Desired

by Bianca Giovanni

  “Y’all are goin’ casual, huh?” April says, looking us over.

  James chuckles, nodding to her. “We had the idea to get married this morning. I’ve loved this girl for almost two decades, but now I get to put a ring on it.”

  I laugh at his ear-to-ear grin.

  “Y’all have been datin’ for that long?” she asks with surprise.

  “We’ve known each other since we were kids, but we only started dating recently,” I clarify. “It clicked, and we just knew.”

  “That’s so sweet.” She puts her hand to her heart. “Me and Pete dated for a little bit in high school. Our families are real good friends. He proposed to me before he left for Afghanistan. I told him, ‘As soon as you come back, you better make an honest woman outta me.’”

  She’s cute, very bubbly with a sassy Southern charm. It’s almost funny to think of a cute Southern girl like her watching porn, but she and Pete both recognized James.

  “So did you two come to Vegas to get married, then?” Pete asks.

  “Actually, we were here for an award show,” James replies.

  “Oh wow! What kind of award show?” April’s eyes light up.

  “It’s an adult industry thing, kind of like our Oscars.”

  “That sounds like it’s pretty exciting.” Pete says, his eyebrows high.

  “He won a bunch of awards,” I brag, looking up at my handsome man. “He’s retiring, so it was a very big deal for him.”

  “You’re retiring?”

  “Yeah. Lola’s all I’ll ever need.” He beams down at me, putting his arm around my waist.

  “Y’all are just too sweet!” April says.

  Before we can continue chatting, a heavyset woman comes to the doorway with a folder in her hand. “Peter and April Gallagher,” she announces.

  April giggles excitedly and Pete takes her hand. I wonder if we look like them, a young couple giddy with love.

  “Um, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, do you think maybe you could be our witnesses? Our friends and family are all back home, and we were just gonna get one of the people from the chapel to do it, but it would be an honor if you’d do it for us,” Pete proposes.

  “Sure!” James enthusiastically replies.

  “This is so crazy! My buddies in Afghanistan are going to freak out when I tell them James Langdon was the witness at our wedding.”

  We follow them into a small room with red velvet seats and lots of gold. James and I sit down in the front. I’ve been to a few weddings when I was a kid, but never the Vegas-chapel kind—and never for total strangers. Their vows are very heartfelt, and they look deeply in love. We watch the ceremony, and I feel overwhelmingly happy with our decision to get married today.

  Afterward, the chapel photographer snaps some pictures of Pete and April, and they ask James to jump in on a couple of shots. They’re excited like he’s a mainstream movie star, and I find that both funny and touching. James does his part to support our troops…by providing super hot spank bank material.

  Soon the paperwork is signed and we bid farewell to our new friends, who are off to start their lives as husband and wife. Everything is prepared for us, and we’re up. The heavyset woman leads us into a small room that looks like it used to be a bedroom. It’s got low ceilings, burgundy carpeting, columns with fake ivy wrapped around them, a few rows of pews, and a mural of a forest on the wall. Clearly it’s the only room that isn’t booked right now. This is spectacularly, gloriously, fantastically corny—and it would be impossible for me to love it more than I do!

  The in-house Elvis impersonator greets us, firmly in character, and calls me “Miss Lola” when I introduce myself. He launches into “Can’t Help Falling In Love,” and I’m giggling like I’ve suddenly turned into an anime character.

  He’s got this all timed out, and the chorus concludes when we arrive at the end of the aisle where my very-soon-to-be husband awaits me with an amused, elated grin.

  Our minister, an older black gentleman, has us repeat the classic spiel. “Do you take this man…richer or poorer…sickness and health…” et cetera, et cetera. He’s got this down to a science, and he’s rattling it off like he could repeat it backward and forward.

  We get to the ring exchange, and it dawns on both of us that we didn’t exactly think this part through. We don’t have wedding rings yet, and my engagement ring is still on the nightstand where I left it in a huff last night.

