by Katz, Avery
“You, my lovely, ask way too many fucking questions,” he drawled.
“You can blame it on the alcohol.” I started singing the old Jamie Foxx song. Greg moved his hips from side to side while I belted out that hip-hop tune in the middle of Vegas and its sexy Strip. We laughed hysterically and scared off a bunch of grannies in the process.
Greg grabbed hold of my right hand and tucked it under his arm. I smiled giddily and kissed his cheek. The alcohol was doing wonders for my inhibitions, stripping them away layer by layer.
“You are one in a million, Quinny,” he said. “I traveled far and wide, but I have yet to meet anyone like you.” He raised my hand to his wine-stained lips and kissed it.
“Aw, You’re the ham to my sandwich, the burger to my fries, and the hard disk to my computer,” I gushed. “Oh, did I mention that you’re the keyboard to my laptop?”
“Maybe.” he said. “You really get me, Quin, and I love you for it.”
“Me too. I love you to the moon and back,” I confessed.
Greg pinned me against the nearest wall and kissed me. It was a hot, demanding kiss that turned my knees to jelly. I kissed him back with equal fervor. He tasted like mint, rum, and grenadine. He was sweet and tangy at the same time. He suddenly pulled away and grabbed my hand. We hid behind a tower of empty crates and made out like two reunited lovers.
My cock was already hard and spilling pre-cum by the time he crouched down and unzipped me. My head fell back against the rough wall when he dipped the tip of his tongue into my slit.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
He wrapped his fingers around the base of my cock while his mouth toyed with the mushroom tip. The feel of his rough tongue on my sensitive shaft had me leaning against the wall for support. My thighs began to quiver when he nuzzled my balls and took one into his mouth. He sucked it with his tongue, reminding me of his amazing fellatio skills.
“Oh. Oh, fuck” I repeated the same curse word over and over while I watched his lips devour me. He licked up my shaft and then took my entire cock into his talented mouth. His moss-green eyes never left my face while he sucked me off. He suddenly opened his jaw and pinned my hips to the wall before deep-throating me. He tightened his throat around my shaft a couple of times. My fingers flew to his hair at the pleasurable sensation. I dug them into his scalp as he moved his mouth faster, sucking my cock like it was his favorite lollipop. He sucked in his cheeks and swirled his tongue around my crown. I closed my eyes and banged my head against the wall. My spine tingled, and my balls tightened in response to his wet, hot mouth.
“Greg, I’m going to cum, baby.”
He fondled my sack and pushed a finger into my puckered hole, pushing me over the edge. I spilled into his mouth, and he swallowed every single drop. My flaccid cock fell from his mouth with a wet plop. He licked his lips and kissed the tip before tucking it back inside my boxers. My orgasm doubled my alcohol buzz. I felt so mellow and relaxed.
“What now?” I asked Greg.
He rose to his full height and kissed me. “Oh, you know what’s next,” he said. “We’re going to do something wild.”
I nodded and mirrored his psycho grin.
“Oh, we’re so doing it.”
6
Greg
I woke up with the devil of a headache. There was no other way to describe it. My head was heavy as a bowling ball, and my mouth was dry like sandpaper. Fuck. I rubbed my temples, afraid of opening my eyes. There was a nice, warm body pressed up against mine. My morning wood was definitely poking a tight, muscular ass. Those tight buns were familiar. I opened my eyes to find Quin sleeping right next to me. Butterflies invaded my stomach at the sight of his angelic face. He looked so peaceful with his dark-chocolate hair framing his face.
Last night, we both went overboard with the drinking. I drank in celebration of my lucky streak, and Quin doused himself in alcohol to forget about his divorce from Wendy. All that drinking returned to bite me in the ass. I felt nauseous and dizzy. I bolted out of bed with a groan and rushed to the bathroom.
“Fuck!” I reached the toilet just in time to throw up. My stomach heaved and bile rose in my throat. I was a total fucking mess. The flaming asshole lingered on my tongue. I hugged the toilet bowl and waited for my body to calm the fuck down. Vegas was hangover central. I always ended up drinking way too much and spending too much money on blackjack and baccarat. Not that I had a gambling addiction or anything. I simply enjoyed the challenge of betting against other people. I loved that tingly feeling that came with knowing that I had the winning card right in the palm of my hand.
