Still, I know she would have at least made sure I had something nice to wear on my wedding night. I put on the prettiest pajamas I have, a white t-shirt and short set covered in sparkly skulls and bones.
So no, not exactly the sexiest wedding lingerie in the history of man, I think, as I finish washing off all my make-up in the bathroom. I look at myself in the wall-to-wall mirror over the sink. My purposefully gray hair, which had been pulled into a somewhat tasteful, half-shaved chignon for the photo-shoot, was a mess after being worked over by the ice pack and the near-fainting sweat.
And as cute as these pajamas used to hang on my long frame, they’re not nearly as forgiving as the peach wedding dress. The formerly loose-t-shirt now hugs my waist, highlighting my slightly swollen belly.
How did I get here? I wonder once again. Knocked up with a cop’s baby and married to his geek billionaire brother. No wonder Go hadn’t shown so much as a hint of interest, I thought, rubbing a hand over the baby he was only pretending was his.
“Nyla, are you coming to bed?”
I jump and nearly scream. Go’s now standing just a few feet away from me in nothing but a towel. What I’d thought was another mirrored wall on the other side of the bathroom is now standing open. At least part of the mirror is a door, I realize as I check out the large shower room beyond it.
“I didn’t hear you showering,” I tell him.
“I took a bath,” he answers, nodding toward the lovely deep canoe tub toward the back of the room. “I prefer baths. Not as loud.”
Which explains why he’s still wearing his glasses. He’s been in there taking a bath the entire time I was going through my night time routine and wondering how I got here. Not as loud… yeah, I think, recalling the sensory issues he mentioned at Thanksgiving dinner. I should be focusing on that. Maybe ask a few more questions about it, but…
My eyes stray from the tub to his body. And it’s magnificent, threaded through with lean muscle and, to my shock, tattoos. What must be years worth of work covers his arms and part of his chest. Mostly circuitry and other bio-mech imagery, but there’s also a name, “Marco” written in a digital font right above his heart, with the day of his death beneath it.
Almost in a trance, I cross over to him. I raise my hands, but stop just short of touching him, remembering the one time I tried to hug him.
“You can touch them,” he says. “But press hard. I don’t like light touch.”
Remembering the way he squeezed my arm earlier, I wrap my hands right under his shoulders, digging my fingers into all the braided metal lining his heavily sleeved arms.
I’m afraid I might be squeezing too hard, but his tricep muscles flex, going tight beneath my fingers.
“Yes, Nyla, just like that,” he says on a sharp inhale of breath.
Our eyes meet, a moment passing between us. A moment in which I wonder what would happen if…
On instinct, I pinch his nipples—hard enough to hurt. His eyes roll.
“Nyla,” he says, roughly grabbing my hands. “That’s not in The Wedding Night Plan. Fuck…”
He pushes my hands away and I let them drop.
“Sorry,” I say. “I got carried away. Did I hurt you?”
He looks down at me, holding my gaze as he shakes his head. “No…but this is not in tonight’s plan.”
Tough. I’m so tough, I remind myself. I don’t let other people dictate how I feel about myself anymore.
But it’s hard not to feel anything but blood-curdling embarrassment as I step back.
“We’ve got one minute until lights out,” he tells me.
“Okay,” I say.
“Are you coming?”
“In a little bit.”
He looks off to the side and says, “I’d ask if you were planning another disruption, but from what I can tell you don’t actually plan much of anything.”
“That’s not true,” I tell him. “Last year when Sam was out of town, I planned the Ruth’s House Thanksgiving Dinner all by myself. I mean, it was mostly based on the plan Sam set out of for me, but…”
His beard quirks. “Let me guess, it didn’t go completely to her specifications.”
“Well, no, not exactly. But if she had thought to add a Just Dance dance off for the kids before dinner, then it would have.”
“And how late did dinner end up getting served?”