  The minister stops, jolted out of his routine. “You don’t have rings?”

  “Not with us,” James answers.

  “Just pretend,” I instruct.

  The minister doesn’t seem very pleased with this idea, but I’m guessing he’s got about eighty other weddings to do today, so he lets us go with miming this portion and continues on with the ceremony.

  “You may kiss the bride,” he concludes.

  I throw my arms around James’s shoulders, and he lifts me into the air, kissing me with gusto as he twirls me around.

  “You’re my wife now, Lo!” he excitedly says when he sets me down.

  “We’ve completely lost our minds, but I don’t care!” I laugh hysterically.

  Everything about this feels utterly insane, but in the best possible way. James is the impulsive one, and I’ve always been the over-thinker, but I think this was a much-needed dose of spontaneity. I love James, and I’m going to jump into this with both feet. Whatever the consequences, whatever the heartache or struggle, James is worth it, and I’m in this for the long haul.

  Chapter 15

  James

  MY HAND IS PRACTICALLY GLUED to Lola’s as we enter the trendy jewelry store.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to just buy one at home when we go to pick up my wedding ring?” she asks. “It’s not like someone’s going to void the marriage if you don’t have a wedding band right away.”

  “I have to have one,” I insist. “I want people to be able to take one look at me and see that someone loves me enough to call me her husband. I belong to you, and now everyone will know it.”

  She pauses, and a huge grin spreads across her lips. “Obviously, I’m going to have to kiss you if you’re going to keep saying cute things like that.”

  She stands on her tiptoes, and I lean down to enjoy some polite PDA with my wife.

  “Besides, a ring is a lot classier than a giant tattoo that says ‘property of Lola Laird,’” I add, making her laugh.

  She’s standing next to me as we browse the selection behind the glass. The first one that catches my eye is totally ridiculous. It’s about the size of a championship ring and it’s got a tiger’s head made out of black and orange diamonds. Beside that one is another huge ring, but this one has a black diamond Uzi across the band.

  “Who are these for? Rick Ross?” Lola asks, snickering.

  “Right? I just want a simple one that says I’m somebody’s husband, not some bling-bling that says, ‘I make it rain at the strip club like Lil Wayne.’”

  She laughs loudly, blushing a little when her outburst draws the attention of another customer.

  “Fuck it,” I say. “Let’s just go to Tiffany.”

  She bites down on her bottom lip, but then erupts in thunderous laughter. “That is not something I ever thought I’d hear you say,” she says as she holds her stomach.

  “I’m a very refined gentleman, Lola,” I joke dryly. “You don’t think I know about some Tiffany shit? Oh, I know Tiffany, baby!”

  She’s cackling and gasping for breath, and I feel pretty damn good about making her laugh this hard. The sense of accomplishment I get from cracking her up like this is kind of like how I feel when I get her off, only this is much more acceptable to do in public.

  I’m sure the other people in here think we’re whack jobs who are still reeling from whatever Vegas partying we did last night.

  We’re on our best behavior when we get to Tiffany. I’m guessing we look like a couple of crackheads in our shabby clothes with big bags under our eye
s from stress and lack of sleep. We’re putting up a mature, classy, respectable front, but the way that the staff looks at us makes me wonder if we’re going overboard. When a man in a suit greets us, we both sound like something out of Downton Abbey, and I’m sure we’ve cranked it up too high.

  “May I help you?” Suit Guy asks, cautiously approaching us.

  “Indeed, you may,” I reply in my most polite and professional voice.

  Lola gets a case of the giggles, and I find it super-entertaining to see if I can get her to totally crack up again. I’m kicking it up a notch and going full fancypants on her.

  “My wife and I just got married, but we were ill-prepared and need to purchase a wedding band.”

  I see her clench her fists as she concentrates on not laughing.

  “Yes, of course, sir,” the store dude says. “Right this way.”

  “Thank you, old sport,” I reply, causing Lola to explode in giggles.

