by Alexis Angel
“Em…baby. I love you.”
God, does tequila have after-effects that make your eyes water thirty minutes after the fact?
“It’s you, Em. It’s always been you. It always will be you.”
Someone nearby lets out a godawful sound, like their heart is being ripped from their chest or something.
Oh, shit. That’s me.
Yeah, I’m crying like a baby right now.
Evan…is here?
But why? How? I don’t understand.
I look around frantically, realizing that everyone on the entire plane is looking at us, eyes wide, like we’re the best entertainment they’ve seen all day.
He starts walking slowly toward me, the intercom stretching as he pulls it behind him. I mean, I’m only two rows back, but apparently what he has to say, he wants the whole plane to hear.
“Baby, I love you, and I’d be the biggest fool in the entire world if I let you get on this plane and walk out of my life forever.”
I swallow hard, trying to breathe past the lump in my throat. I don’t know what’s happening here, but my heart is hammering in my chest.
“I’m sorry. For not realizing what you needed. And for not showing you that I can be that for you.”
He’s inches away from me now, and he drops the intercom and reaches up to cup my face. His thumb brushes over my cheek, wiping away the tears.
Our eyes are locked, all the love we have for each other on full display for the entire plane. I don’t know what he was thinking, coming here to tell me this on a plane, but it means everything to me that he wouldn’t let me leave without saying it.
“I love you, Em.”
I nod wordlessly, not trusting myself to speak. But words aren’t necessary. What we have transcends mere speech.
It’s timeless, primal, raw.
And pure.
My eyes drift closed as he leans in, his lips a breath from mine.
“Marry me.”
My breath gusts out, and my eyes fly open.
What?
Hang on. Am I dreaming here? Am I in some tequila-induced fever dream that looks an awful lot like an alternate reality?
Evan smiles.
No, he’s really here. I can feel the hard planes of his chest beneath my hands, the scratch of his stubble as he brushes his lips against mine and repeats, “Marry me.”
“Yes.”
One word. That's all. And my whole fucking world is turned upside down.
Evan crushes his mouth to mine, and we kiss with desperate passion like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I thought I’d seen it all, done it all with Evan.
I was dead wrong. There’s so much more ahead of us that I’m only just starting to see.
The entire plane erupts in cheers, and I laugh. I nearly forgot we had an audience.
“Stay right here.” Evan pulls away drops a quick kiss on my forehead.
I watch him in confusion as he goes to the front of the plane again, then reappears with…
…a priest.
I blink, shake my head, now wondering if I really am in that fever dream.
“Evan…” I cut my eyes back and forth between him and the priest. “What the fuck?”
He laughs. “I’ve got you here with nowhere to escape, and you’ve just said you’ll be my wife. You think I’m not going to seal the deal here and now?”
“You’re crazy.”
A wink. A grin. “You know it.”
I look at the flight attendant, certain she’s going to tell us we need to take our seats because it’s time for takeoff. What I’m not sure of is if Evan’s going along. I mean, he’s on the flight, which means he must have a ticket…
But the attendant is just smiling, watching us like she was in on the plan.
Fucking Evan.
I shake my head. “I love you.”
He gives me another kiss. “Let’s do this thing.”
Then, right there on the plane, the priest starts performing the ceremony. It’s crazy. But at least we aren’t hurting for witnesses.
It all goes by in a blur. I know I won’t remember any of it. But I don’t care.
All I can think about is how my heart—which so recently felt shattered beyond repair—has never been fuller. More complete.
What we’re doing is so totally insane—but it’s perfect for us. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.
Now I am his, in every sense of the word. And he is mine.
When we kiss, it’s like the whole world seems to shake. I’m quaking. Vibrating.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and prepare for takeoff.”
Oh, well maybe it was just the jets. But I know one thing, I’ll be quaking and vibrating for days on end as soon as we get somewhere private. Speaking of…
“What do we do now? Get off the plane and go home?”
“Fuck no, baby. We’re going to Fiji.”
There’s no way in hell I’m making it all the way to Fiji without consummating this marriage. Marriage.
God. I’m fucking married. And I couldn’t be happier.
I give Evan a sly smile. “Meet me in the restroom after takeoff?”
Whoever said married life is boring? Our adventures are only just beginning.
Evan
I fucking love my wife.
We crash through the doors of the cabana, barely able to take our hands off of each other. Emilia’s arms and neck are tangled in her dress as she tries to lift it up over her head, and I’m stumbling out of my fucking pants, tripping over my own goddamn feet.
But when we fall, we fall into each other.
Then, thank fuck, we fall into the bed.
Our marriage was consummated in an airplane bathroom, then with a blowjob and a bottle of tequila on our way here to our honeymoon suite.
The cab driver gave me a real fucking look when Em announced that she was going to baptize her mouth with my cum, but hey—she had a bottle of Jose Cuervo in one hand and my cock in the other.
I wasn’t about to argue with her.
“C’mere,” I slur, rolling on top of her.
