Misadventures of a Backup Bride

by Shayla Black

  dragging against her most sensitive spot—I settle my thumb over her clit and rub in small circles.

  Her body tenses. She grips the edge of the counter. And then she screams my name in a wail of impending climax. “Carson!”

  She’s close, and I’m so attuned to her that the tension mounting in her body is the same tension gripping mine. I flick my thumb over her distended bud faster, watching her mouth fall open, the flush spread across her chest, her nipples harden to steel points.

  “Ella.” Her name is a groan that rips from my throat. I swallow. I have more to say, more to demand of her, but the ecstasy begins to swarm my head. Everything except her and the orgasm we’re about to share fades away.

  This woman turns me on like no one. It’s been months since I’ve relished sex, and I’ve never felt as if I could plunge into one woman, anchor myself deep, and stay forever. Pleasure brews in my blood, tingles at the base of my cock, and rushes to the head, especially when she claws at me and clamps around me so tight I can barely move.

  Oh, shit. There’s no stopping the freight train of this pounding satisfaction.

  As I manipulate her clit with swirling strokes using the last of my sanity, her entire body arches and jolts. A scream spills from her pouting lips. Her pussy clenches and releases, gripping me unrelentingly.

  That’s it. I can’t wait. Pleasure jets as I grip the far side of the island above her head and surge into her roughly over and over until I’m coming with her, emptying myself of weeks of grief, stress, and uncertainty. I pour into Ella, leaving a part of myself inside her. As my strokes slow, peace steals over me, and my heartbeat seems to sync up with hers.

  Our breathing slows and our eyes meet. Something in my chest clutches.

  “What just happened?” She asks exactly the question I was thinking.

  The best sex of my life? I swallow the simple answer. None of this feels simple at all.

  “No idea,” I manage to mutter.

  A warning voice in my head tells me I should withdraw—literally and figuratively—and keep our relationship to exactly what we agreed to on paper before Ella ever stepped foot on the plane. But she wraps her arms around my neck and settles her pillowy mouth over my lips for a lingering kiss, and I fear very much that option is off the table for good.

  “Me neither. But I think we should do it again.” She gives me a sly smile. “You know, just to study it.”

  The monumental orgasm I had three minutes ago is a memory when I feel my cock stirring again. How is that even possible?

  “Food first?” I ask.

  Maybe reheating and eating will give me some time to wrap my head around why this woman seems to make an impact on me that’s on par with a mile-wide meteor.

  She wriggles underneath me. “I vote for later. You got round two in you?”

  Her voice is a challenge I can’t not respond to. “Oh, yeah.”

  Ella gives me a mischievous grin as she wraps her legs around my middle even tighter. “Then I want you to take me to bed and not let me up until morning.”

  Smart or not, it’s so on.

  “All right,” I growl as I kick out of my pants. Then I lift her from the island and walk with our bodies still entwined across the apartment, kicking the bedroom door shut behind me. “And come tomorrow, when you’re hungry, exhausted, and sore, I want you to remember that I gave you exactly what you asked for.”

  ELLA

  “Seriously?” I ask just before Carson forks another warm bite of tender fillet into my mouth. I shouldn’t be relishing this…but I do. The juice. The flavor. The way he takes care of me…

  “I said I was going to feed you.” His voice teases and chides me at once. “Sit back and let me do it.”

  With a sigh of surrender, I lean into the stack of pillows at the head of the rumpled bed. After hours of amazing, spine-tingling, downright athletic sex, I don’t have the energy to do anything but open my mouth and let him have his way. As I dozed off for a few minutes, he disappeared, only to return with a tray of steaming food. I have no idea how he reheated everything from the steakhouse to perfection, but the orgasmic bliss he sent humming through my body earlier has now made its way to my satisfied tongue.

  “I assumed you meant that you were going to take me out for a meal, not hand-feed me every morsel.”

  He shakes his head. “You know the old saying about assumptions?”

  I know quite well. I won’t make the same mistake about jumping to conclusions with Carson Frost again. “Touché. You really don’t have to personally lift each bite to my mouth.”

  “But this way, I know you’re actually eating.” He dips the fork into the potatoes au gratin and lifts it again with a steamy, cheesy heap. “And I’m enjoying it.”

  My head tells me to demand that he stop now…but my taste buds are having a party. I’ve been living on kale salads, vegetable smoothies, and grilled chicken for years. Besides, Carson and I have been so busy, we must have burned off at least a thousand calories. Not to mention the fact that I’ve never had such an attentive lover. “In all honesty, I’m enjoying this, too.”

  He gives me an indulgent smile. “Seriously, you have no reason to watch your weight.”

  “I appreciate that. The truth is, my drama coach in college told me that, at my height, if I ever weighed more than a hundred and ten, I would never make it big. Sadly, my experiences have proven her right.” I’ve actually been fighting my body since puberty. Short of starvation or a strictly liquid diet, my frame simply refuses to shed much weight. I always carry about twenty pounds more than I want. Some days, I’m exhausted by the never-ending battle.

