Wedding Favors

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “I believe you like it,” he murmured. “That won’t do. This is supposed to be punishment.”

  She heard him take something from the cabinet. She didn’t dare look. Her nipples were dancing with fire from the clamps, her pussy heavy with the dildo, her clit twitching from the effects of the vibrator, and her ass stinging from the leather. She didn’t think she could take much more.

  “Please,” she begged. “Fuck me, Shay. Just fuck me.”

  “Oh, I plan to, cher. You can count on that. Just not quite yet.” Something cool and wet landed between her bottom cheeks. “And you really must learn to call me sir.”

  She sucked in a breath as the tip of something round and smooth caressed her back opening, spreading the lubricant generously over her. The memory of his finger in her earlier flashed through her body like an electrical charge. “What are you—?”

  “Shhh,” he told her. “Just relax and enjoy it.”

  The toy was a curved glass dildo, made up of a series of graduated spheres. Her instincts said to panic, but it was hard to stay tense with the other dildo vibrating deliciously between her legs. She felt Shay’s hand on her ass, kneading and caressing, helping her muscles let go. The glass head suddenly breached her opening and slid into her. It was slick and good, and Shay’s hand kept a steady pressure on the thing, popping it slowly into her. One bead after another breached her with an accompanying staccato gasp, until the biggest sphere was lodged deep inside her. She gave a desperate moan at the heavy, strange sensation, struggling against her bonds to get free.

  But it was no use.

  “Shay,” she pleaded, her voice guttural with need.

  The flogger stroked over her ass. “Have you been punished enough?” he asked.

  “Yes! No.” She swallowed her frustration, her body a bundle of explosives desperately searching for a detonator. “I don’t know. Please Shay, make me come,” she begged.

  The sting of leather burst over her ass, and she cried out. She felt the cool brush of his lips on the sting. He kissed her flesh, then bit her lightly. She felt the first tingle of orgasm. She stiffened. And the vibrator shut off.

  “No!” she moaned. She felt the buckles of her bonds fall away.

  “Crawl up on the bed,” he ordered, and helped her up. “Lie on your back.”

  She did so in trembling anticipation, aching to come, spreading herself open for him. Wanting him so bad she could taste it.

  She’d forgotten about the chains. But he hadn’t. As soon as her wrists were rid of one form of restraint, he clamped on another. Still, the fur lining of the manacles felt luxurious after the leather of the stretcher bar. He locked them around her wrists, and this time also placed a pair just below her knees, fastening the chains to the bed so her arms were flat on the mattress above her head, but her knees were raised high in the air and bent, her legs spread wide apart. She was still impaled by both dildos.

  She’d never felt so exposed.

  Or so alive.

  He watched her watching him undress as she lay there waiting for him to come to her. He peeled off his shirt and trousers, running his hands over his magnificent body. God, how she wanted him! Please, please, please.

  “Hurry!” she urged him. Her clit screamed for completion.

  Her heart begged for even more. It had never felt so exposed, either.

  Or so alive.

  What was it about this man that made her want him so badly? He was sinfully handsome, smart as a fox, rich as Croesus, and bad enough to keep her body begging for a lifetime of his special brand of decadent sex. But it wasn’t just those obvious things that drew her to him. It was the way he always satisfied her needs before his and the consideration he always showed her, even as he did things to her that rightly should terrify her. That ... and the way he looked at her. Like she was the only woman for him and he wouldn’t have it any other way. An illusion, she knew, but it felt oh, so good.

  “Please, Shay, please,” she begged.

  “I’m here, cher.”

  He crawled between her legs, gliding his hands down her inner thighs. He kissed the crease of her leg. Then found the remote and started the vibrator again. Instantly she felt the first shimmer of her elusive climax return. This time he didn’t stop it. He put his mouth on her clit and sucked. She cried his name. He added his tongue to the mix, bringing her up off the bed. “Come for me, cher,” he commanded, and she came apart. He started to tug the beaded dildo out of her backside, one intense bump at a time, and, with a scream, she catapulted into the most intense orgasm she’d ever had in her life. It hit her like a hurricane, rushing through her senses, pounding her with wave after wave of insane pleasure, sweeping away her past in a single screaming vortex of conscious realization: This experience, this man, had changed her profoundly. Irrevocably. Her life would never be the same again.