“You know, eight o’clock is, like, the regular dinner hour in many European countries,” I point out. “I have no idea who came up with this four o’clock mess for Thanksgiving. The point is, I did the Costco run all by myself and everybody ate…eventually.”
Which is so admirable, in my opinion, but Go doesn’t look at all impressed.
“Nyla?” he asks.
“Yes?”
“We’re a minute past lights out now. You’re officially disrupting my plan, Lil’ Dis.”
I smile, relaxing a little. “I’m just…”
“Nervous,” he supplies. “Because it’s our wedding night. And you’re still adjusting.”
Now I look up at him. “Are you nervous, too?” I ask. “I mean, this is all pretty new.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’ve been planning for this.”
And my throat goes dry with all sorts of questions…
“Nyla,” he says again. Then he asks a third time. “Are you coming to bed?”
“I’m trying to,” I admit.
“You’re trying to,” he repeats.
He seems to make a very deliberate decision to step forward, getting all the way into my personal space. “What’s getting in your way?”
“Well, for one thing, tattoos are kind of my weakness. And obviously I’m not completely unmoved by yours.”
“You’re upset because I made you stop touching me.”
“More like confused. We should have talked about this. I’ve got a degree in psychology. I’m kicking myself for not talking about it first with you. But sex isn’t exactly my area of expertise, and I’m not sure how to handle a sexless relationship.”
He suddenly squints, head drawing back. “Who said anything about a sexless relationship?”
“You kind of did. Just now. When you told me not to touch you. And it’s not like you’ve touched me, like at all, except for that one time in the conference room.”
“And when I kissed you at Marco’s funeral,” he reminds me.
I swallow dryly, feeling like there is no liquid to be had in my entire body. “Yeah, and when you kissed me. But that doesn’t count, because emotions where running high that day—”
“Nyla,” he says, voice flat.
“Yes?”
“It counted. It counts.”
Reaching out with both hands, he grabs me by the sides of my head and hauls me up against his body. His kiss is like him. Rough, blunt, with nothing held back whatsoever. It feels like he’s consuming me as he takes possession of my lips, his heavy erection pressing into my belly.
“Do you see why I couldn’t let myself touch you?” he demands, when he finally lets me up for air. “Or let you touch me like that? Not yet…”
Before I can answer, he rasps out. “Turn around…”
He spins me around and yanks down my shorts. “Close your eyes. Don’t look at me. Don’t touch me.”
I do as he says, letting my eyes fall closed as he grabs ahold of one of my wrists and places it on the counter. Then does the same to the other.
Then I feel his entire left hand at the front of my pussy. His wedding band rubs my clit as he begins to knead.
I moan, the entire upper half of my body caving over his arm.
“See, the way it works with me, Nyla, is I don’t like to be touched. I like to do the touching. But I don’t touch nice, so I have a routine.”
As if to drive home his point, he kneads me once, then twice. Then plunges into me from behind, so long and thick, it’s on the very edge of being painful.
My eyes fly open, and what I see in the mirror is so raw, I can barely
process it: Go’s sleeved arm, barred across my chest, with one possessive hand curled around my throat. He’s holding me to him so tightly, it almost looks like he has me in a chokehold. His hand is still working mercilessly at my pussy, and though his face is half pressed into the side of my neck, he’s watching me with such erotic intent...
“Close your eyes,” he growls into my ear. “This will be over before it even begins if you keep looking at me like that.”
I guess I don’t want this to end because I close my eyes on a whimper. Creaming some more at just the thought of what I saw in the mirror.
He gives me a second more to adjust to the size of him, but I don’t even need it. I’m slick with want, and all I feel is the sweet pain of relief when he finally starts moving inside me.
“The plan was to take you to bed, Nyla. Let you get used to me. Let you adjust to me slowly. I planned to be nice. Like Marco. Then feed you ice cream afterwards. Why didn’t you stick to the plan, Nyla?”
“I didn’t know,” I admit, breathless. “I didn’t think you wanted me that way. Especially now that I’m showing.”
