Total Trainwreck

by Evie Claire

  “Si,” Devon answers, looking deep into my eyes. “Si,” he says again. “As long as there is breath in my body.” He adds his own promise in a low whisper, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. From his breast pocket, he draws the blood-red jewelry box. The top springs open and in waning light I see the sparkling cuff from earlier. He plucks it from between velvet folds and drops the box to the ground. With one hand he unsnaps my red leather cuff. It melts off my wrist, and I feel all sorts of naked.

  The worn leather is tucked inside his breast pocket. The platinum and diamonds slide over my hand into place. He takes a palm-sized platinum screwdriver on a long chain from his pocket and secures it in place. Without that handy tool, the bracelet will never come off. It’s the closest we can get to rings. For now. I look around for something to give him. There’s nothing, and I raise my palms to my side. He drops the chain into my hand. I slide it over his neck, pull his collar out and drop it next to his skin. He smiles at me with utter contentment.

  “Beso,” the priest says slowly. Any idiot knows exactly what that means.

  The atmosphere goes electric. I realize what a pivotal moment this is in our lives. How big of a commitment we are making to one another. I place my left hand on Devon’s chest, loving how the new bracelet sparkles against his gray suit, and rise to my tiptoes in the sand. His arms circle my lower back and he pulls me into him. We stare into each other’s eyes for a brief second, both relishing the moment and wanting it to last. I close my eyes, and he pulls me closer still. Our lips share the softest meeting. No tongues in this kiss, just sweetly dampened lips.

  It’s a simple kiss, but it’s everything. Everything wrong made right. Everything lost, found. Everything broken, fixed. Never in my life did I expect a man like Devon Hayes to love me. Never did I expect my battered heart to be capable of loving any man like I love Devon Hayes.

  We still have to climb Everest before we can reach our final happily-ever-after. But it’s coming, I can feel it. In this moment, with this kiss, we promise ourselves to each other and to the shared goal of finding a way for the world to love us as much as we love each other.

  * * *

  Devon’s got me piggyback, my orchids clutched between his teeth, my shoes in one hand, carrying me up the sandy pathway. We’re all sorts of giddy, excited, cheese ball in love with each other. The diamond cuff gives me a thrill every time it slides over my wrist.

  He stops abruptly. His body goes rigid. I nearly knock my teeth out on the back of his head.

  “What?” I ask, wondering what has stolen our carefree moment. Devon peers into the filtered evening light, looking out to the beach. He releases my thighs and takes the flowers from his mouth. I slide from his back. My skirt falls in place down my legs. “What is it?”

  Silently he stares with bird dog precision into the brown darkness. I strain my eyes to see what’s got his attention. All I can find is Tiny escorting the priest down the dock for the ride back to the mainland. I put my hand on Devon’s shoulder, but it does nothing to break his concentration. Oh shit! I gasp. Have they found us? Is someone there? Watching? Waiting to ruin our world. I quickly remove my hand from Devon.

  He takes off toward the beach. First walking, then running. Nervously I shift from one foot to the other. Do I stay here? Do I follow him? Do I hide? Down on the beach, Devon is in full-on charging mode straight toward the dock. What the hell? He’s almost to the horrible HeaVon on Earth sign that welcomes guests to the island when he lowers his torso and body-tackles the wooden pole. With a crack that rings over the water, they both go sailing to the ground.

  Devon leaps up, grabbing the pole with both hands like he would strangle it if he could. Instead, he grabs both ends, steadies his foot in the middle of the pole and snaps it in half. He tosses a piece away. Again, he puts his shoe to the wooden throat of an imaginary enemy and splits it off. The rectangular sign is left in his hands. He puts a knee in the middle of it and pulls the sides. It cracks on the center line. He takes the two pieces and hurls them out to sea like Frisbees. They disappear into the darkness. Seconds later they splash down in the water. I watch silently, knuckles pressed to my lip, stunned but delighted.

  Satisfied, he returns to me, wiping his hands and smoothing himself and his suit back into place.

