by Poppy Dunne
“You need to get their voices out of your head,” Ben whispers, pulling me closer. His lips brush against mine as he speaks, sending waves of heat rippling through my body.
“Twenty-nine years of passive aggressive assholery will stick with a person.”
“How about some new information, then?” Ben’s eyes crinkle. “Two truths and a lie time?” What, so he’s finally playing my twisted little game? Me likey.
“Okay.” I tilt my head in a way that is study-tested to be adorable. “Go on.”
“First, I once went snowboarding in Colorado, and ended up going down the entire mountain on my ass.” He laughs, the rich sound reverberating through his chest. “Trying to impress some girl, and I ended up shooting past everyone headfirst, screaming down the mountain. Then she hooked up with one of my friends instead, so at least I got him lucky.”
“She must’ve been really amazing, this girl,” I say.
“She was. I have a thing for hot brunettes,” he whispers, his teeth gently grazing my earlobe. My pulse hammers in my chest, and I groan as I slide my hand up his arm, hanging it around his neck. Sometimes, this guy knows exactly what to say.
“Second?” I ask. God, even his aftershave smells like good endorphins and pine tree. Can I bottle him? Bottle him and never let him leave?
“Second thing. I only moonlight as a room service waiter, because I’m secretly worth ten million dollars.” He can’t even get that part out before he’s laughing. I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from losing it, so I know the feeling.
“Okay, no. You need to choose a lie that’s even semi-realistic.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Harrington,” he growls, trailing a hand down my back to cup my ass. Hot damn, my libido is priming itself. I sit up more, hitch a leg over his, and now I’m right at face level, my eyes on his.
“I’m glad that’s a lie,” I say quietly, toying with a small, curling bit of hair at his neck. “The last thing I want is some asshole like the assholes I grew up with. I swear to god, if money isn’t the root of all evil, it’s the root of most assholes.”
Ben kisses me then, biting my lip. My insides melt and pool within me as his lips graze my jaw, then my throat.
“Number three,” he growls, “is that I’m with a woman who has no idea how desirable, or wonderful, or drunk she is.”
“No, I have some idea. About the third one, at least,” I say, giddy, as Ben lays me down on the cushions. His gaze burns into mine, pinning me to the spot. I inhale sharply as he leans down and trails kisses along my neck, down to the little triangle of skin visible where my neckline ends. His hands trail up and down my calf, teasing me.
“I’m with a woman who believes only the worst things about herself, and the people she’s with.” Okay, this is now getting a little heavy. Ben frowns down at me. “She thinks everyone’s out to get everyone else, hurt everyone else. She doesn’t understand that the world doesn’t operate like her family, and that leads to bad situations.”
“Like what?” Like being spread eagled in a games room in a public hotel? No, this is actually one of the few good things to come out of this whole shitshow.
“Like pulling away from me, and thinking I don’t notice. Like believing I’m still only doing this for the money,” he growls. Damn.
“Are you a psychic?”
“Like I said. I read people. I know what they want, and what they’re afraid to ask for.” He leans forward again, claiming my mouth aggressively with his. This time, the kiss is searing hot, demanding, desiring. “I’m not looking to run away from this with three hundred dollars. How does that make you feel?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper.
Every nerve in my body seems to explode at the same moment.
“How does that make me feel?” I pause a moment, considering. “Horny.” Damn. Well, at least I’m being honest. Ben responds to this with a wicked grin.
“Then let’s see what we can do about that,” he says. His fingers stroke down my bare leg, hitching up my skirt, all the way to the line of my panties and…there. He’s found the magic spot. As he slides one finger underneath the thin, lacy material and begins to circle my clit, I gasp softly. I start clutching at the table next to me, trying to steady myself. This is insane. We should be upstairs, in a bedroom, the lights out and New York City in the background the way god intended. What if someone finds us? What if it’s a member of my family??
What if I don’t even care?
Ben smiles as my hands move up to his shirt, unbuttoning fast. That glorious, sculpted physique of his is back on display. I run my hands down his chest, his abs, until I find my way to his belt and get to unbuckling. Meanwhile, his fingers find a steady, teasing rhythm, and I’m suddenly so wet I can’t think of anything except having him inside of me right now.
