by Nora Flite
“Bad girl,” he said, and gave me one whack against the side of my ass. “I told you not to talk.”
I bit my lip to keep myself from crying out again. My clit was swollen already against his hand. His cock was swelling too, and I felt him move his fingers into the narrow space between us, unzip his trousers, and drop them to free his throbbing member. I glanced back to catch a glimpse of it.
Then he raised his hand again and struck my asscheek, hard.
“No peeking,” he commanded. I put my head back down, closing my eyes. He rolled my panties down my thighs, leaving them tangled like rope around my knees. His cock bobbed against my ass cheek, hard as the diamond ring on my finger. Ecstasy rippled through me as he slowly slid himself inside, deeper and deeper, until he filled me to the brim.
“Oh fuck,” I whispered, and this time, he didn’t correct me, because Simon let out a low moan, too. For a moment, he was still, his cock pulsing inside me. We were connecting at every possible point, our cells moving in a dance of crazy synchronicity. Was this what marriage was going to be? Two bodies moving as one? I held my hips steady as he slowly withdrew, even though my cunt pulsed, aching for release.
“My beautiful, dirty bride,” he said, as he let out a grunt and pushed himself back inside my pussy lips. My body clenched as he filled me again. Little by little by little, he began to move faster, his hips smacking against my ass. I groaned. He did, too.
My toes were curling against the floor. In that moment, I didn’t care if Katie was on her way. I didn’t care about favors or flowers or whether my bridesmaids matched perfectly. The only thing that mattered to me was getting off.
Simon was coming close, too. His cock struggled within my pussy, veins gracing the smooth walls. I was dripping wet. Our bodies made slippery sounds as they met and drew apart, over and over again. Finally, he gave one last thrust, burying himself deeply.
It felt like he couldn’t go deeper, and he came, letting loose a strangled cry. It was that strange, vulnerable note of desire that sent me teetering over the edge. I threw my head back as my pussy clenched around him. My clit throbbed. Sweat dotted my arms. We rocked together through our orgasms. He stayed inside me for a moment, kissing my shoulders.
“I love you, Tazzy,” he murmured, as he finally withdrew himself from my quivering pussy.
“I love you, too.” As my orgasm faded, I felt his cum drip down my thighs, toward my garter. Apparently, Simon noticed, too. He bent over, guiding my panties up and trapping his seed against me. I felt my body throb and knew it would never stop.
He said, “I want you to feel me, right here, all through our vows.”
Burning with massive heat, I took a hesitant step. My inner thighs were ruined with his cum, but the dress would hide it. No one would know but me.
Simon drew away. I stood facing him. Other than a sheen of sweat on his brow, he looked hardly ruffled by our little tryst. He was pulling up his pants and buckling his belt.
“You know,” I said sweetly, “you’re always telling me what a dirty girl I am, but I think deep down, you’re the dirty one.”
Simon reached out for my slip. He handed it to me, and helped me pull it down over my corset.
“I can’t deny it,” he admitted. “But at least I’ve found my match in you.”
He leaned down and kissed me, wrapping his hands around my waist.
I heard a knock at the door. Crap, Katie. I pulled reluctantly away from his embrace.
“You’d better head downstairs,” I said, “before we miss our own wedding.”
“I wouldn’t dream of that,” he promised me, but he stole one last kiss before he pulled away. Butterflies were going crazy in my belly. Funny, how even after he’d fucked my brains out, Simon could make me feel like a lovesick teenage girl.
He went to the door, and gave me one last glance, a gleam in his eyes. “I can’t wait to see you in that dress,” he said, and then he was gone, leaving a stunned Katie standing in the doorway.
“Was that Simon?” she squealed. “Tazzy, that’s bad luck!”
I groaned. “Come help me get into my dress. It’s worse luck if we miss the ceremony.”
My best friend rushed toward me, clucking her tongue.