  “I always hated that sign. This is our island.” He puts the emphasis exactly where it belongs, his breath labored by his efforts. God, I love this man, more than the air I breathe. I lean up on my tiptoes and plant a big ole smooch on the underside of his stubbly jaw, drunkenly taking in the smell of sweat breaking over his skin. He hikes my skirt up to my waist, pushes me behind him and bends over for me to climb back aboard.

  I say nothing about his battle on the beach. That was for him as much as it was for me. A final act of defiance after marrying his lover. Fine by me. I always hated the sign anyway. What I’m wrestling with right now is how turned on I am by him and his rebel ways. If Mr. Hayes doesn’t make love to his wife in the next seven seconds, she may explode.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  How have I never been in here? I think, stepping through the doorway into Devon’s bedroom. Where Heather’s...I mean, my room is all white, sunny cheer, Devon’s room is considerably darker in a refined but masculine sort of way. The same hardwoods gleam beneath my feet and continue up the far wall to form bookshelves on either side of the huge floor-to-ceiling window. I could lift the bottom sash and step onto the porch if I wanted to. Cream stucco walls interrupted by heavy wooden beams line the side walls. The same beams form an arched nook for his bed. A spectacularly green forest view peeks in his windows.

  I grab my skirt in one hand, toss the bouquet on the bed and set off to explore. It’s relatively stark. Very few personal touches. But then again, this life hasn’t exactly been Devon’s. It’s been whatever she wanted. But not anymore. My victor’s smile is beyond wicked. I catch a glimpse of it in the full-length mirror and grin even wider. She thought she was so smart. Thought she’d bluff me away from Devon. I twist the bracelet on my wrist. Nope. I don’t go down that easy.

  “What?” I ask when I notice Devon staring at me in the mirror from across the room.

  “You are absolutely divine, Mrs. Hayes.” The name sounds so alien from his lips it doesn’t register at first. When it does, and I realize he’s referring to me, I grin like an idiot. How can I not? Hearing the possibility and promise in his voice ties my stomach in a million delighted knots, the kind that won’t come undone for weeks, if ever. The only problem is, there’s already something much deeper simmering in my belly. Something only he can fix.

  “What are you doing all the way over there, Mr. Hayes?” I turn from the mirror and crook my finger at him. His chin rises in a confident way, sizing up the game I’m playing.

  Slowly, he unknots his tie with one hand and pulls it from his neck. He tosses it onto the bed beside my bouquet. With each step toward me he frees a button on his shirt, revealing the tanned, taut chest I could lick all day long. He’s teasing me. Slow and delicious. Just the way I like it. Halfway across the room he stops, shrugs off his suit coat and tosses it over a chair back. He slicks his belt from around his waist and tosses it on the same chair. He’s standing before me barefoot with his shirt hanging open. Very little separates me from the bulge growing between his legs.

  “Deciding where I’m going to fuck my wife for the first time.”

  I startle with delight. My cheeks flush bright red. But it’s not embarrassment. It’s a carnal desire for my husband making my blood boil. I reach for the buttons that start at the nape of my neck and end at my ass crack. Too many! I think, wishing I had started this as soon as I said I do. Devon approaches and spins me away from him toward the mirror. He slides over me, his hips so close I can feel the swell in his pants.

  “Let me,” he whispers over my shoulder, pushing my hair out of the way. With one skilled ha
nd he pops the first button free. With the other hand, he bunches the skirt at my thigh and slowly begins to gather the length in his palm. The delicate lace skims over my legs, teasing with every inch. With one hand undressing from the top and one from the bottom, I have nothing to do but slide my fingers into his salt-and-pepper hair and grind my hips against him.

  The only problem is his skirt-pulling goes much quicker than his button-popping. He finds my bare thigh in seconds. His fingers are cool against skin that is boiling for his touch. I swallow a gasp and lean further into him. His hand continues up to my hip bone, searching for the thin slip of fabric holding my panties together. He finds it, fists it and it disappears.