  So, after a dozen years of frustration and deprivation, the indulgence Carson is sliding onto my tongue is a downright thrill.

  “Want me to open a bottle of wine?”

  With sleepy eyes, I slide a glance over at the clock. “It’s almost three in the morning. Aren’t you tired?”

  He shovels some of the steak into his mouth, followed by a forkful of potatoes. Then he unwraps another covered dish, and the scent of the lobster macaroni and cheese almost has me swooning.

  “A little. But between you and our amazing leftovers, I’m getting my second wind. It’s only midnight for you, West Coast girl. What’s your excuse?”

  I laugh. “I’m usually in bed by ten so I can be ready for early morning auditions. You’ve kept me up a lot longer.”

  Carson lifts the sheet away from his lap, then shoves it aside. His cock—every bit as big as my toes discovered—is standing tall. “You’re keeping me up, too.”

  I can’t believe he’s hard again…and I can’t say I’m unhappy about it.

  “Are you always this insatiable?” I’ve barely finished the question before he’s plying my taste buds with the creamy, soft goodness of the macaroni. I bite into a chunk of the lobster and moan.

  “No. That’s all you,” he says solemnly.

  “That’s amazing…”

  He quirks a golden brow at me. “My stamina?”

  “That, too. But I meant the orgasm in the takeout tin over there.”

  When I laugh, he does the same. “Well, I’ve got more—of whatever you want.”

  Then he sets about tugging at the sheet covering my naked breasts, exposing my well-loved nipples and the flesh slightly rosy from orgasmic glow and whisker burn.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I promise with a catch of my breath.

  He sets his food aside for a moment, then leans in to kiss my lips, my neck, my shoulder, the swell of my breast… My eyes slide shut for a luxurious moment. I know where this is headed. We still haven’t managed more than a few bites of food. We haven’t retrieved my suitcase from the car yet, either.

  I slide a hand between my flesh and his mouth before he can suck my nipple and make me lose my mind. “You promised to feed me before you tumble me to the bed again. And didn’t we discuss a shower?”

  Carson grimaces and backs away. “Yeah. Sorry. I lose my head with
you. I have to be in a meeting in five hours. And right now, I just don’t care.”

  “You should. You’ve done a lot to save Sweet Darlin’,” I point out. “But you surprise me. You’re not as driven as I thought when we first talked.”

  “What do you mean? I’m ambitious.”

  He is. If he weren’t, he never would have assumed the helm of Sweet Darlin’ or found himself engaged to Kendra Shaw. “But you’re not the kind of workaholic who forgets there’s another person in the room. You’re not the sort to disregard the people around you.”

  At that observation, he scowls. “Have you dated someone like that? If so, he sounds like a terrible prick.”

  In a weird way, that’s actually sweet of him to say. Normally, I wouldn’t share much about my past with a boss or a date. But Carson is different. “No. I’m talking about my parents. My dad was a reporter for the ABC affiliate in Los Angeles. My mom was a costume designer who worked for various TV shows. They both worked incredibly long hours. When Dad was home at all, he was forever on the phone or leaving in the middle of dinner to meet an informant or chase a crime scene. Mom was around more, but she always had her head stuck in a sketchbook or was cozying up to her sewing machine. Sometimes, my younger sisters and I felt invisible.”

  His face softens. “I’m sorry. My mom and stepdad had their faults—they were human, after all—but they were great parents. I know how it feels to be invisible and irrelevant, though. I spent a lot of time growing up wondering why my own dad never wanted me, why my mom had to marry someone else to find a guy who gave a shit about me.”

  I nod. It seems as if he truly does understand. “I had to become an adult to realize that my parents weren’t awful or uncaring or neglectful on purpose. They simply picked occupations they were so passionate about that sometimes they would forget everything else. In some ways, they saw the work they did as a public service. My dad gave truth to the community. My mom added beauty and authenticity to the world.”

  “But it would have been nice if they’d remembered to be parents more often, too, right?”

  I nod. “Exactly. I can’t complain much. I grew up in a nice house, went to good schools, had awesome friends. No one beat me. I never went hungry. I shouldn’t complain.”

  “But everyone wants to be loved,” he says softly.

  Maybe I’m just tired. Or maybe my emotions are raw because in the last few hours, this man has opened my body to him in nearly every conceivable way. All I know is that my eyes well with stinging tears.

  “Yeah.” I sniffle, determined to lighten the suddenly heavy mood. “And love in return, so could you give me another forkful of those heavenly potatoes?”

  With an understanding smile, he hands me the round tin and my fork, then sets about inhaling his own dinner. “God, everything tastes amazing. I was starved.”

  “I was, too.” Not just for the food but for the toe-curling sex, affection, and understanding.