“Take your time,” he murmurs, pulling a condom out of his pocket. Holy shit, he really does come prepared.
“You must know how easy I am by now,” I say, grinning as he tugs my panties off. Then he frees himself—still perfect, still awe-worthy—and rolls the condom on.
“No. I just want you so badly,” he whispers, easing himself on top of me. He slides my shirt up, kissing down my throat before lavishing attention on my breasts. He kisses my skin so soft and slow that I get goosebumps, the tight ache between my legs growing unbearable. “I spent the entire day hoping I’d find you like this again,” he says. “Wanting me. Wanting this.”
He reaches around me and unhooks my bra with one expert motion. Then he frees my left breast first, my nipple peaking and hardening as he licks it, bites down on it. I close my eyes and whimper, already feeling myself on the cusp.
When he stops, I look up at him and find him gazing at me, eyes dark with intense desire. “Alex,” he groans, his cock pressing against my wet, ready opening. Before I can respond, he thrusts into me, hard and deep, filling me completely.
“Fuck yes,” I moan, gripping his shoulders and letting myself enjoy how perfect he feels inside me. He slides out a little, then back in, out and in, teasing me with slow, shallow strokes until I’m out of my mind with need. “More,” I beg. “I want all of you.”
I gasp as he slams into me with another perfect thrust and then starts to ride me, harder and faster. The old wooden bench beneath us is creaking. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t end up breaking the damn thing. But right now, I couldn’t care less about that. I wrap my legs around him, driving him as deep inside of me as he can go. We stay locked together, staring into each other’s eyes as he moves and I grind against him, syncing with his steady rhythm.
It feels like he’s truly watching me. Really appreciating what he sees. I’ve never had this with any other man I’ve been with. It’s something new, and I’m pretty sure I’m already addicted to it. I’m bad that way.
“You can let go,” he whispers, his mouth claiming mine in a scorching kiss as he pounds into me harder and faster. The spiraling, unraveling feeling is pulsing through me again, and this time I’m not holding back. I groan against his mouth as the orgasm swells, crests, on the verge of breaking. My nails dig into his biceps as I ride it down, clinging to his body and trying to stifle my desperate moans as I come so hard I swear I see stars. An instant later, he gasps and shudders as he finishes, and then we’re lying there tangled up together. The sweetness is still radiating through my body, and I feel him take my hand in his as I try to catch my breath. I swear to god, I’ve never had an endorphin high like this before. Ben kisses me, my neck, my chest. I twine my fingers through his hair. We’re both now disheveled as all hell. But who cares?
Maybe this isn’t the one and done deal I thought it was. Maybe we’ve got a chance, after all this is over.
I clear my throat, pushing the thought away before I say something I’ll regret later. Ben speaks first. “We’d better get back to the party. I’m sure someone’s started playing the bagpipes by now.” He sits up, buttoning himself and trying to look somewhat presentable. “That’s what you t
ypes of folks always do, right? Play bagpipes. Play golf.”
“Play with the economic future of nations. All of that is true,” I say, feeling around in the dark for my panties. I find them, slip them on, reclasp my bra, and boom. Good to go. “We should do this more often.”
“Fuck secretively in expensive places?” Ben pulls me against him, my back to his chest, and kisses my neck. That feels explosively nice. “That could be arranged.”
Together, we slide open the wooden door and step back out into the game room proper. I freeze, because a couple of elderly people are standing over the shuffleboard, eyeing us. These are classic white-haired, old FDR Democrat types. The woman looks over to her husband sternly.
“I want to try whatever’s in there,” she says. Her husband looks askance at us.
Lady, you’re welcome to it. Best of luck.