Her body shifts beneath mine. She spreads her thighs for me and I slip between them, kicking off the last clinging vestiges of clothing from my lower half.
When I go to kiss her, I have to untangle her from her dress to do it. Prettiest little white sundress you can imagine. If she didn’t have it stuck over her head, I’d have ripped it off of her.
Instead, I toss it across the room.
Won’t be needing that anymore.
My plans for our honeymoon are simple: fucking Emilia, fucking Emilia, wining, dining and fucking Emilia. If I can keep her naked for most of that time, all the better.
It crosses my mind that I should’ve slipped a baggage handler a couple hundred bucks to accidentally lose Em’s bags.
I guess locking her in our suite so I can have my way with her is going to have to suffice.
The bed is draped with a white linen canopy overhead. I’m dazzled by the gold of Em’s hair, the way it’s splayed out on the crisp white sheets.
The whole room is lit up with candlelight, and I can hear the crystal blue waters of the ocean splashing just outside along the shore of our private stretch of beach.
“I fucking love you,” I tell her. It simultaneously feels like the billionth time and the first, all at once.
Then, I kiss her before she can say it back.
Hearing her try to mumble it against my lips anyway just makes me chuckle and kiss her harder.
I don’t stop kissing her until I feel the pale crescents of her nails pressing into my back.
“Horny, honey?”
“Fuck me,” Emilia gasps.
And how can I say no to that?
We’re drunk on equal parts tequila and love. When I first got on that plane, Em was drinking to forget me. By the time we got off of it, she was drinking to celebrate.
I have a wife, I tell myself as I kiss her long, slender neck.
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I have a wife, I tell myself as I worship her firm, heaving breasts with my tongue.
I have a wife, I tell myself as I scrape my teeth across her wide, wiggling hips.
“Stay still or I’ll punish you,” I tell my wife.
“Make me, husband,” she giggles.
And then I do anything but.
I can’t blame her for not staying still while my fingers are knuckle-deep in her cunt, after all.
I imagine it’s pretty fucking difficult for a woman to orgasm as hard as she is while staying completely still.
I punish her anyway, of course.
A husband has to be firm with his word.
And oh—I’m firm. You’d better fucking believe I’m firm.
“Bad slut,” I say with a grin, nipping at her clit. I dig my fingers into her thighs as I drag her closer to me on the bed, licking her slit up and down until she cries out.
“H-hey,” she pants, chest rising and falling like she’s running a marathon. Backwards. In heels. “That’s wife-slut to you, asshole.”
“Asshole?” I say, getting the dirtiest fucking grin on my face. “You are a slutty wife, Em…but if you insist, babe.”
I love the way she squeals when I flip her over, too. It’s cute as hell, the way her knees tremble as I smack her ass and sip my tongue into it.
“Oh, you’re…you’re bad, husband,” Em moans.
That’s fucking rich. As if she’s not loving every minute of it.
I just smack her ass again and relish the way I can make her come in my hand with just a flick of her clit.
She’s orgasmic. She’s incredible.
And she’s mine. She’s all fucking mine.
I can’t get enough of her. Her taste. Her heat. The scent of her fucking skin—not just the perfume she wears, but the smell of her beneath it.
The smell of my wife.
I could breathe her in all fucking day and I still wouldn’t want to breathe out ever again.
“Evan,” she sobs as my fingers toy with her clit. I can play Em’s pussy like a video game set to easy mode at this point. I make her come again just because I can—and because I like the way it makes her entire fucking body shake. “Evan, fuck me. Please, please, please, please—”
“Who fucking knew?” I laugh, slipping my tongue back out of her ass. “I never dreamed I would have such a polite wife.”
“You don’t,” she growls. “Fucking fuck me already!”
I lick my lips as I shift back, looking her over.
“I’ll do better than just fuck you,” I tell her, grabbing her hip and pushing her onto her back again.
Seeing Em like this, all wet and wanton and slutty and still entirely, completely my bride…
I just added another item to my honeymoon checklist.
And I think it just might be my favorite to-do yet.
Emilia
My husband wrestles me down, pinning me against the mattress, and (graciously, might I add)—I let him.
Okay, well, I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to…but I don’t want him to.
I’m a fucking winner. Always have been, always will be.
But for once in my life, I actually want to lose.
His lips are burning as they crush mine. The night may be cool, but his skin is like fire. Not even the breeze coming off of the ocean can cool the heat of his body…
Or the heat of his passion. Evan is moving against me like never before.
I’ve had him steamy. This is far from the first time I’ve had him all hot and heavy, believe me.
It’s different this time.
There’s heat, and then there’s fucking heat.
Evan’s kisses this time around make every other kiss between us seem like jalapeño peppers. These kisses? They’re Carolina ghost reapers.
It’s not just his kisses, though. It’s the wanting. The sheer fucking need for him. It ripples through me with every caress, every squeeze, again and again at every point of contact between his skin and mine.
We’re burning, but we’re burning together.
