by Holly Jaymes
“Take what you want.” His voice was a growl as his hands went to my hips, gripping them as I sank over him.
“Oh God, Will … so good … so good …”
He filled my body. It was like he infused every inch of me. The friction his size created along my pussy walls was delicious.
“Ride me, good Christ ride me before I die.”
I did as he asked. I rose over him and then lowered. I rocked and pulsed and it was so good. Better than I could have ever imagined, not just from Will but from anyone.
He levered up, his mouth consuming my nipple and shooting white hot heat to my pussy. I cried out. My hips moved faster, up and down, back and forth, as I gripped his head to my breast.
Pressure built. Need coiled until I thought my brain would explode. “Oh God … I’m going to come …” I chanted it as every slide over him pushed me nearer and nearer to the edge.
“Now, now …” he groaned, as he gripped my hips, helping me ride him harder, faster toward ultimate bliss. “Ah … fuck … I’m coming …”
So was I. Pleasure burst like a nuclear explosion, a mushroom cloud of intensity that radiated to every nerve ending in my body. I cried out, and my body went taut as I slammed down over him.
He yelled out my name, bucking up, and I felt the hot liquid of his essence coat my pussy. I kept riding him, drawing out the pleasure for as long as possible until finally, I collapse on his chest. Even then, my pussy continued to contract his still pulsing dick.
“Wow,” I said as I worked to catch my breath.
“So, fucking good.” His hands wrapped around me, holding me to him. That one move made me feel so safe and comforted. Like he cherished what had just happened. He wasn’t withdrawing, as I might have expected.
I lay in his arms, our hearts beating against each other, until I fell asleep again.
I was barely aware of the sun streaming in through the window. My head hurt and my mouth felt dry. But when I felt a hand on my hip, all that dissipated, replaced by the way Will had felt inside my body last night. But then his hand stilled. I reached up with my left hand to urge him to continue. I didn’t care if our 24 hours of fun was up. I wasn’t getting out of this bed until he touched me again.
“Ah, fuck!” His tone wasn’t sexy. He scrambled out of bed like I had cooties. I wanted to admire his full naked glory in the morning light, but his expression was a mixture of pissed and disbelief.
“What?”
He pointed to my hand. “We’re fucking married.”
I looked down at my hand and saw his signet ring. I lifted my hand, curious as to how it got there. In a flood of images, the memories came back. We were at the chapel wanting to find out how quickie weddings worked.
“It wasn’t real,” I said, trying not to be hurt or offended that being married to me was clearly the worst thing that could happen to him. “Remember? We just watched the other couple.” It didn’t explain why his ring was on my hand, but my guess was that we were just playing along.
He shook his head. “We said the words.”
“What words?”
“I, William Matthew Sloane Junior, take Adalyn Collette Beaumont to be my wedded wife.”
I smiled as the memory of learning his middle name came back to me. I liked that he was a junior. If we had a son, would he be William Matthew Sloane the third? I frowned. Had I really thought that? If WE had a son?
“It was all just an act,” I said again.
He strode to the table where he’d tossed a bunch of folded up papers last night when we’d gotten back to the hotel. He opened them.
“Ah, fuck.”
“What?” I got out of bed, and not feeling quite as able to walk around naked like him, I pulled the sheet from the bed to wrap around me.
“It’s a marriage license. And here is a certificate.”
I leaned over the papers he held out. Then I looked up at him. “How did that happen? We were just spectators.”
Except we were active spectators, I remembered. We did everything a couple getting married would have done to have the full experience. Apparently, we really got married too.
I bit my lower lip, knowing that now the magic of the night was gone and the haze of alcohol completely dissipated, Will would be returning to his distant and guarded self. Something about that made me want to cry. I blamed the hangover and fatigue.
His expression morphed into a cross between self-recrimination and horror. “Jesus, did I hurt you?”
“What?” What was he talking about? “No.”
“We had sex. Druckin’ sex. Did I hurt you?”
I finally realized what he meant. “No. You didn’t hurt me. I knew what I was doing. I wanted it. I initiated it.”
He didn’t seem very relieved. In fact, he looked pale. “I didn’t use a condom.”
“It’s okay. No worries there,” I assured him. I’d been on the pill since high school to help regulate my cycle. “I’m sure Las Vegas has quickie annulments for just this situation,” I said, my own voice turning distant as I worked to put up my own wall around my heart.
“Right.” He took a deep breath and turned to me. In that moment, I saw the man I’d known before. The one who always knew what to do. The man with the plan. “Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll find out what we need to do to undo this marriage.”
I could see he was trying to keep his emotions about what had happened from boiling over. I supposed I should appreciate the fact that he was trying to be calm and not upset me.
“Okay. Can you order coffee too?”
His jaw ticked and I imagined he was thinking the lack of caffeine was the least of our problems.
“It will help wake us up so we can get this taken care of,” I said. Seriously. Did he really live in a world that could function without coffee?
“Sure.”
I started to turn away.
“Adalyn?”