16
Here are the things you’re not going to like about the day of your brother’s wedding: you’ll get three phone calls at six thirty in the morning from the front desk, reminding you that your mother is forcing them to do this and have you at least brushed your teeth yet? You’ll be sitting in your future sister in law’s suite about twenty minutes after the final call, getting a face full of makeup. You’ll be reminded that those crow’s feet are beginning to form, and that preventative Botox might be the only way you’ll still have an acceptable face in four years. You’ll have to spend time with a bunch of women you barely know, and who your sister in law barely knows, listening to them debate who has the best pair of Spanx.
You’ll wonder if you should’ve bought a pair of Spanx.
But some good things will happen too. And these include the fact that you get to spend time with said sister in law, passing her iPod back and forth and listening to Alice Cooper while doing as much head banging as you’re allowed. Your future sister in law will probably curse at something, making one of the bridesmaids blanch and grab her phone to look up what half of those words meant. The makeup actually gets rid of the dark circles under your eyes. There are also mimosas. And bellinis. And just straight champagne right out of the bottle, fuck it, it ain’t my wedding.
“Should you really be doing that?” Mom tsks as I wipe a little Dom Perignon off my chin while Katie snorts happily. The stylist team Mom hired has her stretched out between them right now, her hair being curled in a million different directions, her arms in some kind of weird bondage stirrup device to reshape her body fat at the eleventh hour. It’s like some weird sci-fi contraption, a Brideception if you will.
Sometimes I wish Katie and Rollie had just eloped, and I think they feel the same. Again, though, they would’ve been chased all over the earth by my mother. And Mom has a million frequent flyer miles, so she’d catch them without breaking a sweat.
“I live on the edge. I’m like the wind, baby,” I tell my mother, passing Katie the bottle. She tries to chug, but Mom snatches it away. Katie whimpers, and if she didn’t have some kind of weird leather chinstrap holding her face in a perpetual smoosh, she’d probably launch herself after the booze.
“It’s her wedding day!” I cry as Mom marches off, muttering to herself. I guess drinking gives brides wrinkles or some other bullshit.
“Don’t worry. She won’t be able to stop me when I’m pregnant,” Katie calls, waiting to see if the shot lands. From the tinkling of glass in the living room, I’d guess Mom knocked something over. If it was expensive, that’s double plus good.
“How you feeling?” I ask Katie. One nice thing about my admittedly very tasteful bridesmaid gown is that it’s real easy to curl up in. It’s a sort of Grecian inspired get up, a light pink/coral color with one sleeve, and the front folds in really elaborate drapery. I get onto the edge of the bed and kneel beside her.
“I’ll feel better once I take this fuckin’ dress off,” Katie says, eyeing some chocolate cupcakes next to her with longing. She’s not going to be able to get them. Mom threatened to fire anyone who let chocolate near the gown.
And the dress is a truly massive affair. I didn’t know that a.) there was that much white tulle in the world, and b.) that it was legal to put all of it on one human woman. Katie’s also got some mega puffed, 1980s fabulous sleeves, which I swear Mom ordered just to screw with her. Either that, or she’s fully committed to Princess Diana’s gown, and will stop at nothing to see that it’s remembered by a new generation.
“You just need to get through the ceremony. And the reception. Then you come up here, change into some shitkicker boots and a ripped-up top with no bra, go downstairs and punch everyone in the stomach before you leave.”
“You always know the right things to say, Alex.” She beams at me. I peek over my shoulder, grab a cupcake and paper plate, and cut into said cupcake. Good lord, it’s just freshly baked. What kind of monster denies a woman chocolate on her wedding day? There ought to be a law.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” I mouth as I feed her one forkful at a time. Katie’s eyes bulge, and she is practically licking the air like a hungry dog, waiting for the treat. The stylists make tutting, fretting noises, but I give them the silent stink eye. They can go back to puffing up women at Vera Wang’s studio or wherever they came from if they don’t like the sight of a soon-to-be-married woman pigging out on cake. Besides, Mom doesn’t need to know. Although if she does find out, I’m probably going to have to change my name and hide out in some foreign country without extradition.
While this is going on, my phone buzzes on the table next to us. Katie looks over at it and grins. “Someone’s got a text from a certain Ben. With a winky emoticon.”