  She would never be the same.

  But he ... he would move on, no doubt, and find other amusements. He would never know how intensely being with him had affected her.

  Afterward, breathing hard, her blood rushing back to its normal places, she lay there, physically spent, mentally stunned, and emotionally numb.

  Oh, my God.

  She was in love with the man!

  Unbidden, Laura’s warning tripped through her mind. No matter what he says, do not give that man your heart.

  He released her from her bonds, kissing her wrists as he unbuckled each of the restraints. Then he climbed on top of her and looked down at her with half-lidded, unreadable eyes.

  The moment dragged out until she wondered if there was something wrong. If he could somehow see into her mind and read her guilty secret. That she loved him to distraction.

  “What is it, Shay?” she asked.

  “I’ve decided I want you to stay with me,” he finally said.

  Shocking her to the core.

  For a second, hope raced a path through her heart. Had he gotten a similar flash of momentous insight as hers?

  But, no. She must have misunderstood.

  “Stay? You mean for a visit?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “No,” he said. “Longer.”

  Was this part of their fantasy game maybe?

  It didn’t feel like a game. He seemed serious. But that wasn’t possible. Shay Duchesne was a self-admitted, confirmed player. He didn’t do relationships longer than three nights. Everyone ad told her that.

  “For how long?” she asked, knowing full well that to spend one more night with him would be her undoing. Both literally and emotionally.

  She felt him take the fake penis out of her. And suddenly his real one was there in its place. He felt hot and alive inside her, pulsing with need. She moaned softly.

  “Forever,” he said. “I want you to stay with me forever.”

  She wrapped her arms and legs around him, not trusting what she was hearing. But hoping like crazy anyway. “You can’t possibly mean that. We’ve only known each other two days.”

  “Non, cher. I’ve known you for fifteen years. Dreamed of you. Waited for you. Thrown aside every woman in New Orleans because she wasn’t you. You may as well say you’ll stay, Tessa, because now that I’ve found you again, I’m not about to let you go. Even if I have to chain you to my bed to keep you from leaving.”

  A shiver spilled through her at the dark possessiveness reflected in his eyes as he said the words that turned her world upside down. How could she doubt his sincerity?

  “I love you, Shay. And I do want to stay, but ... This isn’t about the fountain, is it? Marie Laveau’s curse, or love spell, or whatever it was that you were trying to break this morning?”

  “God, no.” He kissed her then. A kiss filled with longing and with promise. And yes, a bit of magic, too.

  Then he smiled down at her and said, “Call it fate, call it enchantment or love at first sight. You’re the woman I want to be with. I love you, Tessa. Marry me, and I’ll prove it for the rest of my life.”

  Epilogue


  They say the three muses danced at the wedding.

  The bride looked radiantly beautiful as she walked down the aisle of ancient brick to meet her handsome groom at the foot of the Jaillissement de Plaisir. The short ceremony was intimate and festive, and the best part was where the guests, led by the new Mr. and Mrs. Treves Duchesne, all tossed coins into the fabled fountain en masse and made a wish.

  The reception that followed in the newly and gorgeously renovated courtyard turned rather wild, living up to the inscription’s promise.

  Tout quoi vous voulez, indeed.

  But then the strangest thing happened. Every couple that attended the wedding together ended up married themselves by the end of the year.

  But of course, that was a complete coincidence.

  Because, after all, there’s no such thing as voodoo ...

  Mortal sensation

  ALLYSON JAMES

  This story is dedicated to the amazing,

  supportive, wonderful readers of Allyson James’s

  red-hot erotic romances.

  Thank you!