When I stepped through the door of the chapel, I felt all eyes on me. It was something I hadn’t dared to dream about, not since I was a little girl, not since before the divorce. And here it was, and it was more beautiful than I possibly could have imagined.
I saw my dad waiting at the altar, hands folded in front of him, tears streaming down his face. As the music started, I slipped my hand into his arm, leaned in, and whispered to him.
“Hang in there, Dad,” I said, as we took our final steps together before he gave me away. “If I could make it through giving you away at your wedding then you should be able to survive this.”
My dad chuckled a little, dabbing his eyes on his handkerchief. “I’m just an old sap,” he admitted as we stepped up to the altar. Behind us was a room full of loved ones. My parents, my friends. Cindy, who had become like a second mother to me. Simon’s mom, and her kind smile, and his dad, who was a military man with a stern expression who didn’t remind me at all of Simon. Even Jim was there, with his daughter—and his new girlfriend, who he’d met on Perfect Click after Travis had done away with our anti-dating policy.
“You’re my favorite sap,” I whispered to my dad. He gave my hands a squeeze. I could see how he was fighting a fresh wave of tears as he handed me over to Simon.
My groom was perfect beside me. He smelled fresh and clean, not like we’d recently shared a bridal suite quickie at all. I smiled, thinking of our secret and of all the secrets we were going to share over the course of decades together. I was ready for the ceremony and for our lives as a couple, a family, to commence. But then, before the music faded, Simon leaned in.
“I bet my cum is still warm against your sweet lips,” he said in a low tone meant only for me. In the photos from that day, our photographer captured that exact moment perfectly: the handsome groom, whispering something in my ear, and my eyes going wide as saucers in response.
We held the reception at the Perfect Click offices, where this whole crazy saga had truly begun. The cubes had been removed, the desks put in storage, the whole office decked out in candlelight in paper lanterns.
You could see the whole city from the back wall of windows, usually obscured by desks and monitors. It looked fantastic, and I have to say that I was a little bit surprised. After all, it’s not every day a bride gets a free wedding reception paid for by her employer and is happy with the outcome. And it’s not every day her boss gives the best man speech, either. But Travis wasn’t only my boss, not anymore. Not since he’d met Katie. The four of us had gone on a ton of double dates. Any day now, Katie was sure, he would propose. She’d cleaned him up a bit. He looked more like the brilliant entrepreneur he truly was.
“A year ago,” Travis said, and I could hear a little bit of slur in his voice as he spoke, clearly sloshed. Even Katie couldn’t help my boss hold his alcohol. He was always a wreck after two drinks. “This fucker blasted into my life and blew it apart.”
Simon grinned at the mixed metaphor and lifted his drink. “Cheers,” he said. But Travis wasn’t done yet.
“Simon, you once told me that you thought you and Tazzy should be in ads for Perfect Click. Back then, it was ridiculous. You weren’t a perfect click! You were hardly a perfect clunk!”
There were a few groans from the audience. My man Simon only chuckled, though. He seemed to genuinely like Travis’s cornball humor.
“But I gotta say, man,” Travis went on drunkenly, “you turned things around for me that day. I realized I’d been going about the whole algorithm bullshit all wrong! You can’t reduce love to numbers. Or at least, you can’t reduce it to numbers the way that I tried to, because you and Tazzy, you defied numbers. And look at you two love birds, flying.”
Simon glanced at me, his eyebrows lifte
d. I giggled and snuggled in next to him, beneath his suited arm. As cheesy as it sounded, everything Travis was saying was true. Our love had soared over the past year.
“So I tweaked the algorithm based purely on your match, and I quadrupled our sales over the course of a year!”
There was a smattering of applause. Even I clapped. Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best man speech that I always dreamed of at my wedding. It was all a little corporate for me. But then Travis let out a sniffle, raised his glass, and totally turned it around.
“You two inspire me. Thank you, man. I love you.”
Simon’s glass was lifted up high again. “Love you, too,” he said easily.
