Hale to Pay (Arrangement Series Book 6)

by Francesca Penn

  “Please, Wyn,” she begs.

  Damn, she’ll be doing that more often.

  “Please what, baby?” I tease, giving her a little more.

  “Please don’t stop.”

  Her plea makes me tingle.

  “You want me deeper?”

  “Yes.”

  I award her for her honesty by going deeper on my next pass.

  “Harder?”

  “Hell, yes!”

  She mewls when I grind into her harder than last night. My head falls forward as I bite my lip. Imala’s pussy is squeezing my dick in all the right ways.

  She’s so fucking wet.

  “Anything else?” I goad her with a light tap to her ass.

  My wife grunts and sticks out her ass more as she answers. “I want it all, Wyn.”

  I grab her hair and pull her head back. My other hand moves over her clit as I take another taste of her lips. When our lips separate, she manages to smile sweetly like I’m not fucking her from behind.

  “Everything?” I ask.

  “Leave nothing out.” Her smile drops as her mouth falls open.

  A few rubs of her hard clit send her into release. Imala’s orgasm is so damn beautiful, I follow her. Her smile returns far more sultry than sweet as I pump my cum into her.

  She gets me going in ways I’ve never known. I pull out and carry her to the bed. She giggles when I drop her on it. I take another kiss once I fall in to join her.

  Imala locks her hands behind my neck and pulls me in for another deep kiss. After, she looks me in the eyes, her dark ones shine with determination.

  “I will be the best you’ve ever had.”

  Wiping some of her hair out of her face, I take another kiss.

  She’s already the best I’ve ever had.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Imala

  New Orleans is known for lively parties, rich culture, wonderful Cajun foods, and all-around debauchery; yet I still haven’t discovered most of these things for myself. I’m still too busy revisiting my latest discovery: Caerwyn’s body. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt. The logical side of me believes it’s because I’ve never experienced it before. The romantic side knows it’s our connection. We’ve been drawn to each other from the moment we met. And that pull has only gotten stronger.

  Even now, I’m so sexstruck or dickmatized -depending on who’s judging- that I’m lying next to him and watching him sleep like he’s a rock star who’d happened to have fallen in my bed. It’s his fault really, we’d passed out after an afternoon romp where he’d introduced me to being eaten from behind then being taken on all fours. The devil in my bed always presents a weak protest about not wanting me to get sore only to roll over to make it happen.

  “I’m starting to feel like a deity,” he teases with his eyes still closed.

  “Immortal?” I volley.

  “Worshipped.” His eyes pop open to enthrall me with their blue-green intensity. “I can feel you staring at me.”

  I turn my head to hide my blush. Maybe I’ve read too many books and am caught up in the fantasy. I don’t want to come off as weird, so I need to chill. The last thing I want is to make the honeymoon awkward. Wyn grabs me before I can climb out of bed. It happens so fast that I don’t know what’s going on until I’m on my back with him on top of me.

  He cups my face to force my gaze to his. “Don’t,” he warns.

  “Don’t what?” I ask.

  “Don’t hide from me.”

  I feel another flush of color and drop my gaze to his lips, since I can’t move my head. “And what if you think I’m weird?”

  Wyn picks up my left hand and brings it near our faces. “Let me explain something to you. Do you see this?” he asks while pointing at my ring. “When I put it on your finger, I meant it. I’ve considered, chosen, and accepted all sides of you. If you want to be weird, that’s your fucking right as long as you’re being weird with me. We may not have had the traditional courtship or professions of love, but I knew what I was doing last week. I’d do it again and fight anyone who has a problem with it. You’re stuck with me. You may as well stay true to yourself. I want you raw and unfiltered.”

  I’m touched by his words. Since I’d seen the reception hall based off scenes from my favorite book and movie, I knew he was special. And when he’d presented me with a rare autographed copy of the book at our reception as the Hale family traditional gift to the bride, I decided not to fight falling for him. Now, I’ve decided that I’ll give him my all, consequences be damned.

  “What if staying true to myself meant I want to go join the craziness of the city we’re in then come back here for drunk sex? I want to know what that’s about.”