  The guy in the suit gives us a funny look like he’s trying to decide if we’re wasting his time. Nothing about us says we belong in this store, so I don’t blame him for being a little skeptical of our intentions.

  He leads us to a counter with a bunch of men’s wedding bands. It’s nice to see simple, classy rings after the T-Pain stuff in the previous store.

  “I’m leaning toward platinum,” I say to the sales guy.

  “Oh, are you?” Lola teases. “You need to have platinum bling, eh, 2 Chainz? When does your next album drop?”

  “Shut it,” I reply, laughing. “I just want it to match your rings, that’s all.”

  She looks at me with a proud smile, and I kiss her forehead.

  “I dig that one,” I say, pointing to one with a thick band and two small, parallel grooves. It’s very masculine, but also classy and sleek. I have really big hands, so I don’t want to go with anything too much smaller.

  “That’s totally the one I was looking at too,” Lola remarks like she’s amazed by the coincidence.

  “This is what happens when you’ve known someone your whole life,” I tease. “Great minds, baby, they think alike!”

  As we’re paying, another customer in the store glances over at us and recognizes me. He’s got on a suit, and he looks like a banker or some kind of finance dude.

  He starts walking over to us, and Lola glances up at me. “I wouldn’t have pegged that guy for a porn fan,” she quietly comments.

  “Porn transcends all socioeconomic groups, Lo,” I joke.

  I never get recognized more than I do when I’m in Vegas. Back home, paparazzi stalk Hollywood A-listers, so some porn guy isn’t really on anyone’s radar. Vegas definitely has a different vibe, and porn is more mainstream here, so people don’t feel shy about saying they’ve seen my movies.

  “James Langdon!” He reaches out to shake my hand. “Really nice to meet you, man. Any chance I could get a picture?”

  “Sure.”

  “My golfing buddies are going to go nuts when they see this!”

  Lola takes the guy’s phone and snaps a pic. She’s got a cute little smirk on her face. She doesn’t really think of me as famous. To her, I’m just the dude she grew up with. I think she’s always a little surprised when someone treats me like I’m a celebrity.

  “Never thought I’d run into you at a jewelry store,” the guy remarks to me when she hands his phone back. “I saw a lot of porn stars at the strip club I went to last night, but I didn’t think I’d spot one in here.”

  “We had kind of a jewelry emergency,” I explain. “Had to come down here and get a ring ASAP. We just got married this morning.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yep. This is Lola, my wife.” Just saying it makes me giddy.

  She smiles at him and shakes his hand.

  “Well, congratulations!”

  “Thanks!” Lola and I say in unison.

  “You were in town for the convention this weekend, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nod.

  “Nice! I knew there was something going on with all you guys in town. My friend said there was some porn industry convention.”

  “Yep. The big convention and the award show.”

  “Oh yeah? You score some awards?”

  “I picked up a few,” I proudly reply.

  “Mr. Laird,” our sales guy timidly says from behind me. “So sorry to interrupt, but your ring is ready if you’d like to try it on now.”

  “Well, thanks for the pic, and congratulations again to both of you,” the unexpected porn fan says. He nods to us before making his way back to the woman who was trying to sell him a bracelet. She looks at us curiously, but the man doesn’t explain why he wanted a photo with me. Essentially, that would be admitting that he watches a lot of porn, and I don’t think he’s ready to make that declaration to the girl at the bracelet counter.

  I put on the ring, and it fits perfectly. I’m completely pumped! This is real. The ring means it really happened and I’m not just dreaming.

  We go back to the hotel, and Lola retrieves her engagement ring from the nightstand. Thank God, it’s still right where she left it. She slides it on and I call her over, pulling out my phone to take a picture. She places her left hand over mine, both of our rings visible, and I snap a pic.

  “Nice!” I say as I look at it. “That’s going on Instagram.”

  She’s laughing and packing up our stuff as I flip through the filters, finally settling on Valencia. My only caption is a hashtag: #justmarried.