Once the bathroom stopped spinning, I hoisted myself off the floor and flushed the toilet. The pounding in my head continued. I stood in front of the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My lips were stained red, and there were traces of cum at the corners of my mouth. Memories of blowing Quin there in the open flashed through my mind. I could still feel his tense fingers in my hair, egging me on while I gave him the blow job of the century.
I washed my tired face and noticed something gold and shiny on my ring finger.
Fuck me. I blinked twice and brought my hand close to my face. It was definitely a wedding ring.
What. The. Fucking. Fuck.
Quin must have pulled a prank on me last night. It must be some kind of inside joke we both shared since we were in Vegas and all. People had fake marriages here all the time. Plenty of Elvis impersonators offered make-believe weddings to tourists.
I went back to bed and found a matching ring on his finger.
“Fuckity fuck!” I muttered. What the hell did we do last night? I remembered bits and pieces of our evening at Wynn Hotel. They had one of the best casinos in Nevada. I remembered watching Quin dance with a tall, lanky guy who had zero shame. He ground up against my best friend and acted offended when I confronted him. I rubbed my throbbing temple and stared at my sleeping best friend. His azure eyes fluttered open. They were clearer than the sky outside. He smiled and snuggled up against me.
“Good morning.” He yawned and stretched his sinewy arms over his head.
I tried to stifle my laughter. I really did. Getting married in Vegas was the mother of all clichés.
“Hey.” I crossed my fingers and hoped he would find our current situation funny as well.
The odds, however, were not in my favor. I knew Quin like the back of my hand. “Umm. I think we did something insanely wild yesterday.”
“How wild are we talking here?” he asked. “College frat party wild or karaoke singing wild?”
“Neither?” I sheepishly grinned. “Quin, do not freak out. I repeat, do not freak out, but we..” My voice trailed off as I raised my finger to show him my wedding ring. I pointed to his matching gold band and waited for his reaction.
He gasped in shock and sat against the headboard. The color drained from his cheeks until he became paler than Casper the friendly ghost. He glanced down at his wedding ring and slapped his forehead. I was torn between laughing and consoling him. “No. Please tell me that this is some kind of twisted joke, Greg. There’s no way in hell that we pulled a Britney. No way.”
“Pulled a Britney? Oh, you mean when she married her childhood friend in Vegas? Oh yes. Yes, we did pull a Britney. At least I think we did. Do you remember anything about last night? I mean, other than the flaming assholes and that blow job I gave you.”
He scratched his tousled hair and shook his head. “I remember chugging down copious amounts of wine and cumming in your mouth! Christ on a cracker! I want answers right this instant. Are we legally married? Everything is just one big blur to me. Oh my God, I think I’m going to faint.” He cradled his head in his hands.
“We’re going to need coffee and aspirin if we’re going to figure this shit out.” I climbed out of bed and almost tripped over my leather loafers. The ring felt foreign on my finger. I wasn’t really a fan of jewelry. The only ring I wore was my family crest ring. It was a family heirloom.
Quin nodded and watched me get dressed with a dazed expression on his face.
I grabbed my wallet and headed straight to the elevators. I slid my sunglasses on and ignored my headache. The sun outside the hotel was scorching hot. I crossed the street and walked the short distance to The Roasted Bean. They made the best coffee and sandwiches on the Strip. My stomach grumbled noisily, demanding to be fed. The cafe was packed with people who enjoyed having brunch at noon. I ordered two coffees to go and chocolate chip cookies for Quin.
“Hey! Prince Gregory!” A strange man with a mustache waved at me. I had no idea who he was, but he seemed to know me, and so did his wife.
“Umm...hello.” I offered them a polite smile in return.
“Where is your cute husband?” the blond woman asked. “You two make such a perfect couple.”
“Excuse me?”