  His hand slides back to my ass, pushing the torn panty aside. My insides are torn too. It doesn’t seem right that I can want him this much. That I can always be so ready. Every. Single. Time. Something must be wrong with me. Because I could fuck this man ten times in two minutes and still want more. I rub my thighs together and arch my back, pushing against him in all the right places. My hands slide around his neck and I pull him in for a kiss. My neck is about to break, strained over my shoulder like this, but I can’t find a way to leave his lips.

  His hand still works down my back, freeing buttons as fast as he can. His fingers find my center and push between the thighs I’ve been clenching together. A spark shoots from my sex straight up my spine, sending a quiver over my entire body.

  “I love how wet you are for me.” Devon’s fingers find what they’ve been searching for. He teases between the folds of my vagina, but doesn’t push inside. I’m desperate, breathy and panting, straining my hips further back to try to force him. “No, not yet,” he says, moving his hand away. I’m so hot I don’t even notice he’s undone my dress. He stands me up and pulls the dress from my body. I try to turn my nakedness into him, but he stops me. Instead, he places my hands on either side of the mirror. One by one, he picks up my feet to free them from the pile of lace. Carefully, he places them back on the floor spread wide. Oh, no he’s not.

  Oh, yes he is. He makes quick work of his own trouser buttons and skins his shirt. He stands behind me in all his naked glory. Without moving my hands I peer over my shoulder, biting my lip at his perfection. He’s rock hard and ready to go. I’m damp in all the right places and past ready to go.

  “I want to watch us make love as husband and wife for the first time.” He steps behind me, hands splayed over my lower belly, pulling me against his length.

  I nod, way too hot to do anything more. My mind is already in free fall, knowing his entering me is the only thing that will make it stop. I whimper an answer. He smiles, playfully nibbling my ear. A hand traces down my thigh. He pushes me into the glass until I’m pinioned between its icy cold and his radiating heat. God, the sensation! Fire and ice. His hands run down my arms, tongue runs over my ear. Gripping my wrists, he lifts them above my head and places the palms flat on the mirror, shoulder width apart. “When we start, you push back into me.” He whispers my instructions and a shiver quakes through my body.

  His hands are on my thighs again. He bends at the knee, pushes between my thighs and lifts me off the ground. “Hmm...this isn’t going to work.” He disappears. I’m about to bend over and puke from all the tension built in my poor belly when he materializes once more. In his hands he holds my blue Louboutins. “Put these on.” He drops them to the floor and I do as I’m told.

  Any girl who’s ever fucked in nothing but stilettos knows that the act of slipping into them—when you’re butt-ass naked and about to come all over yourself—is hands down the sexiest thing in the world. Devon knows this, too. A groan rumbles from his chest, a moan from mine. He takes my hips in his hands again, slowly parting my feet with his. I’m now tall enough that with a quick dip he finds and enters me.

  “Argh!” I moan with the force of every exploding nerve ending in my body. My head flies forward, knocking against the mirror.

  “Relax into me,” he instructs. I’m tensed from the uncertainty of the position. He takes a step back, coaxing me into him. I arch my back, forcing my pussy out, and open my thighs to settle further over him. He slides deeper. I widen my stance, knowing that by the end of this I’ll be holding on for dear life. He’s got a death grip on my hips, pulling me against him, refusing to let me fall. “I’ve got you,” he says again. I trust him, relaxing completely over his cock.

  He begins to move, slowly at first, each thrust coaxing a moan from deep inside me. I try to lean back and kiss him, but it just doesn’t work. Not in this position. Instead, I bite my shoulder, and push so hard against the mirror it may break.

  “Look at us!” Devon growls in my ear. I open my eyes and look forward. My breasts slam into the mirror every time he enters me. They jiggle like gorgeous milky jugs. My skin is pale compared to Devon’s. My eyes deep green to his vibrant blue. My blond hair falls over my shoulders and tangles in the stubble of his beard. This is us. This is us as husband and wife making love for the first time.

  I’m not prepared for the sensation that claims my insides. I’m nowhere near orgasm, but seeing us like this and knowing what it means pulls a clenching sensation from deep inside me. I tighten around his length. His thrusts grow faster. “Is this how you like to be fucked, Mrs. Hayes?”