  Once we’re all packed up, we go downstairs and wait for the valet guys to bring around my car. I glance to the side when the doors open, and I see Tara Morgan, trailed by a bellboy carrying all her Louis Vuitton bags. She spots me almost immediately, and she stares right at me. I keep my expression totally blank as I bring Lola’s left hand up to my lips and kiss her ring.

  Just then, the car arrives and we both get in. Lola’s bubbly and smiling from ear to ear, so I’m pretty sure she didn’t see Tara. It’s a relief. We certainly didn’t need any Tara Morgan bullshit on such an amazing day.

  Chapter 16

  Lola

  WE PULL UP TO THE APARTMENTS as the sun is setting, and my cheeks are sore from my permanent smile. James held my hand for the entire drive—to the point where I occasionally worried about his grip on the wheel during a turn.

  I reach for the doorknob, but James puts his hand out and blocks me. I look up at him with confusion.

  “I have to carry you in,” he says with the sweetest, shyest, most adorable smile.

  I resist the urge to tease him, because this is way too cute to mock, and I nod my head.

  He opens the door and puts our bags on the couch as I wait outside grinning.

  “Okay,” he says, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me inside.

  He doesn’t stop once we pass the threshold, and he kicks the door closed before marching me right into the bedroom, where he deposits me on the bed. And here comes that unchecked lust.

  I lie back on the pillows and watch him hungrily as he slowly starts to peel off his clothes. His body…I swear…his body.

  His shirt comes off first, and I stare at that chest and those abs. He’s built like a superhero, like a comic book drawing of a muscled crime fighter. It’s almost embarrassing how wildly attractive I find him. I pride myself on being able to control my desire, especially after so many years of resisting any urge to jump him, but I’m practically salivating just looking at him right now. He slides his jeans down, and I continue to enjoy the show as I see the growing bulge in his boxer briefs.

  He gives me the James Laird Sex Laser Beam—which I’ve decided I’ll start referring to simply as the Laser Beam because he does it so often and so effectively—and he loses the underwear.

  Hallelujah! Can I get an amen?

  He sits on the side of the bed, and I jump up to kiss him, wrapping my arms around him and holding him tight against me. His shoulders feel so broad as I cling to him. He’s a wall of muscle, but he can be
so tender and gentle. I love that contrast of hulking sex god and adoring sweetheart.

  His hand rests on the side of my neck for a moment before he slides it back to cradle my head. He’s not rushing this. He’s taking it slow and really savoring each moment. It’s divine!

  We recline onto the bed with him on top of me and my legs parted on either side of him as his mouth sensually claims mine.

  Oh, this is nice.

  I brush my fingers up and down his back, appreciating the smooth, warm feel of his skin as it stretches over his defined muscles. I’ve always enjoyed the way he completely blankets me like this. It acknowledges our vast size difference, and it makes me feel very safe and content to have someone so strong tending to me so lovingly.

  He kneels between my legs as he takes my hands and gently lifts me up until I’m sitting nose-to-nose with him. He looks into my eyes and very slowly, very sensually lifts my shirt off, not breaking eye contact the entire time.

  He unsnaps my bra and gently removes it before tossing it off to the side. Our eyes stay locked as his hands venture over my shoulders and down my ribs. He’s not going for my breasts, which is interesting. I happen to know that he’s quite the admirer of my bosom, and I’d bet good money that my breasts are his favorite part of my body.

  Without words, he nods his head, motioning for me to lie back on the bed. When I’m back on the pillows, my beautiful, sensual, completely naked husband maintains his intense eye contact with me as he unbuttons and unzips my jeans.

  James has taken my clothes off many, many times. Sometimes he’ll frantically tear them from my body—quite literally once when he ripped a pair of my panties in half in one frenzied motion—but he usually enjoys the process of getting me naked. He told me a while ago that it’s like unwrapping a present and the anticipation of what’s inside makes it more erotic. I refuted this by saying that he was already very familiar with what was inside, but he said that knowing how great the gift would be was why he liked “unwrapping” me so much.