Her laughter bubbled, and she hugged him close. “I am the happiest lottery winner myself, then.”
“Want to take a shower?”
“Sounds good,” she said between kisses. “Give me a moment and I’ll join you. I need to de-gear.” She gestured at her skates.
He nodded and pressed one last kiss to her mouth, then bounded up from the bed, seemingly full of energy despite the intense round of sex they’d just had.
She watched him go appreciatively, enjoying the way his ass bunched and flexed as he moved. He really did have the nicest ass. Small and firm, like an apple. Then she chuckled at her own bad comparison. She slowly got up from the bed and began to unlace. She paused, then looked to the bedside table for her phone. It was there.
She grabbed it and texted Pisa.
Chesty: Who’s got two thumbs and just had amazing damn sex with her new husband?
Pisa’s reply came immediately.
Pisa: OMG!! SHUT UP! YAY!! I’m so happy for you!!
Chesty: Right? And two orgasms! Two!! One earlier in the locker room to boot!!
Pisa: So that’s what Cherry was texting me about! She said you got some in the locker room. I thought you got into a brawl!
Chesty: Nah! I GOT LAID!
Pisa: Yayyy!!! Next time we hang, drinkies are on me!
Chelsea grinned and sent a quick “bye, bitch” to her friend, then texted Gretchen, as well.
Chelsea: Remember that thing I told you about at lunch the other day? Turns out I lied. Sex with Sebastian is awesome.
Gretchen: Woohoo! Does this mean you don’t need the handcuffs? Because I will take them off your hands.
Chelsea: Uh, ew. And I’m going to keep them, thanks.
Gretchen: Party pooper. But seriously, I hope you came for days.
Chelsea: NAILED IT.
Gretchen: YISSSSSSS. GET SOME.
Gretchen: We must celebrate tomorrow with bridesmaid gown shopping. I’ll pick you up at one. You are not allowed to decline.
Chelsea: Ok! Sounds good.
Gretchen: Also go get you some more booty. The night is young!
Sounded like a good idea to her. She tossed her phone aside and finished undressing so she could join Sebastian in the shower.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gretchen stopped by Sebastian’s town house the next day right on time in a chauffeur-driven sedan. Chelsea emerged from the house in sunglasses and a hat, since there were a few photographers camped out near the door. Rufus was with her again, since the paparazzi tended to pay more attention to her when she was accompanied by a big scary bodyguard.
It was clear that Gretchen did not give a damn about photographers, though. She opened the door to the sedan and blew a party horn, then handed Chelsea a plastic crown as she got into the car.
“What’s this?” Chelsea asked, putting the crown on her head. It had a gigantic zero in the front. “We starting the bridal shower games early?”
“No! That is a ‘Congrats on the Big O’ crown!” She blew the horn again, earning Chelsea an embarrassed look from the driver and a frown from Rufus.
She giggled and adjusted the crown. It wasn’t a zero, then. It was an O. “Hooray for good sex,” she agreed.
Gretchen high-fived her. “I would have made you a cake, but that seemed cliché. And I’m dieting.”
“Still? You look gorgeous. You can come skate with me in Central Park if you want. My regular workout partner moved away.”
Gretchen made a face. “Hard pass. I think I’d rather eat salad. I’m allergic to sweating.”
“Uh huh.”
She fluttered her lashes. “This is my party anyhow. Don’t ruin it with talk of workouts and things. Let’s talk about . . .” She held up a bridal magazine. “Hideous bridal party dresses. I’m thinking something that rustles and has hoops. What do you say?”
Chelsea’s lips twitched. “I think your sister would kill you.”
“Which is half the fun, right?” She flipped through a few pages of the catalog. “I’m thinking something Grecian. One shoulder, etcetera. You have any heinous tattoos we should probably cover up?”
“Not me. Where are the others?”
“Oh, Greer was feeling a little under so she and Taylor are going to meet us at the bridal shop. Audrey’s working, of course. Kat’s in Germany for a publishing thing. Edie had a cat thing.” Gretchen flipped through a few more pages. “What about . . . Grecian and hoop skirts?”