  At the word fuck I clench again. He fills me on the next deep thrust and hits the swollen spot that makes me explode. I groan against the mirror, pushing into him to feel every pulse, loving the icy cold pressed against my cheek and the heat of our body-slicking sweat against my back. Over and over I quake and quiver with the throbbing of his length. When it eases I hang limply in his arms. Sensing I need a break, but not ready to release me just yet, he carefully rights me.

  My knees buckle, but I hold tight to the mirror. He takes me in his arms. My frozen front hits his blazing torso. The sensation is euphoric. He holds me close, lifting me and wrapping my legs around his waist. He carries my spent body to the bed, clearing the flowers and his tie with one sweep. He carefully lays me over the soft white sheets.

  “You okay?” he asks. All I can do is nod. How could I not be okay? The mattress shakes. His body covers me. Its heat and weight push life back into my rubbery bones. I raise my knees to the sides to make room for him. I turn the corner from orgasm bliss and regain my senses. I lace my fingers through his hair, pulling hard at the back of his head like I know he loves.

  “I’m better than okay.” My weak smile says it all. And the moment the tip of his penis reaches my center, I’m ready to go again. He pushes into me, the slickness of my first orgasm coating the way. He fills me deep and full, pushing out a moan. I throw my head back and let it slide from my throat in a slow, hypnotic wave.

  His tongue finds the shallow dip where my neck meets my chest. It slides up and finds my mouth coming down. Our lips work together, reviving me further.

  We pick up the familiar rhythm of us. In and out. Building a fire in both of us again. I pull him to me. Pull my husband to me. He’s close, growing larger with every push. He takes my hand from his hair, clutches it and pins it to the mattress under his. Our fingers intertwine. He squeezes my hand and I know he’s about to come.

  “Come with me,” he coaxes, cooing into my ear. He releases my hand and reaches down for my ankles. Conscious of my heels, he raises my legs until the backs of my thighs lie over his abdomen and my knees drape over his shoulders. He plunges into me and in this new position his cock pounds my G-spot with every thrust. I’m already swollen from the first orgasm. Already primed for another. “Carly,” he says. My breathing picks up. My heartbeat pulses with his every thrust.

  I cry out, a low and hollow sound. It’s coming. And it’s going to be huge. He feels me heating around him and picks up speed. Again and again, he hits the spot and my entire body clenches. I grab his shoulders, pulling him into me, wanting to feel him next to me when we come.

  He falls throug
h my legs, his warmth lying over my chest again. Our lips lock together. With the next thrust we both blow. Moans and groans rip through the night air. His body is heavy on top of mine. When the spasms release our bodies, we relax into the sheets. Our breath rocks our sweat-soaked bodies. We’re too exhausted to move. I kick my heels off, kiss him gently on the cheek, snuggle my arms around him and fall asleep with my husband’s cock still inside me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Forty-eight hours away from this frozen wasteland isn’t enough. You can’t take a girl to an island, marry her in secret, fuck her newlywed brains right out of her head and expect her to be excited about coming back to subarctic weather. Ugh! The only bright spot in my life is the serious bling my Mediterranean husband locked onto my left wrist. I cannot get enough of this thing. I play with it more than I played with my old leather cuff. It is beyond gorgeous.

  “Whew!” A makeup artist holds up her hands to keep from going blind when the sun hits my diamonds and beams a ray of light into her eye. “That thing is dangerous!” she teases, leaning over to admire my new jewels. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Cartier,” I say, casually holding up my wrist like it’s nothing and everything. A stylist walks over to join the admiring.

  “Gorgeous,” she agrees. “But we need it off for this scene.” She hangs my next costume on a nearby rack. I look down at my wrist. Fuck. I don’t have the key to get this thing off. Devon does. And that is a secret these peons absolutely cannot know.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to find a way to work around it. Without the key, these bracelets don’t come off.”

  “But...” The stylist is totally caught off guard by my response. Everyone’s used to the new Carly, so when this older version rears her bitchy head they’re clueless. “We have to have it off.”