“Take me already,” I growl at him.
“Fucking beg for it then,” he purrs at me with a sneer.
We’re drunk. God, we’re so fucking drunk. I’m not even sure how much of this is tequila at this point, and how much is just pure fucking pheromones.
But I want him.
I want him bad.
It’s not just the tequila talking.
Tequila is an enabler at best at this point.
This is something primal. Something passionate beyond passion—something so intense and visceral and real that if I don’t have him right fucking now, I feel like the bonds between my very cells are going to dissolve under pressure, and I’ll turn to a puddle of Emilia goo here on these pristine fucking sheets.
It’s already started between my thighs. The slickness of my cunt is unbearable as Evan positions his cock against me, ready to fucking drown in my need.
“Yes,” I’m hissing at him. “Yes! Yesssss. Take me, take me, fucking take me—”
He makes that face that he always does when he’s about to plunge into my pussy, and I brace myself for impact.
I’m fucking feral at this point. Feral and wild and impassioned and in love.
It’s like preparing yourself for a car crash…then the driver gently pulls the car over to the side of the road.
“Take me, take me, take—huh?” I open my eyes and stop begging for a second to see what fucking gives.
I should be coming around his cock by now, dammit! Not laying here, soaking wet and losing my mind out of fucking wanting!
“Hold on,” Evan says.
So I dig my nails deeper into his shoulders and he winces.
“Not here,” he grunts, taking the pain like a man.
And before I can argue, he has me swept up in his arms.
Evan carries me naked and horny and dripping to the beach just outside the cabana. Normally, I’d argue that beach sex is totally dumb and mega cliché—but as of right now, I don’t give a damn.
He can fuck me tits-deep in the ocean right now for all I care.
I just need him to fuck me.
That’s the important thing: his cock in my cunt.
Beyond that, I could care less.
“Perfect,” he says, even though I’m so fucking desperate for him I don’t understand how he can give two fucks about atmosphere right now.
Sure, the moon is glistening overhead in a silver crescent, sending reflections rippling off the water like this is a Bob Ross original work of art.
And sure, the sand is still warm from the sun as he lays me down in it.
And sure, the lapping of the tide against my toes is like, kind of nice or whatever.
But it’s all so fucking irrelevant to me right now.
I’ve gone full caveman, babes. I want to be taken. Used! I want to be plowed until the fucking sun comes up. Hell, even after the sun comes up—we can keep going all day and get the world’s weirdest tan.
I’m just imagining that—the outline of my legs wrapped around Evan’s waist, burned into his skin by the sun itself—when Evan springs something on me that I didn’t fucking expect.
“Em. Babe,” he says, caressing my cheek.
He looks down at me with a whole hell of a lot of serious contained in his dark, gorgeous eyes.
And even though I’m so horny I could pretty much die…
This seems important.
I whimper.
And I blink.
“I love you.” His voice is all raspy and deep.
“I know,” I tell him. “I love you too. Fuck me already.”
I have patience, okay? But only so much.
“Em…” he says again.
I bite my lip.
“I want to put a baby in you tonight,” he admits. “If that’s wrong, I’m sorry. I don’t even fucking know why. And I know this is coming out of nowhere, but—”
“Hey,” I say. Eve
n just to stop him from rambling for a hot second.
A little smile plays on his lips. “Hey.”
He’s fucking right—it’s from straight out of nowhere. For a second, I wonder if it’s not the tequila talking. Or the ocean. Or the moonlight.
But then I think about it. Really fucking think about it.
And just like that, in an instant, it all clicks.
“Let’s do it, then,” I tell him. “I want it. I want you. I want everything, Evan. Give it to me—I can take it. It’s alright.”
He plunges his cock as deep inside me as it can go without even another moment’s hesitation.
That’s how things end here.
I am his. And he is mine.
I’m an author. I know stories, and I know how they end.
If you’re an asshole, you leave things on a cliffhanger.
If you’re a decent fucking human being, you end on something sweet and poignant. Something that ties the whole story together in a nice little bow.
Happily ever after, right?
But here’s the thing about real life: it keeps on going long after the final page is turned.
This story is over.
My ever-after couldn’t be happier if I wrote it myself.
But this adventure?
Babe, this adventure is just beginning.
Alexis and WineBar #12
Night came. And turned to day.
But the blackness on my soul never left.
I cried until I ran out of tears.
I stopped eating.
My friends began to worry.
And then one day, there was a knock on the door.
And he stood there. WineBar.
My heart stopped as he got on one knee.
“We’ll figure this out together, baby girl,” he told me, and I felt my breath stop.
“No matter the problem, it’s always you,” he continued. “It’s not over ‘til it’s over.”
Despite all the tears I had shed, I was crying again.
This time from happiness.
“We’ll need to work this out together. But we can’t give up. The road might be long, but I’m willing to try if you are.”
I nodded.
WineBar would still go to Miami.
I would still be in San Francisco.
But we weren’t giving up without a fight.
