One Night Bride

by Sarah J. Brooks

  I was really enchanted with Arcadia. She wasn’t intentionally flirting, although it sure looked like it. She was being her – light, breezy, fun, making everyone in her world feel special. That was her superpower I came to realize while she innocently looked over a huge book of tattoos he’d produced out of the blue.

  As her fingers grazed over half-naked fairies and dangerous looking dragons, it landed squarely on a dolphin diving out of the water with a full moon at its back. It was simple, elegant, and beautiful. If she was going to have something permanent on her body, a budding marine biologist would be wise to choose such a tattoo. Her eyes lit up when she saw it.

  “That’s the one,” she glowed and sparkled, having found something perfect. “Is that something you can do?” Her voice was sweet and almost pleading.

  “Of course it is,” the tattoo guy’s eyes gleamed with pride. “Where do you want it?” His eyes angled to her breast, and he lifted his hand to her as if he was going to touch it, but instead touched the skin above. “It would look nice here.”

  The fuck it will asshole, get your hands off her.

  “Hmm,” she squirmed, as her tiny flowing dress danced about her, gracefully. She glanced down at herself, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I had to be a part of this, the way the tattoo guy was touching her, thinking he may have had a chance in hell with her had me wanting to brandish a sword and come out swinging. I was ready to defend the honor of a woman I’d known all of one and a half hours. I tried to think of the safest place he could give her a mark, and despite my earlier thoughts against it, I figured the ankle was the least sexy place on her body.

  “I think you should get a small one on your ankle, sweetheart,” I suggested, angling in closer. “That way if you want to cover it up, just wear socks.”

  Her lovely face broke into a smile as she considered my suggestion.

  “Or on your breast and just wear a bra,” the tatted Neanderthal threw out there.

  I gave him a look that stabbed his face with daggers. “I think I might get one too,” I said, sliding the book away from Arcadia.

  “Really?” Her eyes lit up.

  “Really!” I glared at the tattoo guy.

  I expected him to back off, but instead, he puffed up and became twice his size. I wasn’t too keen on him taking a needle to my skin, but the drink was making me bolder than I should’ve been.

  “In fact, sweet, I’ll go first,” I said, taking off my sports coat and folding it neatly over the tattered vinyl and steel chair.

  The place oozed with dark sexual energy, and I hated to think what may have been done on the chairs. A dry cleaner was definitely going to be in my near future.

  The tattoo guy regarded me with a deep lack of enthusiasm. “What do you want?” he sneered.

  I rolled up my sleeve. “The name Arcadia tatted across my bicep in” I drew the book to me and flipped to the fonts, “Angel Tears.” It seemed melancholy but appropriate. I liked the look of the lettering.

  “Oh, my God, X,” Arcadia exclaimed, shortening my name to a monstrous misnomer. I was no ‘X.” I was hardly cool enough for such a moniker, and yet out of her gorgeous mouth, it was so fucking sexy.

  “It’s beautiful,” her eyes misted over in an intoxicated haze.

  This was fun, my cock was searing my pants, and I was pretty sure getting Arcadia’s name tattooed on my bicep was going to get me a free pass to wonderland. I’d be fucking her within the hour. That thought alone was worth the excruciating pain I endured. Goddamned fuck it hurt. I’m pretty sure my rival, the tattoo guy, was going for maximum pain and discomfort. When it was all done, however, his work wasn’t half bad. I had a delicate and highly painful reminder of the night emblazoned on my bicep forever. Arcadia

  Arcadia cooed with joy when she saw the raw and welted mark. She bent over and landed a tender kiss on the emblazoned tattoo, and I felt my cock jump. It was worth it, I told myself, feeling slightly less drunk and a little more panicked when I shifted out of the chair light-headed and woozy and she took my place. I sat down and watched as her sex appeal oozed all over the room. She decided the tattoo should go on her ankle. The Tattoo Guy thought her inner thigh was a better choice, clearly suggesting this to piss me right the fuck off.