“My wife. My baby,” he growls into my neck, like I ought to have known better. “I want you, Lil’ Dis. We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you.”
“Go! Go!” I cry out, unable to process what’s happening to me. His words, his heavy touch, his hold, so impossibly tight.
“You’re about to come, Nyla, hold on…”
“What…?” I say in a complete daze.
And then the orgasm hits, completely wrecking me with its force. A wash of sweet pain that feels like it will never end, until it does, and I float back to earth with a soft mew, in no way befitting a tough girl like me.
“Now will you come to bed?” his rough voice asks in my ear. “Are you ready?”
I nod, and he pulls out, barely loosening his hug as he turns me around for another kiss. I’m not exactly sure how we get to the bedroom. Some kind of half bear hug, half caveman drag across the bathroom.
Then we’re falling into the bed. He’s on top of me. He lifts up slightly and once again drives into my soaking wet snatch. I feel his hands slide underneath me, fingers biting into my shoulders as he begins rolling into me. All the while, he’s still holding me in that tight hug which should feel weird, but doesn’t.
It so doesn’t. The way he fucks is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Intense grinding strokes that flood my already engorged clit in a rhythmic sensation. But it’s not just my clit he’s touching. He blankets my entire body with his legs on either side of mine, as he pushes into me with long, sensual thrusts, every part of his body seeming to touch every part of mine.
He’s so damn gifted in bed. Meanwhile I have no idea what I’m doing. Basically going crazy underneath him. Squirming. Whimpering. Coming all the way apart, as it gets closer and closer.
I lose all control. “What the fuck, Go? What are you doing to me?” I ask.
Surely he couldn’t have planned this. Surely no man anywhere could plan on making a woman feel like this.
I look up at him in wonder and confusion.
And he shakes his head, frantically, “Don’t look at me like that. Nyla…Nyla…”
But what else can I do? The only thing that keeps my mind from completely unraveling in that moment is looking at him.
“Go…” I whimper. Frightened of me. Frightened of him. Frightened of the intensity of what’s happening between us.
This isn’t sex. I’ve had sex before, and this isn’t what it feels like.
“Go,” I beg, body going crazy beneath him. “Please, please, baby.”
I don’t have any idea what I’m begging for.
“Don’t,” he says, his voice harsh with restraint. “You’re too interesting. I can’t do this if you’re looking at me. Just stop. Stop…”
He cusses in Spanish before closing his own eyes and looking away, and the next thing I know, he’s rearing up. “Open. Open. Fucking open,” he says urgently.
My body understands, even if my mind doesn’t. My legs fall open at his command, butterflying out to receive him again.
He sinks back into me with an angry yell, burying his face in my shoulder as he starts fucking me even deeper. “Nyla, you’ve completely depleted my willpower reserves. Need you to come. Need you to come.”
He’s cradling me against his chest now, but the hold is in no way tender as he fucks me roughly below.
“How could you think I didn’t want you? Do you know how fucking crazy you make me? I want you. I want to fuck you and suck you and touch you fucking everywhere. Calculus test seventh grade. Falling stock prices. Lasik. Fuck, it’s not working. You’ve got to fucking come, Nyla. Right now, come…!”
I do come, so hard it feels like, for a moment, I’m completely lost like a surfer who’s fallen into deep waters. I can’t tell which way is up or down. Don’t know where I am or what I’m doing. Until I hear a voice say…
“Nyla, come back to me. Reconnect.”
I blink and find him once again looking down at me, hips still moving into me.
“Now you can touch me, Nyla,” he tells me. His voice softer now, but way more urgent. “However you want. Just make sure it’s not light—”
I lift my head and bite his lip, tasting blood as I drag my lips over his and twist his nipple with my other hand.
“Fuck, si,” he gasps out, his hips jutting hard into mine. “Gracias, niña. Gracias.”
Voice breaking, he floods into me, still anchoring me to him in that weird cradle hold as he floods my pussy with his hot release.