  Chapter 1

  Thomas Dupree looked like every woman’s wet dream in a tux.

  He stood at the end of the line of groomsmen, his rich brown eyes trained on his eldest brother, Leon, who was taking his vows. Madison Rainey had a fine view of Thomas from where she stood with the peach satin and tulle-clad bridesmaids sweating in the sultry New Orleans afternoon.

  A drop of perspiration trickled down Madison’s cleavage, and she had the brief, hot fantasy of Thomas, still in his tux but with black tie dangling, chasing the trickle with his tongue. As she shifted in her stilt heels, clenching her bridesmaid’s bouquet, Thomas’s eyes flicked to her. Their gazes caught and tangled, and Thomas gave her a hint of a smile.

  Her blood heated, felt thick. Thomas had a square, hard face, hair so dark brown it was nearly black, and eyes the color of coffee. Rich black coffee, not a wimpy latte. When he looked at her, he truly looked at her, no evasive eye contact or pretending he didn’t take in all of her. He studied her and damned anyone who caught him doing it.

  Madison had been having hot fantasies about Thomas Dupree for nine years, ever since high school in Fontaine, where she’d shamelessly chased him. He’d teased her, she’d written about him in her diary; she’d drawn hearts with MR + TD in them on picnic tables. She’d even bought him an ID bracelet, a gold-plated one with the name Thomas engraved on it in fine script, and slid it into his locker. One day she’d caught him wearing it, and that day he’d finally asked her out.

  The date had been a complete disaster, but she’d spent one golden week in giddy anticipation.

  They’d lost touch after Madison moved in with her grandmother in New Orleans before her senior year, after she lost her parents in a car accident. She’d seen Thomas from time to time over the years as he’d changed from cute teenager to a hot, tasty man, but they’d never reconnected. These days, whenever Madison had a sex fantasy or an erotic dream, Thomas Dupree was its star. She imagined him pouring champagne into tall glasses while slowly removing his tie, or he’d pick her up in a red-hot sports car and drive her somewhere they could be absolutely alone, or he’d take her out in a limo and make slow, sweet love to her in the backseat.

  Seeing him in person today made her nipples perk and her peach satin panties grow damp. Thomas in the flesh was tall and broad-shouldered, with a dangerous air of take-no-shit she’d always liked. Would real-life sex with him be slow and sensual as in her dreams, or wild and wicked and no-holds-barred?

  Madison had heard a few unnerving whispers about Thomas. How he and his brother had begun a courier business, but Thomas seemed to leave town a lot, returning looking like he’d been living in the wild for weeks. No one knew exactly where he went, and his brother wasn’t saying. Thomas might only be taking extended fishing trips, but looking at him, Madison didn’t think so. No one who made the air crackle like that was sitting in a swamp fishing.

  Madison realized with another frisson of pleasure that Thomas was assessing her, even if he didn’t do anything so crude as run his gaze down her body while they were standing in a church with a priest between them. Still, he looked as though he knew every thought going on behind her eyes and every wicked fantasy she’d ever had about him. And knew he could make them come true.

  If only.

  The ceremony was long because they had a sermon and Communion, the whole works. But at last the recessional played and it was time to hurry down the aisle to photos, champagne, and a catered dinner in the beautiful old hotel down the street.

  “Maddie.” Thomas Dupree extended his arm. A nice arm, thick with muscle under his coat.

  Madison put her fingers through the crook of his elbow, trying not to shiver at the raw strength of him. He moved with a quiet confidence and even more animal-like grace than when she’d known him nine long years ago.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Thomas was saying. “What you been up to, cher?”

  His bayou accent wrapped its warmth around her; his voice had grown deeper and fuller.

  “You know. Life.” Trying to keep everything from being ripped out from under me, trying to put off frightening decisions.

  “Yeah, I know.” Thomas’s smile fanned the spark that his cher had ignited. Heat curled down her spine to park between her buttocks.