“To my banner ad couple,” Travis said. “To Tazzy and Simon.”
All around us, our loved ones lifted their glasses. We lifted ours too, clicked their edges, and drank.
“To us,” Simon agreed, and his dark eyes looked into mine, right down into my heart.
After the speeches and the cake, the dancing and the well wishes from friends, there was one last surprise waiting for me that night. We bid farewell to our parents, wished Katie and Travis the best. I thanked Jim for the lovely gift from his new girlfriend, and checked in with the dog-sitter one last time. Then I leaned into Simon and whispered in his ear.
“I think it’s time to make our exit,” I said. “The Aston Martin’s in the garage, right?”
“Right,” he said, but his eyes held a secret gleam in them. That should have been a clue.
We slipped away into the elevator together. It felt exhilarating to be alone with him in that tiny, ordinary space. And then I realized why: we were transformed, not just Tazzy and Simon anymore, but Mr. and Mrs.
“Hello, Husband,” I said, edging close to him. He slipped his arm behind my back, drawing me close. Through layers of fine cloth, our bellies touched. I felt my breath slip away, and the floor drop out from under my satin shoes. Or maybe it was just the elevator cables, slowly moving. Either way, I was dizzy with pleasure.
“Hello, wife,” he said, and he leaned down, kissing me deeply. His lips moved over my mouth, which opened to him like the petals of a flower to the morning light. I was his, forever.
The elevator dinged open. Simon glanced up, smiling coyly toward the darkness of the parking garage. I followed his gaze.
There, alone in the parking garage, bathed in a yellow circle of light from the bulb above, was a motorcycle. But not just any motorcycle. The motorcycle. A Triumph. The one I’d wanted and scrimped and saved for. I figured it would be years off, what with wedding and honeymoon expenses and our growing house fund. But there it was, waiting for me, a “Just Married” sign on the back and his and her pink and black helmets hanging off the handlebars.
I couldn’t help it. I let out a squeal of delight and rushed forward, practically abandoning my new groom.
“Simon,” I gushed. “It’s perfect. It looks just like my dad’s old one.”
“That’s because,” Simon said, taking confident strides forward, his expensive Italian shoes echoing on the concrete floor below, “it is your dad’s old bike. I tracked it down. Consider it my wedding gift to you.”
I couldn't breathe for a full minute. “He’s going to cry.”
“He did,” my husband agreed, “and then he told me that he wanted you to have it. Apparently, that was always the plan.”
Simon held out the keys for me. I looked at him, halfway not believing it. It was too good to be true.
But then, wasn't everything lately?
I grabbed the keys and sat down, hitching my dress up and straddling the seat. Simon came and sat behind me, his strong legs trapping me. He used his firm hands to brush my hair from my face, then slid the helmet down over my head. He put his on, too. I was still holding the key like a magical talisman, and maybe it was. I eased it into the ignition and turned that bike, that old friend, on.
Once I used to ride behind my father, holding on to him tight. Now Simon held me. As the engine purred, my smile grew. I eased it out of the parking garage and into a star-scattered night. The moon was big and full over us.
So was my heart.
Thanks for reading!
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~About The Authors~
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A USA Today Bestselling Author, Nora Flite lives in SoCal where the weather is warm and she doesn't have to shovel snow—something she never grew to love in her tiny home-state of Rhode Island.
All of her romances involve passionate, filthy, and slightly obsessive heroes—because those are clearly the best kind! She's always been a writer, and you'll probably have to pry her keyboard/pen/magical future writing device out of her cold, dead fingers before she'll stop.
She loves when people say hello! If you see her in the wild, walk up and start chatting. Or hey, just email her— [email protected]
www.NoraFlite.com
Allison Starwood loves bad boys whose naughty ways become even naughtier when they find their match. When she isn’t writing, hanging out with friends, or roller blading, she loves to eat chocolate chip cookies and watch football.
She loves to hear from readers! Send her an email at [email protected]! Or add her on Facebook here:
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