My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

by Lauren Landish

  She laughs. “Yeah, that was some slow dance swaying, but never fear, you’ll see what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Even as she puts herself down, she grins as though she can’t wait to show me just how bad of a dancer she is.

  We take to the floor, and I grab her hand, twirling her in a circle around me. She prances with nervous eyes locked on me for cues.

  The rules are explained, and it’s pretty simple. Keep dancing until one of the judges touches you on the shoulder. If you’re tapped out, there are chairs around the deck where you can sit and cheer for your favorite contestants.

  I can already feel my pulse starting to race as I pull Abigail to me. I lead her in a classic square step to see if she can follow a lead, and to my delight, she does remarkably well. I even dip her, and she leans back easily, trusting me to support her like we did at yoga. When she returns to standing upright, her body is aligned with mine fully.

  “I want you,” I whisper honestly over the music. “I want you in every way, every day I can have you.”

  It’s a big confession from me, a hint that I’m thinking beyond this week. I don’t know what the future holds, I never do, but the idea of spending it without Abigail makes it seem pointless. We could do so many things, show each other so much.

  “You . . . you have me,” Abigail responds, but there’s a question in her eyes. She can feel that I’m saying more but isn’t pushing me. Not yet.

  The music comes to an end, and I finish with a big spinning lift that has our lips a paper’s thickness apart.

  Well, of course we make it through. Emily and Doug, I note, make it through as well, mainly because while Doug dances like he dresses, about as bland as beige khakis, he at least can keep to a basic rhythm.

  Off to the far side of the floor, I see Janey dancing with a trio of young girls, all of whom made it too.

  “Partner up,” the voice announces. “It doesn’t have to be someone you know, but be warned, you’ll know them after this.”

  Chairs are brought out and placed around the dance floor. I see guys starting to sit down, so I do the same. Janey’s got one of her new friends seated in front of her.

  A slow, sexy synth beat starts, and Abigail jumps up and down, clapping as she gives me a huge grin. “Oh, my God, I know this one!”

  I think she means the song, but doesn’t everyone know Ginuwine’s Pony? Not that I watched Magic Mike, but I’ve been known to dance to this a time or two myself in the club.

  Abigail does a slow, seductive sway of her hips. “When I go to the gym with Courtney, this is a song in Zumba class. I don’t remember exactly how it goes, but I think I can fake my way through well enough.”

  I growl at the way she’s tracing her hands over her circling hips. “Doing great, mia rosa.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she warns sassily, confidence oozing from her now

  She’s right. She rolls her hips, flirts with the hem of her dress, drops it down, butterflies her legs open, and a whole bunch of other moves she apparently learned in this class. All the while, she takes every opportunity to rub herself against me, driving me wild.

  My cock is rock hard in my swimsuit, hungry to be buried inside Abigail’s warm sweetness once again.

  She slides down my body, biting her lip suggestively as she looks squarely at the bulge in my shorts then up to my eyes. If we weren’t in the middle of the dance floor, I would tease her lips open with the head of my cock and let her suck me.

  But the people clapping remind me that I can’t do that here. I fist the chair to stay steady, fighting for control.

  Abigail keeps going with her seductive dance, turning around and placing her hands on my knees to grind against my lap. She throws her head back and whispers, “You ready for this?”

  “Anything,” I vow.

  She moves her hands down my legs to the floor and then carefully lifts one leg and then the other to my shoulders, bending herself into an L shape. It’s almost like we’re in yoga class again and she’s doing handstands.

  Oh, mio Dio, is there anything this woman can’t do?

  Her dress sags, letting me see up it to her core, which is covered by a tiny black swimsuit.

  Before I know what’s happening, Abigail has bent her knees, which with her feet hooked over my shoulders, pulls my face directly toward her ass. I smash nose first into her pussy and can hear the shocked laughter from the crowd. Quick as can be, she does it again and again.

  I laugh in surprise at her boldness.

  Good-naturedly, I grab her hips and hold her in place to growl against her. She’s having a bit of fun at my expense, but I can smell her arousal.