I turned back. “What?”
“That ring … it was my father’s. It’s important to me.”
At first, I thought he was telling me to be careful with it, but then I realized he was asking for it back.
“Of course.” I pulled the ring from my finger, feeling strangely sad about it. “I’m sorry.”
He took the ring and slipped it on his pinky. “I’m sorry, too.”
I could only imagine how he was chastising himself at allowing me to talk him into having fun. Not wanting to look at him in case he was blaming me, I went into the bathroom.
I took my time in the shower, letting the water wash away alcohol and, I suppose, Will. I still needed coffee and pain reliever, but I felt a bit more refreshed when I put on the fluffy robe and came back out to the bedroom.
Will sat on the edge of bed in another big fluffy robe holding his phone and looking lost. His head lifted. “We should stay married.”
Book 4: Chapter 10—The Marriage Pact
The Marriage Pact
Will — Wednesday
I couldn’t believe the words that had just come from my mouth. It appeared to be the last thing she wanted to hear, based on the way her jaw dropped.
“We can’t dissolve the marriage?” she asked.
“We can. It takes a few days. Apparently, it’s easier to get married than divorced in Vegas.”
“What about an annulment?”
“Same thing. A few days.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I tried not to be offended that she was so eager to detach from me. Granted, I hadn’t handled the initial shock of our marital status well. I was a standup guy. Serious. Single. I wasn’t the type of man wake up married by accident. I nearly had a heart attack when I realized that I wasn’t only married, but I’d had sex without a condom. Jesus, what if she was pregnant! I hoped that her waving off my concern meant that she was on the pill.
“I got an email from Calvin,” I said of the head of CTS. “He says there are problems with your visa renewal. It’s like you said, concerns about y
our father and being vulnerable to our enemies.”
Her face fell, and I wanted to wrap her up to comfort her. Instead I said, “But as the bartender said, being married changes things.”
“What about the fine and jail time?”
My stomach turned. Risking my freedom didn’t sit well either. “We didn’t get married to cheat the system.” At least, I didn’t think we did. Some actions from the night before were still foggy.
She moved toward the bed and sat next to me. “How does it work?”
“You apply for a green card to get permanent residency.”
“Then we can get divorced, but I can stay?”
I rolled my shoulders to keep the tension from locking them in a permanent state of tightness. “We need to be married three years, and then you can apply for citizenship.”
“No.” She stood up and walked to the window.
My gut clenched at her reaction. I didn’t want to be married either, but at least I didn’t see it as the worst thing that could happen to me. “I’m not forcing you, Adalyn. I just thought … well, it was a solution to the immigration problem. I know I’m not easy to live with, but —”
She turned to me. “It’s not that, Will. I can’t ask you to give up three years of your life just so I can get a visa.”
“I know it’s a big commitment. Maybe we can just do it until the project is finished and then divorce.” I had to hope the government didn’t see that as marriage fraud.
“Even that is too much. What about getting caught? It could hurt your reputation … your business.”
She was right. I had considered my freedom, but not my business. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, which was strange. I wasn’t a man to take risks. And yet, I couldn’t shake the need to help her finish this important project. But she clearly didn’t like the idea.
I shrugged my shoulders like I didn’t care one way or the other what she decided. “I’m going to take a shower. After that, we can work on filing the annulment papers. Hopefully being drunk will pass as mentally incompetent as a legal reason to get an annulment.”
I went to the bathroom. It was still steamy from her shower. I swore her scent still filled the room. The images of touching her came back to me. I guess I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen either. Strange how I was finding it hard to regret either of the major mistakes we’d made. Not that getting married by accident was okay. But how hard could it be to be married friends? Perhaps with continued benefits.
I turned the water on cold and stepped in, letting out a yelp as the water shocked my skin and sent my heart racing. Then I turned up the heat to wash up. I was married. Jesus. I realized I didn’t have a prenup. I remembered my pal Joe who got a divorce, and how he said Virginia wasn’t a community property state. I let out a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t have to give Adalyn half of my business or fortune when we divorced. I felt a bit like an asshole thinking that, but it was what it was. She didn’t want to be married to me anyway.
With my mind a bit clearer, I exited the shower, shaved, and then headed to the bedroom. Adalyn wasn’t there, but I could hear her in the living room. She was probably making coffee.
I got dressed, opting for khakis and a red polo shirt. I might as well be comfortable on the day I end my quickie marriage. God, my brothers would never let me hear the end of this. Thank God what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas.
I headed to the living room. Adalyn stood at the window overlooking the city with a cup of coffee. She wore a pretty floral summer dress. I gave myself a moment simply to watch her. She was an amazing woman. So fucking smart. Funny. Sexy. If I was going to be married, she was the type of woman I’d want as a wife.
She turned her head and gave me a wan smile. “I made you a cup of coffee. It’s one of those individual serve ones.” She nodded toward a pot near the fridge.
“I could use a cup.” I picked up the mug and took a long gulp.
She turned back to the window. “I want to stay married.”
