicked. I didn’t want you to get mad at me for asking about your mom, and all I could come up with was meat.”

  “It’s going to take a whole lot more to make me mad at you, especially after what you did with that feather last night.” She smirks devilishly. “But if you really want to know my favorite meat, I’m going to have to go with steak.”

  “Steak, very popular choice. The filet?”

  “T-bone.”

  She scrunches her nose. “Really? You like all that excess fat and stuff?”

  “Chew it right up.”

  “Blah,” she says, gagging. “Oh God, maybe . . . maybe we don’t talk about this.”

  “And leave me hanging about what your favorite meat is? That’s not fair.”

  “Well, it’s not T-bone.”

  “I think we established that. So what is it?”

  “Uhh . . . I really like chicken.”

  “Ehhh, wrong answer,” I say, impersonating a buzzer. “You should have said, ‘Alec, your penis is my favorite meat.’”

  “Oh my God.” She pushes away from me as I laugh. “What the hell is wrong with you? You graduated from Columbia, for crying out loud. Show some class.”

  I rest my hands behind my head and kick my legs up on the coffee table. “Sorry, Luna Moon, I have none.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Are you sweating?” Thad asks.

  “What? No.” I scan the set, looking for someone I haven’t seen in years.

  “It looks like you’re sweating. I see beads of sweat.” Thad leans forward, and I swat him away.

  “I’m not fucking sweating.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, no need to drop the f-bomb. We’re in a family-friendly environment.”

  I press my fingers to my forehead, wishing Luna had spent the night last night—at least then I would have been able to wake up wit
h her in my arms, have her say some reassuring things to me, and maybe feel her up a little bit before we had to leave. But no, she went back to her place . . . again.

  I’m tense—I know that. And I’m not sweating—just tense. I want the initial surprise of my mom being here to be over. I want to hug, move past the awkwardness, and then maybe go out later for dinner or something, start that healing process.

  “Hey, did you see the drawings Team Hernandez has?” Naomi whispers, hurrying over to our workbench. “They have some kind of stick triangle thing with flowers . . . and a feather.”

  “What?” Thad exclaims. “We are owning the feathers in this competition. Have they not seen our vision board? The damn thing is covered in feathers. I can’t believe they’re ripping us off.”

  “It’s just a feather, Thad,” I say, realizing it’s the wrong thing to add to the conversation the moment it comes out of my mouth.

  “Just a feather? Just a feather?” he says a little louder. “That’s where it starts—next thing you know, they’re trying to pull off some boho-chic bullshit wedding with a Miami-at-night vibe. I will not stand for it.” He slams a fist on the workbench.

  “That can’t happen, because the venues are all set,” I remind him. “Next week is decor, and I’m sure they’re going to stick with their lace crap.”

  “If they use feathers, I will scream. I will scream right here on set.”

  Jesus Christ. The last thing we need is more screaming.

  “Don’t scream, for the love of God.” From my back pocket, I pull out a piece of paper and unfold it, showing my drawing of what I was thinking for the centerpiece. Simple vases spray-painted pink to go with the theme, with large feathers cascading from the top. “I was thinking of things this week and came up with this. It’s different, but it could work.”

  Thad holds up the paper, examines it with what he calls “his good eye,” and then sets the paper down. “That is hideous.”

  “What?” I ask, surprised that he would think that. “It’s not hideous. It’s classic.”

  “And this is not a classic wedding. This is a creative one. We want flamboyant.” Dramatically, he raises his fist in the air.

  “But you’re not gay.”

  Thad scoffs. “Wow, that’s very stereotypical of you, Alec. You don’t have to be gay to be flamboyant, and you don’t have to be flamboyantly gay. Look at Declan and Cohen—I never would have guessed they were gay.”