  The song ends and there are huge amounts of applause, and I even hear a few whistles tossed our way. But she’s all mine, and when it’s time to switch, I push her toward the chair, where she sits down primly as though I don’t know that she’s a gushing fountain for me.

  There’s a bit of laughter as the other guys stand up, and it’s pretty clear that I’m not the only one sporting wood. Unashamed, I adjust myself, knowing that Abigail is watching my every move.

  “Next round,” the announcer calls.

  Surprisingly, I see that Janey got tapped out. I feel certain that it wasn’t for lack of dance skills, though, so if what Abigail did got cheers, what in the world did Janey do? Actually strip?

  Also, Emily is now sitting in a chair with a wicked smile of satisfaction on her lips. I guess she got through that round too.

  For this round, the song’s just as naughty and dirty, Beyonce’s Drunk In Love. It’s not a song I know well, not common in kitchens, but it doesn’t matter. They could be playing bagpipe polka music and I would still dance for Abigail.

  I circle my hips a bit, nowhere near as gracefully as Abigail did, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Letting my hands trace along the buttons of my shirt, I open them one by one to expose my chest.

  Abigail’s eyes widen with hunger, and I take her shaking hands in mine, guiding her to touch me. Her fingers delicately dance along my abs, over my chest, and back down to tease along my waistband. I pump my hips forward and back, and I see her chest heaving in time with my movements.

  It’s not part of the rules, not part of the dance, but Abigail leans forward and presses a gentle kiss right below my belly button. “Mio Dio,” I hiss and then simply lift her out of the chair to stand before me.

  Our tongues twist and go so deep I swear we pour ourselves into each other’s souls with this kiss.

  When the announcements come, we don’t win, but I don’t care. I’m too far gone, too desperate for her. I pull Abigail off the dance floor, ignoring the crowd’s cheers, especially Emily’s, and head toward the staircase downstairs to search for one thing . . .

  “Here,” I growl, finding an empty room. I shove Abigail inside and lock the door behind us. I consider trying to reign in my hunger, not wanting to scare her, but to my delight, Abigail pushes her sundress down and unties her top to free her tits before pulling the loose ruffles of the skirt up to reveal that tiny bikini bottom.

  “Fuck me, Lorenzo. Take what’s yours,” she says breathlessly as she turns to bend forward over the bed.

  I’m so aroused I’ve lost my English and resort to muttering nonsense in Italian about how sexy she is, how fortunate I am, and all the filthy things I want to do her. She doesn’t understand a word, but still, her hips buck in the air as she looks for relief from this ache.

  I rip my shirt off and drop my swimsuit to the floor. “Mia rosa,” I say gently as I line up with her pussy. It’s her one last chance, one last kindness I can offer before I unleash on her.

  “It’s okay, I’m on birth control. Clean,” she moans.

  “Me too,” I grunt as I split her open with a single thrust. “Ugh, yes.”

  We’ve had tender moments talking on the beach and in bed after slow and sweet lovemaking. We’ve had naughty moments like nearly coming in the middle of yoga class and long, torturous orgasms pulled from the de
pths of our souls. But never have we just rutted like a pair of wild animals, my hips slamming into Abigail’s ass again and again. But while my cock claims her pussy, she looks over her shoulder and her lips claim mine.

  I feel like a man and an animal all at once, my cock spearing her to send waves of pleasure smashing through her body. She doesn’t fuck me back. I’m in control, holding her hips as I pound into her. But she grips the blanket with one hand and reaches back to grab my ass with the other, urging me deeper and harder.

  “Oh, my God, yes! More, Lorenzo—” she pants out. “Claim every inch of me. Make me yours.”

  Fuck yes. It hits me like a shot of pure white lightning. That’s what I want. For Abigail Andrews to be mine. Not just her body, not just for this moment of wild passion, but in truth.

  I growl, my words coming in short grunts of Italian as I speed up.

  “Il mio . . .” Mine.

  “Sempre . . .” Always.

  “Mia rosa . . .amore.” My rose . . . love.