I nearly did a spit take. “What?”
She looked at me over her shoulder. “Did you change your mind?”
“No, I just … the idea of being married to me seemed distasteful to you.”
“No, Will. It’s not distasteful. Not at all. I want to stay and finish my work. I want to stay in the U.S. after that too.”
“Okay, then.” I guessed that meant we were heading to Virginia today instead of a lawyer’s office. “Why does it sound like you’re marching to a firing squad?”
“It’s so much to ask of you, Will. I’m so grateful that you’re willing to do it.”
“I value your work, Adalyn.”
Her lip quivered a bit, like what I’d said had hurt her. She returned her gaze to the view out the window. “We don’t have to live like married people.”
“We sort of do.” At least, the immigration information I found online suggested we needed to live like husband and wife. But then I thought maybe she was referring to the intimacy part. I wasn’t sure how to take that. I’d thought the sex was pretty good. Very good. Spectacular. “From the outside world, we need to appear to be happily married. But behind closed doors, we don’t have to …” I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
“What if you meet someone else you want to be with?”
“I won’t.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” I put turned my cup in my hands. “The truth is, I haven’t been interested in a woman in a long time. I work a lot. I take care of my mother. That’s it. That’s all I’ve wanted. I have no interest in finding a life mate.”
“You said last night you didn’t think you’d ever get married.”
I laughed. “Shows how much I know.”
“This situation isn’t the same.”
“No. It’s not. But based on what I told you last night, you should know that I wasn’t looking for a wife. In some ways, it will make it easier to avoid women who might get ideas.”
This time she laughed. “I bet you have to beat them off with a stick.”
“It’s not quite like that. The point is, this isn’t going to crimp my style, so to speak. At least not for me.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. What about you? Will being married to me be a hardship? As you know, I’m a bit of a bore.”
“I’m sorry I led you to think that.” She shook her head and laughed. “God, Will … we’re about to embark on something that is the opposite of boring.”
The tightness in my chest loosened. I felt oddly content, even as the idea of bringing her home to my family as my wife tied up my insides.
“We should head home and get you moved into my place,” I said.
She quirked a brow in that way she did when she was going to challenge me. “Why not my place?”
“Is this how it’s going to be? You fighting me on everything?”
“Marriage is fifty-fifty, isn’t it?”
“I have a penthouse overlooking the river in Arlington. What do you have?”
She bit her lip again, but this time her mouth was tilting up. It was sexy and I wanted to kiss her. “A tiny one-bedroom in Dale City.”
“I win.”
She laughed, and I began to think that this whole marriage thing might not be so hard.
“We need to get you a proper ring too,” I said.
“I don’t need a ring —”
“I’m pretty sure a ring is part of the deal. No one will believe us if you don’t have one.”
“What about you?” Again, she quirked a brow.
“Many men don’t wear them.”
She pursed her lips. “First, if you’re using this ruse to keep the flocks of women off you, a ring is a good deterrent. Second, it could help convince immigration if they ever wonder about this marriage.”
“Is there a third in this list?”
“Yes. My husband wears a ring.”
Since she had a point, at least th
e first two reasons, I nodded. “I’ll get one too. Why don’t we order breakfast, and then we can plan out this marriage to make sure immigration doesn’t question us.”
“You said yourself that we didn’t get married for my visa.”
“No, but I could see immigration still being suspicious.” I wondered who of the many influential people and politicians I knew would be able to help me if needed. I would have to tread carefully there as well. She was right in that my reputation and business could be at risk if this didn’t go right.
We had pancakes, because the idea of eggs made both our stomachs turn. During breakfast we worked on a story that we’d been dating on the down-low since I was her boss, sort of. We were engaged, but while in Vegas decided to get it done right away.
“Do you think they’ll believe it?”
I shrugged. “How good of actress are you?”
“I don’t know. What about you?”
“I did a fair amount of acting with the F.B.I. Still, this is different. We’ll need people to believe we’re in love. Will that be hard for you?”
She shook her head. “You’re easy to like, Will Sloane.”
“Back at ya, Adalyn Beaumont.”
“Sloane,” she said. “Adalyn Beaumont Sloane.”
My heart did a strange roll in my chest to hear her say that.
After breakfast, we headed out to a jeweler and bought wedding rings. “You should pick an engagement one too,” I said.
“Why?”
“It seems like something I’d get for my fiancée. Especially someone like me.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“I’ve got money. Chances are good I’d spend it on my woman.”
She smirked. “But you’re not sure?”
I shrugged. “I never thought I’d get married.”
“I don’t need an engagement ring. But I’ll take this beautiful platinum filigree band with accent diamonds. It can serve as both.”
The ring seemed to fit her. Lovely, graceful, delicate. “Fair enough.” I opted for a basic platinum band. It clashed with my father’s ring and I felt a bit of guilt as I moved his ring to my right-hand pinky. The action felt like he was saying, “What are you doing, Will?” I was certain he’d question what I was doing even if he sympathized with the reason. My mother for sure would be disappointed.