“How about no?” Chelsea adjusted her crown.
“You might get outvoted.”
“Oh, somehow I doubt that.”
Gretchen pointed at the magazine. “You’re not jealous, are you? Of the fact that I get to be bridezilla for a year and you hauled off to New Orleans for the world’s quickest wedding? Because if you are, I can totally shut up.”
“No, I like hearing about the bridal stuff,” Chelsea said, smiling. “I don’t mind in the slightest.” Actually, her mood was pretty fucking spectacular at the moment. It felt like nothing could bring her down. “And I’m glad we didn’t have a big wedding. You saw all the photographers outside the house. That was because we quietly got married. Imagine what it’d be like if there was a big to-do?”
And it’d have taken her that much longer to sleep with Sebastian. The idea seemed criminal.
“I’m still not entirely sure why you two jumped the gun,” Gretchen said, flipping open a perfume insert in the magazine and sniffing it.
“We just . . . fell in love.” The lie felt weird on her tongue, and Chelsea frowned, her mood deflating a little. The story was starting to feel a little thin. Especially now that their relationship was moving away from just friends to something else. What were they now, exactly? Married friends with benefits? She didn’t know what to call it.
She still didn’t know what they were, and it was a little depressing, especially after last night. When they’d gotten out of the shower, they’d made love again, slow and sweet, Chelsea in her uniform once more. Then he’d held her for hours and they’d just talked while he lightly traced the veins under her skin. She’d felt cherished, adored, and loved.
Whole.
But that might all be in her imagination. He called her “baby” and “love” but she knew he didn’t think she was a baby, so “love” might have been just another pet name that meant nothing. And he only said he loved her in front of his family, when they were lying about their relationship.
And why was she so darn fixated on whether he loved her or not? Chelsea worried it was because she was in love with him, too. And that was bad news if it was one sided. Actually, it was bad news all around. Just because she’d had great sex didn’t mean she was fixed. She knew that. She still had issues. She’d still have them for a while yet. So was she clinging to Sebastian because his dick had temporarily “fixed” her?
The problem was that when she wasn’t Chesty LaRude, brutal but fun derby girl, she was a shattered mess who lacked confidence. She didn’t trust her own judgment.
Gretchen made a face and re-sealed the perfume sample. “Woof. That shit was terrible. Your soaps smell way better than any of that crap.”
“Gee, thanks.” She tuned back in to Gretchen’s chatter, watching her friend page through the magazine as the car crawled through the congested streets of Manhattan.
“Oh, speaking of soaps,” Gretchen said, glancing at Chelsea. “I want to give some rose-scented stuff away as wedding party favors. I thought it’d be kind of cool, what with Hunter so big into roses. Plus, the soaps you make are badass. You game?”
“For you? Of course!” Hearing Gretchen’s praise gave her a warm flush of pleasure. “I’ll mock up a few different scents and looks and you can tell me which ones you like the best.”
“You know your business is going to take off the moment the media gets a hold of the fact that you create artisanal soaps. I figured I’d get my request in early.”
She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Chelsea liked selling her soaps b
ecause it was relatively anonymous and a fun, laid-back job that allowed her to devote time to her true passion—derby. If her business picked up, she’d have less time for Sebastian and less time for her Rag Queens. For some reason, that made her unhappy. She’d never wanted to be a soap mogul. She’d never wanted to be rich. She just wanted something that would pay enough (and most of the time, soap making didn’t pay much at all) so she could pursue her other passions. “We’ll see.”
If Gretchen heard the hesitation in Chelsea’s voice, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she peered at an article about bridegroom gifts. “This whole thing makes me nervous, you know?” Gretchen said. “I joke about being a bridezilla, but I really want things to go well for Hunter and me. I know he’s doing the big wedding because I want one, and I feel protective of him. So I want things to be very much ‘us’ as much as they are part of the wedding. Things have to mean something. Like we’re going to have the wedding in Hunter’s gardens next summer, when the roses are blooming. I want to have a bouquet of his roses to carry. I’m going to pick everything in the menu, and I want it to be from my own recipes, not just what a caterer wants to foist off on me. I want everything to have meaning, even if I have to wrestle the jeweler and hold his arm as he creates the perfect matching bands for us.”