They exchanged puzzled glances. “Your husband, Quin. See, we both got married last night at the same chapel on Fremont Street. I even sent you guys the wedding pictures and videos. Your hubby gave me his number right after we tied the knot,” the older man explained. “You two must have been completely out of it last night, eh?”
“You have no idea.” I grabbed the takeout coffee and congratulated them on their marriage.
They shook my hand and told me they were looking forward to traveling to Raplen.
“Have a great honeymoon.” I waved goodbye and rushed out of the cafe like it was on fire.
7
Quin
Memories of last night came rushing back to me. Like pieces of a puzzle, I mentally organized the events of last night in chronological order. First, there was the casino with its cherry-red carpet and noisy slot machines. Then there was the nightclub where we got kicked out in embarrassing fashion. Greg acted like a jealous boyfriend which was so unlike him. Men usually fawned over him, not me. The biggest bombshell of all was our rushed marriage at a small, Elvis-themed chapel. It looked like a church from the outside, but it was plain tacky from the inside. My brain recalled fake daisies and vintage Hollywood posters. The guy who officiated our wedding had sunglasses on. There was also a couple in the background. They were at least two decades older than us. The man had a Tom Selleck mustache and a kind smile. I picked my brain for more stuff while trying not to panic.
It was hard not to. Spontaneity was not my thing. Hopping on a plane and coming to Vegas was the craziest thing I had ever done. I loved structure, routine, and stability, unlike Greg who was all over the place. I banged my head against the window and cursed my luck. The ink on my divorce papers was far from dry, yet here I was, on the verge of a second divorce! When did my life become so messed up? If someone had told me a month ago that I would be getting divorced and married in the same week, I would have laughed until I peed myself. Greg was way too calm about the whole situation. I honestly expected his commitment phobia to hit critical levels. Unless of course he had a change of heart and wanted to remain married, which is frankly unrealistic and unlike him. We once dubbed him a serial dater because he dated and dropped men faster than a bullet train.
I checked my watch. What was taking him so long?
A loud knock on the suite door made me jump. I rushed to answer it, and there he was, armed with coffee and breakfast. “Finally.” I sighed. “Did you get snatched by aliens on your way here?”
He handed me the coffee and started rummaging through my things. “Where’s your phone, Quin?”
“Why?” I placed the cups on the table and walked over to him.
He ran his fingers through his champagne hair. “Son of a fucking gun,” he muttered. “I just met a couple who told me that we got hitched last night. Apparently, they witnessed everything.”
So my memories were true. I grabbed my phone and handed it to him. “The battery’s dead. I forgot my charger at home.”
“I have a spare one in my bag.” He took it out and plugged it into my phone. His body language was high on panic. He paced the living room and waited for the screen to light up. My heart fell when I saw his negative reaction to this new nugget of information. I knew that I needed to put up a firewall around my heart in order to guard it against future heartbreak. Greg broke it so many times before. Not this time though. I knew better than to let him stomp all over it.
When my phone had enough battery life to function, Greg asked for my passcode and unlocked it. I crouched over his shoulder and watched his fingers fly over the screen in search of those wedding photos. He found them in the gallery along with a video of us drunkenly confessing our love for each other. It was cheesy and so embarrassing to watch. We were both so out of it. The Elvis impersonator who officiated our wedding sounded legitimate. Greg gave a ten-minute slurred speech and kissed me sloppily on the mouth. I kissed him back and palmed his crotch right in front of the camera. It was painful to watch.
Meanwhile, Greg was laughing hysterically. His shoulders would not stop shaking. “Oh, man. This needs to be the prequel to The Hangover franchise.” He chuckled. “Look at us! We look so lovey-dovey. What the fuck did they put in our drinks last night?”
“The flaming asshole might be the culprit.” I rubbed my face in embarrassment. “On a serious note, we can get the marriage annulled. I bet many drunken idiots get married by accident around here.”
Greg watched the video twice, seemingly hesitant. I expected him to grab my hand and take me to the nearest annulment court. “I’m not sure we can annul the marriage.”
“We should do a bit of research on that. If annulment wasn’t a viable option, we could always get a quickie divorce,” I suggested. “At least this time, no one cheated on me.”