  “Amore,” Abigail repeats. She doesn’t speak Italian, but that’s a pretty obvious one. Looking back at me, her eyes are dark and vulnerable, asking if I mean what she means. She won’t give me any more of her heart until she’s sure.

  I’m sure. In this moment, I am surer of this than I’ve ever been of anything. Violet’s warning should ring through my head, but it doesn’t. Not at all.

  I am simply lost in Abigail—her beauty, her passion, her boldness, and even her quirky weirdness, as she calls it.

  “Come, Abigail,” I beg her, holding back so fiercely that I’m trembling on the edge.

  I hold her upright, my arms wrapping across her chest and hips to keep her pressed to my body. Every inch of us is connected, at the skin level and so much deeper. I tease a finger over her clit and instantly feel her clench down on me as she cries out, and then the pulsing rhythm of her pussy triggers my own orgasm.

  We buck into each other, jets of my cum filling her as I rub her clit in smooth circles to draw out more and more pleasure for us both.

  I’ve never felt anything like that—a climax that’s as much mind as it is body.

  I feel as though I did claim her. She’s mine, but also . . . I am hers.

  Surprisingly, I feel no cage from that. Not the way I always feared I would. I feel at peace with Abigail in my arms.

  In the post-orgasmic bliss, we’re spent and sweating, making promises with our tongues beyond words.

  “So beautiful,” I whisper. “So special.”

  Abigail is about to say something in return but a sound pulls my attention. Or rather, a lack of sound.

  I put my finger to her lips, tilting my head to listen.

  “What?” she says around my finger.

  “It’s quiet, too quiet,” I tell her, and I can see the dawning realization on her face. The quiet rumble of the engine, which has thrummed through the boat from the moment we climbed aboard, has stopped.

  “Why aren’t we moving?” Abigail asks.

  I shrug, not having any idea. This night cruise is more party ship, not swimming or snorkeling, and those are the only reasons we should be stopped.

  Unless something is wrong.

  Because we are definitely dead in the water.

  Chapter 16

  Abi

  The mood of a moment ago evaporates in an instant as Lorenzo’s wide eyes meet my even wider ones. I jump up, flipping the skirt of my dress down and digging around on the floor for my bikini top. I pull it around my chest, but my fingers are clumsy and I can’t get the tie done.

  “Help me,” I beg.

  Lorenzo nods, leaving his own shirt unbuttoned to focus on my swimsuit top. “Good,” he says, tying it easily. “There’s your bottoms too.” He points to the far side of the bed.

  How did they get there? Last time I had a conscious thought, Lorenzo had pushed them to my ankles. After that . . . no idea.

  I lunge across the bed to grab them and yank them up my legs, wildly kicking my feet in the air to help get the suit situated.

  “Come on,” Lorenzo says sharply as he grabs my hand and leads me back out to the top deck.

  The party never stopped here. The whole crowd is still happily dancing, the dark night broken by flashing rainbow disco lights and the booming music.

  “Maybe we’re okay?” I say hopefully. Lorenzo doesn’t let me pretend, not even for a second, giving me a raised brow look.

  “Look, there’s Janey.” He points across the floor to where Janey is dancing with her new friends. “Let’s see if they made an announcement that we missed.”

  I take the lead this time, dragging Lorenzo across the floor behind me. I must look like a woman on a mission because people are hopping out of my way left and right. “Janey!” I yell over the music, waving wildly. She smiles and waves back, oblivious.

  Finally, I make it to her side and shout in her ear, “Why are we stopped?”

  “Huh?” I can’t hear her answer, but her brows knit together as she looks at me in confusion.

  Before she catches a damn clue, the speaker crackles. “Hey there, folks! You might’ve noticed that we’ve stopped for a minute. This B-Yacht-ch is a bit temperamental sometimes. We all know a diva like that, don’t we?” he jokes with a sigh of dramatic exasperation. “Anyway, we’re having some minor technical difficulties, but don’t worry, we’ve got a fix-it man on the way. In the meantime, we’re keeping the party rolling for a bit longer. Here’s to the wild and crazy nights of Aruba!”