“What the fuck was that?” I demand when he’s finally done filling me with what feels like a river of seed. “What the fuck was that?”
I’m not talking to him. I’m not sure who I’m talking to really. It feels like I’ve just had some kind of out of body experience.
Go smiles down at me. “So this was the one plan you actually liked?”
“Yes, Go,” I answer, smiling back. “I am completely okay with this plan. I’ve actually never been planned so well in my life.”
“A double entendre,” he says after a moment of side-eyed thought. “Funny.”
“Thank you,” I answer, quite proud of myself. Then I sober, remembering something important he’d said back in the bathroom.
“Wait, did I hear something about ‘ice cream?’”
9
“So what happened during that Calculus test in seventh grade?” I ask Go as we sit on stools at the black granite and mahogany wood counter in his kitchen, eating from two separate half-pint containers of Cloud City Ice Cream. He’s thrown on a pair of briefs for the midnight snack, but I’m completely naked.
“I got a 95,” he answers, dipping the spoon into the Raw Honey Vanilla ice cream, which he’s already told me not to ask for a taste of, because he doesn’t share.
I laugh. “A 95? No way! How devastating!”
“You laugh, but I was devastated. I’d never scored that low on a test before. It really shook me and introduced me to the concept of being wrong.”
“It didn’t occur to you that you could be wrong until you were in the seventh grade?” I say, throwing him a teasing smile. “You must have been a real pleasure for your parents to raise.”
He answers with an annoyed but slightly amused look across the counter. “I already told you I wasn’t.”
“And now I really believe you. No wonder you decided to marry some girl you barely know to make it up to them,” I say, dipping my spoon back in the ice cream.
But when I raise my eyes to meet his, he’s no longer smiling, not even slightly.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he answers, getting off the stool and tossing his spoon into the sink. “We should go to bed. We both have to get up for work tomorrow. Me much earlier than you.”
“Go…” I start to say, but then switch to “Hey! I wasn’t done with that!” when he snatches the spoon out of my hand.
; “It’s bedtime.”
“Is that a double entendre for more hot sex?” I ask as he puts the lid on both of the white cartons.
“No, I don’t have the patience for double-entendres,” he answers. “The plan is to go to sleep. Just sleep.”
And I’m once again reminded, as I watch him drop both our ice cream pints into the fridge’s sub-zero freezer component, that no matter how cool Go’s tattoo’s are, he is not.
“But I’m not tired yet,” I whine. “Plus, you’re upset. Why are you upset? Talk to me.”
“I’m not…” He stops. Seems to think about it, and then revises: “I don’t like when you do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Pretend like I’m only doing this for my parents. Like I’m a saint, sacrificing everything. You were upstairs, too, Nyla.”
His eyes flash as he looks across the kitchen counter at me. “I don’t know how else to explain it to you. I’m no saint.”
I consider his words carefully. “Are you trying to say you like me?”
A tense second ticks by, then Go says, “I’m trying to say I think it’s obvious I like you. That I’m not just doing this for my parents.”
I look up at him, head tilted, and make a decision of my own…
“Okay,” I tell him with my heart beating in my throat. “I like you, too. And I’m not just doing this for your parents.”
“I know that, Nyla. My parents are my parents. Not yours.”
“Yeah, I know you know. But me telling you is huge for me. I never communicate this way with guys—especially this early in the relationship. So just trust me when I tell you that me admitting I actually like you is kind of a big deal.”
He looks to the side. Processes. Then comes back to me with a small grunt. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat after him.
And we stand there. Hearts beating fast. So off plan, I can tell it’s scaring the shit out of both of us.
A few minutes later, we’re standing on opposite sides of the bed. Marco was a cuddler, but before I can even wonder about that with Go, he explains he can’t fall asleep that way.
“How about if we just hold hands until I fall asleep then?” I ask. “I like some kind of connection after sex.”
His Pretend Baby Page 7