Greg looked disappointed. “Look, we have this executive suite all to ourselves until tomorrow. I say we postpone this divorce thing and make the most of our stay in Vegas. You earned it, Quin.”
He reached back and rubbed my arm. “So, are you in or out?”
I sighed. “Cool. Okay. I guess we could press pause on this issue for the time being.”
“Whatever you say, hubby.”
8
Greg
My hangover turned my stomach into a big bottomless pit. The sandwiches and cookies we had for breakfast did nothing to curb my appetite. I was hungry as a hippo thanks to my fast metabolism. “Would you like to go to a pub for lunch? We could have a cold beer afterward.”
“Sure.” Quin shrugged. He disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed. His initial freakout was followed by this strange aura of calmness. It kind of confused me. Quin lived in a world of routine and scheduled appointments. I once paid him a visit at the office and witnessed with my own eyes his carefully structured workday. My best friend did not do last-minute shit. At least not until his divorce. Wendy and her horrible affair definitely fucked with his head.
We took a cab to my favorite pub on Main Street and ordered their famous juicy burger and sweet potato fries. Quin appeared to be fine. He dug into his own plate with relish. The bags under his eyes and five o’clock shadow were hard to miss. “When was the last time you partied this hard?” I asked before taking a bit out of my crunchy fries. I squeezed a dollop of honey mustard and waited for his answer. He was busy making love to that juicy, greasy burger.
“Never,” he replied. “Last night was filled with many firsts. If I had a bucket list, I would have crossed off “getting kicked out of a gay bar“ and “getting married in Vegas.” Never in a million years did I expect to become a cliché in a rom-com movie.”
His serene blue eyes had a playful glint in them. He seemed to be taking this rather well. I honestly thought he’d get upset and blame me for adding more drama to his life. I mean, walking in on his wife while she was getting fucked by someone else was made for primetime television. It was soap opera material.
We should send her a sex tape of the two of us fucking like animals. She needed to know that Quin was getting it on with a prince and loving every inch of it. His sudden blasé attitude towards our union was rubbing me the wrong way
though. Was he over me? Maybe the sex we had was simply rebound sex. I felt as if someone had stolen my breath away at the mere thought of losing his affection. Hell no. Quin always loved me. I was his old flame. Old flames are fucking magical. They never burn out. This was our chance now. My gut instincts never lied. I knew we were meant to be here, having burgers and discussing American pop culture.
“Reality television is all the hype now in Raplen. I was thinking of producing a reality show about our royal family. I bet you it will sell like hotcakes.”
He took a sip from his milkshake before licking his full, plump lips. “You should invest in the app market. Just look at the success of Pokemon Go and Super Mario Run. Food and drink applications are also very popular nowadays. You can make quite the revenue out of a Raplen app.”
“This is actually a fanfuckingtastic idea. See? Your brain works even better after a hangover.” I teased him. If only I had the power to read his mind. He took another bite out of his cheese-filled burger and closed his eyes. He savored that sandwich the same way he savored his orgasms.
“Funny.” He rolled his eyes at me. “You should seriously consider my offer. I can build you an app in four months tops. We can brainstorm a couple of ideas once we’re back in San Francisco.”
“God. I love it when you talk techie to me.”
I got up to use the bathroom. My bladder was unbelievably full. I promised myself not to get wasted ever again. I still had trouble remembering our impromptu wedding. The photos we found on Quin’s phone were so damn hilarious though. One day, we’ll look back on Vegas and laugh our asses off. Grandmother Emmeline always encouraged us to carpe the diem, so here I was, seizing the moment and grabbing it by the balls.
I exited the bathroom to find a guy chatting up Quin. I could tell just by his body language that he was flirting with my hubby. My sweet-natured companion smiled politely and kept the conversation going. I made my way over to the table and sat down. “What did I miss?” I glared up at the tanned man. His skin was the color of an orange. The monster of jealousy never showed up in my love life. The words “Greg“ and “possessive“ did not usually go together, but Quin made me question my sanity. “Oh hubby, you should finish drinking your milkshake. Unless you’re in the mood for a protein shot after dessert.”