  I stood and hovered when he spread her legs, her dress lightly lilting off her knees and sliding up her thighs. I had an incredible view of her purple silk panties and the magnificent slope of her inner thigh blazing a trail to the heaven between. I leaned over the Tattoo Guy’s shoulder nudging him slightly as I righted her dress and placed it back over her knees again. With my free hand, I flailed for a chair, snagging the armrest with my fingertips and dragging it over to her. I could see the fear in her eyes as the Tattoo Guy’s forward moves were subtly unsettling and, like mine, her buzz was probably fading, and she was losing the nerve. As soon as I pulled my chair closer, she relaxed.

  “You’re doing great honey,” I encouraged as I smoothed my hand over her bare arm. My movements were slow and sensual; she melted.

  “Mmm,” she whimpered.

  It was part moan and part shriek of terror stifled behind lips and teeth. I knew the feeling.

  “It doesn’t hurt that much. You’ll get used to it,” I said seductively as I whispered in her ear.

  “Yeah, I promise to go slow,” the Tattoo Guy said, sounding too fucking sexual.

  I moved in closer.

  “Just relax,” he said as he fired up the tattoo machine and gently placed it on her skin.

  Her back arched with the unexpected pain, and I grabbed her hand, holding her close as she bit down hard on her lip. It was an image I couldn’t get out of my head. I wanted to see that exact face when my cock impaled her for the first time. There was no denying my arousal as the cock which was raging for an impaling was bulging noticeably through the fine wool of my latest design in casual trousers. Tattoo Guy’s dick wasn’t any less prominent; the only difference was mine was going to score and his wasn’t. There was no way I was leaving Vegas without a thorough excavation of Arcadia Jones’ pussy.

  “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” Arcadia writhed in the chair.

  On impulse I leaned into her mouth, giving her a hot sensual kiss. My tongue deftly slid in behind her teeth and probed her soft, wetness. She moaned into my open mouth as her body bucked toward me.

  “Hold still,” the now very perturbed sounding Tattoo Guy barked.

  I was having fun as my hand found its way to Arcadia’s thigh and I gently drew her dress up her leg, giving the Tattoo Guy a glance at something he was never going to have. With the way Arcadia was mewling, I could only imagine he could also see and smell the dampness wetting her as I continued to work my tongue around her mouth; pulling out and pressing back in between gentle kisses on her lips, cheeks, and neck. She was a swirl of hot energy igniting under my attention.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed out nearly inaudibly.

  All of this was far from normal for me. I mean, turning a woman on was right up my alley, but kissing her while her legs were spread in front of a tattoo artist sure was a first. It was a bit debaucherous even for me. I usually took a woman out for an incredible meal, shuffled her around a dance floor or schmoozed our way through a party, always ending up in a penthouse suite at a five-star hotel for the night. I never took the women I bedded home with me. Home was my sanctuary; home was where I could be myself and no woman, at least none I’d ever met since Lauren, was worthy of knowing my home address.

  As I continued to kiss Arcadia, she was delightful but drunk. She had such incredible potential, but that was it. She was a lit-up billboard on the strip, sexy, airbrushed, and perfect fantasy. The tattoo only took about twenty minutes, and I could tell the Tattoo Guy had quickly become annoyed with us, so he sped things along. Luckily, he was good at his work, or I would have refused to pay, considering his chair-side manner was so deplorable. I’m sure we left him with a nice visual to jack his boner off to, as his cock was so prominent it looked painful; I
felt victorious.

  Chapter 4

  Arcadia

  The mind-numbing dizziness of drink started to cool as did the bright red lines of the tattoo on my ankle. It really hurt, but it was beautiful. It gave me a sense of peace. Even though it was painfully swollen and was something I’d never considered doing in a million years, I was actually happy. It symbolized my ability to achieve my dreams. Tonight was unexpected. I would have never believed in a million years that I’d be getting a tattoo with Xavier Dean. And because I would never have believed it, I wasn’t planning on telling anyone because they would certainly never believe it either.

  I looked at Xavier, focusing my mind and my eyes on his sensually soft lips. He kissed me all through the tattooing experience; it was the most romantic and sexy thing I’d ever experienced in my life. My heart was still leaping out of my chest. I could barely breathe as he regarded me with lust laden expectations that had my insides clenching. I knew we would probably end the night in bed together; however, it would be my first and hopefully only one-night stand.