  They’d almost reached the door. The guests surged around them, pushing their way to the bride and groom, who stood on the steps. Thomas leaned to Madison, dark head bent.

  “Maddie, I need to talk to you. Can we meet up later?”

  The heat inside became a river of fire. She was acutely aware of his fingers on her arm, the way his head tilted, the way his dark eyes held hers as he waited for her answer. Madison caught his scent, warm, masculine, coupled with whatever musky cologne he’d dabbed on.

  “Sure, if you want.” Lord, she sounded so nonchalant. As though men as blatantly sexual as Thomas asked to speak with her all the time. As though her knees weren’t bending, ready to let her slide her face down that tight, gorgeous tux to the nice bump between his legs.

  “I need to ask you a couple of questions about your grandmother’s house,” Thomas said.

  Madison’s warmth died to ice.

  The house. Of course. Everyone wanted to talk about the damned house. It had been in her family for two hundred years, and everyone from the historical society to developers wanted to get their hands on the property. So did predators like the prick Keith Girard, who wanted to marry socialite Madison so he could live in the famous house and move up the New Orleans food chain.

  She was sick to death of everyone asking about her house, sicker because both she and the property were in such bad financial straits that she might have to sell it. And that she determined never, ever to do. It was her home, damn it. The place she’d been happiest, the memories of family built up year after year like layers of paint.

  She gave Thomas a cool look. “Sorry. I think I’ll be busy ater.”

  Madison released his arm and flowed away into the crowd, but not before she caught his frown and the flash of anger in his coffee-brown eyes.

  Thomas watched Madison’s slim form as she moved down the church steps to hug Val and Leon in congratulations. She looked like a flower in the peach satin and tulle, her dark hair in a French braid that revealed her regal neck and the proud set of her head.

  What the hell had he said? Thomas had been saying the wrong thing to Madison for years, ever since their one awful date. He still squirmed when he remembered that date, and he new Maddie did too.

  Lord, she got more beautiful every time he saw her. Madison was twenty-five now, elegant and gorgeous. Those wide, dark eyes looked as though they could see straight into his soul.

  He needed to be with her, to talk to her. Thomas needed to find out why the parasite Keith Girard was fighting so hard to get his hands on Madison and her grandmother’s house. Girard was at the wedding today, invited by Thomas’s mother, beca
use Girard’s family owned half of Fontaine. There he was now, ogling Madison and not bothering to hide it. Thomas had never paid much attention to Keith Girard, until rumors began to fly around that he was courting Madison Rainey and that an engagement would be announced soon.

  Thomas’s goal in life since then had been to find out all he could about Girard. He had decided it would be best to take Madison out after the reception, to a bar, maybe, where she could sip a clear martini, her lips lingering on the rim of her glass. He’d ask how she felt about Girard. He had to know.

  He hadn’t spoken to Madison in years, but he’d been aware of her, had seen her picture in newspapers and magazines. Madison the Crazy Hat Lady, they called her. Even in high school she’d created unusual and elegant hats, and now her hats were sold in upscale shops all over New Orleans. Everyone from celebrities to the social queens of New Orleans wore them, couldn’t get enough of them. Madison wore them herself, smiling her big, charming smile under their brims.

  Thomas hadn’t spoken to her in months, and somehow he’d managed to piss her off in under two minutes. He’d pissed her off all those years ago, too, and he’d regretted it ever since.

  No, it was safe to say he’d changed his life because of what had happened that night.

  “Your eyes are about to fall out of your head, bro.” His brother, Jean-Marc, another of the groomsmen, had come up behind him on the church steps. Marc was closest to Thomas in age, only a year younger, and the two had always been tight. “Close your mouth before you drool on your expensive tux.”

  “I don’t drool over beautiful women,” Thomas said. “I get dry-mouth, instead.”

  “Hey, didn’t you have the hots for Madison in high school?”

  “That was a long time ago. Another life.”

  “You’re not that old,” Marc said. “Neither is she.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Wrong time and place.”