Chelsea smiled at her friend. It was so great that Gretchen was so excited about her wedding. “I think it sounds wonderful.”
“Which is why my soul dies a little when these magazines suggest I get him cigars or some shit as a groom present. Because the gift of lung cancer is the gift that keeps on giving, right?” She sighed unhappily. “But I don’t know what to give him, and these magazines aren’t helping.”
“Maybe a rose?”
“He can grow something better than I can get at a nursery.” She looked glum. “I just want it to be special.”
An idea hit her, and Chelsea snapped her fingers. “What about a portrait?” At Gretchen’s skeptical look, she continued. “Sebastian does art. Incredible art. Sketches, mostly, but I bet he could do a finished piece of you for your wedding. We’re trying to talk him into doing the trading cards for our derby team.”
Gretchen drummed her fingers on her lips. “Like . . . boudoir art?”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be—”
“No, I like it! And Hunter would blush like a madman, which means it would need to go in his office. Will you ask Sebastian about it?” She fluttered her eyelashes at Chelsea. “Pretty please?”
“He’s really shy about the art for some reason, but I know he would do it if it was for Hunter. I’ll tell him about it and feel him out.”
“Or feel him up?” Gretchen wiggled her eyebrows and then flicked the crown. “You’re keeping him busy.”
Chelsea grinned. “I sure am.”
The sedan parked, and Rufus and the driver got out, opening the doors for the women. They headed into the tiny bridal shop, where they were greeted by a cooing woman and ushered into a sitting room full of dresses and books. Taylor and Greer sat in the chairs, looking uncomfortable. Taylor had her phone out and was tapping busily at the screen, while Greer had a plastic garbage can held to her chin, a greenish cast to her skin.
“Oh my god, Greer, are you still sick?” Chelsea asked sympathetically. She sat down a few seats away from Greer and shook her head. “We could have rescheduled.”
“Just the car ride,” Greer said faintly, then gave them a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine in a few.”
“Wait. I thought you had the flu?” Gretchen thumped into her seat and hauled a catalog into her lap. “You said you were fine now.”
“I am fine. I was fine,” Greer corrected.
The bridal shop owner came over and clasped her hands together, giving them a bright-eyed look. “While I think about it, ladies, we have some fabulous bridal cake samples if you want to try a few flavors? It’s from a partner bakery and I think you’d love what they’ve got.”
“Ooo, cake,” Gretchen said, sitting up straighter. “Now you’ve got my attention.”
Greer made a hurking noise and clutched the bucket closer. Taylor scooted her chair a few spots away from Greer.
“Oh, damn it,” Gretchen said, her hands going to her hips. “Not you, too?”
“Not you what?” Chelsea asked.
“Fucking Greer is pregnant, too,” Gretchen grumbled. “Are all of my bridesmaids gonna end up knocked up before I go down the aisle? Because then we’re really going to have to go with an empire waist, and those look like shit.”
Greer gave them a wan smile and then began to puke again.
* * *
Several hours later, Chelsea said good-bye to Gretchen, her stomach full of cake samples and her clothes rumpled from changing in and out of dresses all afternoon. She’d tried on at least twenty different gowns, since both she and Taylor had been volunteered to be the models for the “team.” Greer had miserably puked all afternoon and ended up lying down on a sofa in the back with a wet cloth on her head. It had been a weird afternoon, but a fun one. As she entered the town house, she heard the strains of classical music through the walls, which meant that Sebastian was probably upstairs in his art room, sketching. She tossed her purse aside, pulled off the silly crown that Gretchen had given her, and headed up the stairs toward his room, thoughtful.
She couldn’t get Gretchen’s earlier comments out of her mind. I’m still not entirely sure why you two jumped the gun.
Her doubts had compounded in Chelsea’s mind until it was all she could think about. Such an innocent comment had turned into an obsession. They were together because they were faking it. Except they weren’t faking it any longer, and now Chelsea didn’t know where they stood.