My god, he’s back to the wink. I think I’m going to melt.
“A lady never tells about her emoticons,” I say, though my heart beats faster when I hear the buzz again. Fork still in hand, I glance at the phone. Ben’s been texting me since he left the room this morning. After another athletic round two in my hotel room, we both fell asleep tangled in each other. I pouted when his alarm went off, even earlier than my wake up call. But he said he had to get to work, that it was a big day for him because of a meeting, but that he’d be back in time for the ceremony. And that he might have a surprise.
If it’s a surprise that comes with another clothes tearing, scream-inducing orgasm, I am on board with this new plan. I love surprises.
“You’ve got it bad, lady.” Katie winks at me. “I know I’m starting to sound like a busted mp3 player, but I’m really happy for you.”
“Is it wrong to be pretty happy for myself?” I ask as I quickly text Ben back. Just a demure, small-smiled emoji. You don’t want to overcommit yourself with a heart. This is the modern age, after all. A lady needs to keep both feet on the ground. Otherwise, any rake with a fully functioning iPhone 7 can waltz in and send her into a tizzy.
The hotel door starts shaking with a series of knocks so intense I smear chocolate frosting all over Katie’s cheek. She splutters, and immediately tries to lick the frosting off, going to Gene Simmons tongue lengths to accomplish her goal. Shit. While Mom asks who the hell it is, going to open the door, I grab napkins and wipe my little sister in law’s face. The tiny, perfectly made up woman who’s doing Katie’s hair flutters around me, grabbing fistfuls of her own perfectly coiffed locks. She looks serious freaked.
“You must hurry! The wealthy older woman, she will put me in the box again, otherwise!” the lady moans. I hope that she’s not talking about Mom. And if she is, I’m really hoping that’s just some bad English right there, because the idea of Veronica Harrington with a basement pit filled with captured chauffeurs and au pairs is so frighteningly accurate I think my sanity might snap considering it.
The door bangs open to the bedroom, and I drop the cupcake entirely. Katie grunts in sadness, especially when Todd strides into the room and steps on the pastry, smearing it into the carpet. He’s not even paying attention. He’s only got eyes for me.
And he looks somewhere between elated and curious. It’s like I sprouted a
hotter second head on the other side of my neck.
“How did you do it?” he breathes. My mind races. I got a little drunk last night. Did Ben and I engage in any black market dealings? Solve global warming? Find great tacos at two a.m.? Other impossible things?
“Is this a ‘congratulations’ how did I do it, or a ‘the cop car is waiting outside’ how did I do it?”
Todd just keeps shaking his head, looking really pleased as he puts his hands on his hips. He might burst into a big musical number about how his ex-girlfriend isn’t the screw up he always secretly thought she was.
Maybe Ben’s right, and I’m being too uncharitable to the obnoxious people in my life.
“I thought you were slumming it. Turns out, you were putting one over on us the entire time.”
Okay, maybe uncharitable is the way to go. Todd’s wolfish grin is starting to make me want to knee him in the balls. It’s an ingrained habit from our time together. I sometimes find myself jerking my knee up if I hear someone say something douchey on the radio. I’m like Pavlov’s dog that way.
“If I don’t get a straight answer fast, I’m going to shove you out of here. This is the ladies’ changing room,” I snap.
“Yeah!” Katie yells. Crumbs fly from her mouth, and she’s still strapped into her bondage fat-erasing chair, so Todd doesn’t pay much attention to her. At least, no more attention than the bewildered glance he gives her.
“Your boyfriend, Ben. Why didn’t you tell me he was worth millions of dollars?” Todd sounds like he’s pouting now. “Did you really hate me that much? You know I could’ve invested for him. You know I need a few more clients to pad my portfolio, so my boss—”
“I’m sorry, are we talking about Ben, the giant blond guy? The guy I am currently dating, who makes, like, minimum wage plus tips that are directly proportional to how hot he is?” This is what going insane feels like. Going insane is watching your shit-eating grin-wearing mint-necktied ex-boyfriend tell you that the man you banged in the antique games room last night is actually loaded.