  I really wasn’t the kind of person to do something like that. I’d never given myself the chance. But there he was staring at me, glassy-eyed and heavy breathing. All I could think about was his muscular chest and large perfectly sculpted arms scooping me into an embrace, while I rocked against his staggering cock, protruding eloquently from his pants.

  The air was electrified with our sensual need for one another.

  “So,” he said moving in closer to me and segueing my mind from my fantasies, “I believe I’ve paid for my abysmal loss.” He rubbed my arm gently as he stood near enough for me to smell the fading perfume of his woodsy scented cologne.

  My heart fell hearing him say something that could easily turn into ‘goodbye.’ Even though his body language wasn’t telling me our night was over, his words seemed to be heading in that direction.

  “My arm clearly states your name, Arcadia.” He angled his perfectly formed bicep toward me.

  I laughed uncontrollably. I couldn’t believe Xavier Dean had my name tattooed on his arm! That alone was enough to make me wet, but I squared my shoulders to him and narrowed my eyes wearing a playful smirk.

  “Your debt is not exactly paid,” I noted, adopting a feigned regal tone.

  “What the hell is this?” he played along, pressing his tattooed bicep in closer.

  I thought he might get angry, but he was laughing.

  “Phase one,” I smiled devilishly.

  “I am not drunk enough for any more phases, let’s fix that first.” He returned my devilish smile as he looped his arm around my elbow and escorted me to the Venetian for another round of drinks.

  “I’ll drink with you sir,” I said, trying to keep stride with his brisk gait, “but if you want me to put out tonight, we’ll have to get married. I don’t do one-night stands; I’m a good girl.” I laughed, it was all so much fun.

  “What phase would marriage be?” he asked, his eyes expectant and eager.

  “Oh, three or four,” I oozed with sly sensuality.

  “It’s going to be a long night,” he exhaled but didn’t break his fast-paced clip. Someone was very eager to get into my pants.

  Power felt good. I never really had much of it, so having him so wrapped around my finger, albeit a drunken digit, was exciting. I shifted my hips making sure to wiggle my body in such a way that everything moved sensuously as we nearly sprinted to the bar.

  Once inside, we found a quiet corner amid the clanking and noise. He stared at me with carnal desire. While he was a true gentleman and a famous fashion designer, staring at him now in the low lighting, he looked almost feral.

  “Let’s get drinks,” I flirted as I eased my hand languidly over his chest.

  Heat radiated off him, and despite the gnawing pain in my ankle, nothing was more distracting than my thought of tucking my head into that chest as he pulsed into me, deeper and deeper. The idea of it sent a shiver down my spine. He twitched as if he felt it or was experiencing a similar attraction. We were drawn to each other in a way that was untamed and inexplicable. I leaned in and offered another kiss, making sure to savor the taste of him. His hand snaked around my back and gently caressed up and down as he traced the bones in my spine, drifting dangerously downward until it smoothed over the orb of my ass cheek.

  “Let’s order,” he whispered, breaking from my kiss.

  I let my hand fall lightly from his chest, purposely dance across his cock as I turned to the bar. Fuck he was big. I’d never had a man with so much manhood. Copping one tiny feel was enough to know he was massive; my body trembled at the idea of trying to wrestle his size. It was a challenge I was fearfully more than ready to accept.

  Xavier ordered us expensive cocktails. I knew we didn’t really need to drink more, but it seemed the two of us were experimenting with a kind of reckless abandon neither of us ever tried. Nothing made you braver than a Belvedere on the rocks with a splash of cranberry. The little cups of liquid silver were served in frosted martini glasses rimmed with sugar. The first sip was heaven, the next three glasses; euphoria. Xavier definitely lived on the top shelf and knew how to spend his money. He also knew how to get a woman gracefully drunk off her ass.

  It was delightful not having to worry about my budget for a minute. Although my dad would pay, especially for a dad and daughter weekend he’d promptly disappeared from, there were always strings attached. While there was a very big and blatant string attached to the cold glass of liquid deliciousness in front of me, it was one I didn’t mind being tethered to. Sleeping with a sexy, famous, clothes designer, who was witty, funny, and had your name tattooed on his arm was definitely a turn on. And if I didn’t want to spend the night with him, no amount of money would stop me from saying “no” and walking away. A drink and a tattoo are not enough payment for an unwanted sexual encounter. But at that moment, staring into his mesmerizing eyes, there would be nothing unwanted between us.