  The announcer makes it sound like this is no big deal, as though a little longer on a relaxing party cruise is the score of a lifetime. And typically, it would be.

  But not tonight.

  Not when I have fewer than twenty-four hours until the rehearsal dinner and multiple arrangements to prepare. I knew I shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have come out tonight. It was irresponsible, but I’d wanted the one last night of fun with Lorenzo that he promised. I just really need the reasonable bedtime he promised too because tomorrow is coming at a record pace.

  And I’m sitting still in the water, miles away from my work, unable to do anything about it.

  Maybe I can swim back? How far out are we? I look toward shore and the lights look like tiny pinpricks, so . . . that’s a no.

  Is there someone I can call? A lifeline I can use? Way to think like an entitled brat, Abs.

  I could take one of the lifeboats and row myself to shore, row-row-row-your boat style.

  I’m swirling the drain, and though I know it, I can’t stop the downward spiral of my thoughts. This wedding is too important, and I’m afraid I’m going to let everyone down.

  I feel Lorenzo’s steadying hands on my shoulders, lending me strength and warmth, and I suddenly feel like such a selfish bitch for only worrying about myself.

  Lorenzo’s got stuff to do too and is likely just as worried as I am about making his deadlines.

  I spin in place, wrapping my arms around his waist and looking up to meet his worried eyes. “I’m sorry, I know you’re stressed out too. I just . . .”

  I break.

  Right there on the dance floor, with partygoers dancing to Get Low and singing about furry boots with zero cares in the world. I fall apart in the comforting embrace of Lorenzo’s arms.

  The tears come hot and hard, washing away everything I’ve worked so hard for like it’s nothing. I have poured my everything into SweetPea and into this wedding, knowing that it would be make it or break it for me. I never truly considered that it might actually break me, though. I arrogantly thought I could handle anything and would make this wedding my bitch, even with Meredith working against me.

  Until now.

  That it’s not even Meredith’s doing but my own choice to fuck off during crunch time makes it suck that much worse.

  Lorenzo holds me tight, his palms soothingly rubbing over my back. “Oh, mia rosa,” he murmurs softly.

  I can sense Lorenzo and Janey having a silent conversation around
me and blink the tears away long enough to see Janey shrug, telling Lorenzo that she doesn’t know what to do.

  About me? About this mess? About tomorrow?

  Probably all of the above. I’m not the fall-apart type. I’m the crisis management sort that you want on your team when the shit hits the fan.

  “We can handle this, Abs. You and me, we got this. Flower power all the way,” Janey vows.

  “Breathe, Abigail. Focus on the here and now and just breathe.” I tune in to Lorenzo’s calm breaths . . . in and out, in and out . . . making myself breathe with him.

  Between the two of them and a deep well of my own strength, I pull it together, remembering who I am and what I’m capable of. I make the conscious decision to pull up my big girl panties and handle my shit.

  I am Abigail Fucking Andrews—flower lover, businesswoman, and creative problem solver.

  Nothing has happened yet. This is still nothing more than the potential for failure, not an actual catastrophe.

  I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand, give Lorenzo a soft smile of apology that he returns slowly, and smooth my dress and hair. Like Mom always said, ‘you can’t be put together if you’re not put together.’

  Well, it was something like that. Or maybe I’m making it up on the fly because I need a little pep talk? Whatever she did or didn’t say, I feel better with my back straight and my worries exposed to the light of day to be addressed.

  “New plan. Let’s go talk to the captain. See what the ETA is on the repairman because if it’s the same guy who worked on the cooler, we need a plan B.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Janey clips out with a salute.

  Lorenzo places his hand on the small of my back as he leads me across the floor once again. There’s no time for any booty shaking or playing this time, but even that small supportive touch is all I need. A show of his strength and that though he’s guiding me, I’m leading this ship. If I can just get it to fucking move.

  We are on a mission.

  Halfway across the floor, Emily calls out, “Abi! There you are, silly girl! I was looking for you.” She doesn’t miss a step of the dance she and Doug are doing. “We’re going to hit the blackjack table again since we’ve got some more time. Wanna play with us?”