And she was having all kinds of lust-and-love filled thoughts in his direction, and she still wasn’t sure if he thought they were back to the old arrangement of “just friends.”
Just friends who were married and happened to have scorching, mind-blowing sex. No big.
She was probably making too much out of it, Chelsea chided herself. She should just enjoy his company and what they had and not worry too much about putting it in the right “box.”
The music was loud enough as she went up the stairs that she doubted Sebastian could hear her come in. She glanced at his closed door, her imagination running away with her. She thought of last night, and immediately her body flushed with excitement.
Instead of heading for his study, she went to the bedroom and put on her skates and derby gear. If that didn’t signal to Sebastian “I’m feeling sexy and need you,” nothing would. And she wanted a repeat of last night’s performance. She’d been thinking about it all day.
Now she was like a kid with a new toy, and she wanted to play. And she wanted to forget her doubts. And seducing him would ease both.
Quietly, she skated down the hall and paused outside his door. The music still blasted, strains of violins and French horns filling the town house. Good mood music, she decided. She knocked on the door, and then opened it, leaning in the doorway.
He was seated at his desk, sketching. She could barely make out a familiar set of curls and a hand sliding between thighs, and a tiny, short pleated skirt. Sketching her from last night? It sent a tingle through her body in response. He glanced over at her with a faint smile, then paused when he took in her uniform, pigtails, and skates. Then, he sat back, his eyes immediately going smoky as he devoured her with a look.
She skated the few feet across the room to him and moved behind his chair. Her arms went around his front and she hugged him, pressing herself against his back.
His hand slid up her arm in a caress. “Hey, baby.”
Her hands moved down his front and she kissed his neck, even as she slid a hand down to his cock and rubbed him through the fabric. “I’m feeling frisky.”
“Yeah?” His soft whisper was just barely audible over the music. “You wanna go to the bedroom?”
She thought for a moment, and then leaned in and nipped a
t his earlobe. “I want to stay here and play with you.”
He groaned, eyes closing as he leaned back against her. It was an invitation that she could do what she wanted to him, and it was an exciting one. Her hand slid into the front of his sport shirt, undoing buttons. He never dressed like a slob, even if he was puttering around the house. Always in khakis and a nice, crisp shirt. It made her want to do naughty things to him. To dishevel him.
Really, it was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
She continued to kiss and nibble at his ear, and her hand moved under his shirt to one of his nipples. She scratched at it lightly with her nails, enjoying the hiss of air from between his teeth. She was feeling bold and sassy, and as another idea struck her, she decided to give in to it.
Chelsea skated around to his front and leaned forward, giving him a long, sultry kiss. Then, with a mischievous grin, she moved to his belt and began to undo it.
“Are you sure—”
“Shhh,” she told him, and then looked up with a grin. “I’ll be gentle.”
“You’re going to ruin me,” he said, burying a hand in her hair as she unbuckled his belt and then pulled down his zipper. “I’m going to start getting hard every time I see a skate.”
“I’m fine with that,” she teased. Her hand stroked along the front of his pants again and he felt erect. Nice. It didn’t take him long, which quickened her breath. Did her touching him arouse him so much? That was exciting. It made her pulse pound and heat pool between her legs. Touching him was turning her on, too. Almost as much as when he touched her.
She freed his cock from his clothing and took him in her hand. Definitely hard. Definitely big and delicious. She trailed her fingers over his length, teasing him, before leaning in and licking the head.
His hand knotted in her hair and he gave another wild groan. “Fuck, you’re amazing, Chelsea.”
She felt pretty amazing, too. She felt sexy and carefree.
Chelsea took him in her mouth and used her tongue to lavish attention on his cock. She paid attention to his signals, like when a particular slide of her tongue made him suck in a breath, or when dragging her lips across the fat head of his cock made him groan aloud. She wrapped her fingers around the base of him and began to pump him in time with her deep, suctioning motions. His hand grew tighter in her hair, and he started to guide her head, dragging her up and down on his cock. And oh, that turned her on, too. That he was using her to pleasure himself. If she had a free hand, she’d be touching between her legs right now.
The Billionaire Takes a Bride Page 19