  We both eat up, and I decide that I’m just not worrying about calories anymore today. He’ll go to work in a few hours, and I’ll pay penance with a lean breakfast, a long stretch of yoga, and a good hour on the stationary bike I noticed in the corner.

  Finally, we both finish scarfing down our steaks and all our side dishes with gusto. Once we’re done, Carson groans and lies back on the bed, wrapping his hand around my ankle and skating his fingers up and down my calf. “This is the happiest I’ve been since I moved here. I gave up all my friends and dived into a company I only had a passing knowledge about. Half the management staff has been against me from the minute I walked in the door, and I don’t have just cause to fire them. So I’ve had to work hard to slowly change their minds. Juggling everything has been a bitch and a half.”

  “It sounds like a lot of work. Did one of the existing executives want to assume responsibility of the company?” I shrug. “If so, why not let them?”

  “Because my biological father’s last wish was for me to take the reins. Part of me wonders if he did that in death because he wasn’t with me in life. A few of my friends said that sounded like wishful thinking. Maybe it is. But this company meant everything to him. Now that I’ve been here almost six months, I understand. Think about the number of people who enjoy their candy with a favorite movie or fill their kids’ Easter baskets or eat something Sweet Darlin’ has cooked up because it reminds them of their own childhoods. I get mail every day from average people and employees alike who thank me for not letting their favorite treats die with my biological father. My cousin Jagger ran the organization for a few months, between Edward’s catastrophic head injury and the day he was removed from life support. He was cutting costs because that’s what he learned you should do in the one junior college business administration class he’d taken, but that meant he was cutting quality and employee pay. He didn’t know anything about running an organization, much less one this size. When I figured out what he’d done, I was angry on my biological dad’s behalf. I didn’t know Edward well, but I’ve learned a lot about the man he must have been by reading his notes, files, and correspondence. I understand how he would have wanted Sweet Darlin’ run, so that’s what I’m doing.”

  I admire Carson all the more for it. I know how easy it would have been to be bitter toward the parent who hadn’t spared you any time as a kid. But he’s risen above it and given himself a new purpose. “I’m sure you’ve made him very happy. What you’ve done can’t be easy. Between the grief of losing the man you’ll never know well and the responsibility he left behind, a lot of people would have caved already.”

  He gives me a thoughtful nod. “It’s been a lot of effort. I haven’t taken a day off in months. But tonight, being here with you…this has been everything I’ve needed. Thanks, Ella.”

  “Stop. You’re making me blush,” I tease him.

  Then a sly grin creases his face. “I can do more to make you blush, sweetheart. Come here…”

  That voice I now know so well makes me tremble. It’s deep and low. It’s full of mischief and possession and sin. “What if I refuse?”

  I can’t resist teasing this man. Taunting him. Tempting him. In response, he delivers the sexiest threats. We fell into this pattern so quickly and easily, and I’m addicted to knowing that I can start unraveling this big man with nothing more than my words, my voice, my expression. It’s a turn-on. Heck, he’s a turn-on. All I want is more.

  “I’ll make you come here, little girl. And once I get you where I want you, I’ll make your torment so much worse…”

  I roll closer to him, press our torsos together, and throw my leg over his. “Is that so?”

  He glides a hand down my body, starting at my shoulder and working his way to my back and over my ass, cupping one cheek and bringing me closer. “Yes. Did I stutter?”

  “Not at all.” I grin at him. “But you’re still feeling me up instead of getting busy, so I can only guess that you’re not really serious. What a shame…”

  “Are you’re challenging me, woman?”

  “Maybe.” My smile widens. “Does that make you quake in your boots?”

  “First, I don’t have any boots,” he growls. “Second, if you’re serious, sweetheart, I’m so ready.”

  My playful expression turns completely smug because he’s going to give me exactly what I want…except he doesn’t. Instead, he bounds off the bed and marches out the bedroom door. “Carson?”

  “Get ready,” he calls as he retreats.

  I hear a drawer open and close in the kitchen, followed by an electronic beep of the oven. What is he doing? The clatter of plates tells me nothing. As I hear him stomping back to the bedroom, I sit up and push my tangled tresses from my face. I already caught sight of myself in a mirror earlier. Ugh. There’s a reason people call it “sex hair.”

  “For what?”

  No answer.

  I smell heaven before I see it. A moment later, Carson struts through the door stark naked—which, believe me, is a to-die-for view on its own—c
arrying a plate piled with the bread pudding he ordered at the steakhouse. It’s covered in creamy sauce. It almost looks like vanilla, but the slight caramel tinge and smell of hazelnut tell me it’s way more amazing.

  “Are we going to eat that in bed?”

  He sends me a challenging glance. “No. I’m going to eat this off your body. Lie back.”

  I shouldn’t like his bossiness or his commanding tone. But right now, I do. In fact, I feel as if I’m flushing from head to toe and my heart is chugging pure anticipation through my bloodstream.

  “All right,” I murmur as he sets the plate on the nightstand,