  “So, cetaceans? Tell me more.” He angled into me again, drink in one hand and in the other my inner thigh, his finger swirling lazily.

  It was sweet how he wanted to know more about what I was interested in and hard to focus with all the sexual need he was firing up in my pussy; so dangerously close to it as his finger was.

  “I think whales are sentient beings. You just have to look into their eyes and know they’re as intelligent and even perhaps more intelligent than we are.” I took a sip of my drink, hoping I hadn’t started boring him with my talk of sea creatures. “When we tag gray whales, they usually come up to us, we don’t have to chase them down at all. The same with orca and humpbacks, they all want a connection and to communicate with us in some way. It’s hard to describe exactly, but it’s magical. It’s like they let you into their world when you look in their eyes like they’re inviting you into a sacred place.” I flashed him an alluring smile, and he chuckled.

  “It’s funny how you make whales sound sexy.” His voice lowered into a steamy rasp as his hand slid up farther, nearing the danger zone.

  I eyed him with teasing scorn, not quite ready to go where he was headed, and he backed off a little, yet kept his strong domineering, “I am a famous fashion designer, hear me roar,” kind of vibe going. His eyes playfully met mine. Maybe not now, but soon, they seemed to say.

  “So tropical print shirts, tell me what that’s all about?” I asked moving him away from talking about me.

  I worried the conversation might get even more boring if we stayed focused on me and my interests. I wasn’t a whale whisperer yet. I worked at my dad’s surf shop teaching surfing lessons during the week. On the weekends, I was scrambling home to jump on my computer and finish assignments for my master’s degree in marine biology. I scrimped and saved every single dime to pay for my master’s and my life because I didn’t want my dad doing it. I needed our finances to be mostly separate. I am old enough to live on my own, was what I constantly told him when he offered to pay.

  I was foc
used on just making it in the world, not much room for excitement sadly. My work with the whales was amazing, but it was my thing. I’m sure a trendsetter like Xavier couldn’t give a shit, relegating whale conservation to tacky whale watching trips and horrific aquatic park exhibits. Both of which were awful at best but also were the reason I was interested in whales in the first place, so they held a conflicted soft spot in my heart. My dad used to take me to things like that all the time when I was young. I was his precious little girl then. I still am, but maybe I am too precious to him now; he was controlling and mean at times.

  I was his only child. My mom left us when I was nine months old, and he stepped up to the plate. I appreciated him for that. He hated my mom, but over the years when he talked about her I realized he had hated her long before I came along, and it seemed the feeling was mutual. I never heard from her and knew nothing about her other than she was a “lying, cheating, whore.” Dad’s words. All of it made me just want to work, studying and readying myself for my future. Xavier Dean, the Belvedere on the rocks and his wandering hand was a nice distraction. I hadn’t realized it, but I really needed a break from my life.

  My dad wasn’t a horrible guy, not by most people’s standards, and he was extraordinarily wealthy, which a lot of people thought was a total bonus, only I didn’t, I hated it. He had businesses all along Southern California, all kinds of little shops and cafes, nothing too big; most of his businesses were rinky-dink, beachside dumps. I often wondered where his money came from. His dealings with people weren’t always on the level. There was often a parade of well-dressed men and some women frequenting his establishments with tons of money, which would come in and not go out. My mind didn’t really understand much of it, but I didn’t see any goods being traded for the vast sums of cash in different currencies that would come in after hours.

  I didn’t have the cunning to really know what was happening, and my dad made sure to tell me it wasn’t any of my business, so I left it alone and just sat with the uneasy feeling it gave me. Apparently, our dad and daughter weekend was also going to be paired with a business meeting. He was trying to set up some wind energy thingies off of Dana Point, so this weekend he’d also be meeting with investors. This was the reason I was sitting across the room from Mr. McDreamy Designer instead of seeing Cirque Du Soleil. My dad had been too late after the meeting, and the show already started. I waited for him too long to get tickets before they all sold out.