  Wyn flashes me a soul-scorching smile. “I’d be more than happy facilitating such a request. Please tell me you have some kind of sexual bucket list or checklist.”

  “No, but I can make one.”

  He gives me a slow, lingering peck then sits up. “That’s my girl. Now, let’s go get dirty in the south.”

  His statement gives me the giggles. “Is that a thing?”

  He shakes his head with a smile. “But it will be once we’re done.”

  Caerwyn

  Being ignored is one of the things I’d loved about living off the island. On the island, we’re like royalty without the titles. Hell, our families even pass power in a royal family structure. There, everything we do is newsworthy. In the states, people know who we are but not the entire population. And some of the people who could recognize us don’t give a fuck about our existence.

  Since Imala wants to party, I figure now is the time to go full on tourist and check out Bourbon Street. She was getting dressed when I left the room to check in with the concierge and look at some brochures. Imala offered to meet me downstairs, so I wasn’t rushing as I perused the options. We’d literally fucked away our week - not that I’m complaining- but it’ll be nice to do at least one thing before we go.

  “Caerwyn.” Imala calls my name once she exits the elevator. “I’m ready.”

  Looking up at her, I do a double take then work on not swallowing my tongue. My baggy clothes wearing wife has traded in comfort for an outfit built to drive me crazy. I briefly remember the story Jagger told me about Oran carrying Karessa out of the club because she showed up half-naked. That won’t be a problem for us because I’m not sex starved.

  I stand up straighter and face her, so she knows I’m openly ogling. The glasses are gone for the night and are replaced with contacts and sultry makeup. She’s had time to style her hair by taming her natural soft waves that fall mid-back. My favorite part is the little slip of red satin barely covering her body. The spaghetti straps cut into a deep vee. Each step makes the fabric fight to tame the tits I’d feasted on this afternoon. The dress is tight across her abdomen then flares out at the hips until the fabric stops just above mid-thigh. My dick notices as if it’s been deprived. The legs that have been wrapped around me in some form all day are on full display. Narrowing my eyes as if it’d give me x-ray vision, I wonder if people can see the marks I’d left.

  Once Imala is within touching distance, I pull her close to me.

  “Are you wearing that strap of a dress and fuck me heels just to tease me?”

  She wraps her arms around my neck and smiles at me. “Is it working?”

  I bare my teeth with a soft growl and press my hand to her lower back so she can feel the damage.

  “Let’s go to dinner before I spread you on a plate and devour your pussy for dinner.”

  “Promises, promises,” she coos then heads towards the door.

  I bite my lip once I realize the back of her dress is almost nonexistent. Shaking my head, I chuckle to myself. I need a drink.

  Dinner went well. I was able to focus and talk to my wife like a man instead of a sex-hungry teen. I’m proud of her desire to strive for greatness although her career could be handed to her. She maintains a good front, but I know she’s stressed abo
ut the upcoming last semester of law school. I re-extended my offer to assist and shared some of the tricks that helped me when I was where she’s at.

  Once our bellies are satisfied, her eyes light up as she claps her hands with excitement.

  “I picked this place because my research says they make delicious Old Fashions.”

  Our server appears just as she finishes her sentence. “Does that mean I need to put in an order for two?” he questions, always working the up sale.

  “One for now and I’ll taste his.”

  Once Calvin returns with my drink, I sip it and find that it’s top notch.

  “If you’ve never had one, why did we come for Old Fashions?”

  “I assumed it’s your favorite drink,” she tells me, her eyes flash with worry that she’s guessed wrong.

  I grin because I’m flattered she cares. “It is. Thank you, baby. It’s almost as delicious as you.”

  Imala blushes but leans in to pick up my drink. Her taking a sip then licking the excess off her lips while maintaining eye contact shouldn’t feel so erotic, but her simple actions carry the same weight of her talking dirty.

  “It’s good. I’ll have to remember to compare.” I squeeze the glass tighter than necessary to refrain from dragging her back to the hotel but her soft pink lips are driving me to drink.

  “So, what’s next on the agenda?” I ask after downing my drink and signaling for the check.

  “Drink, dance, sex.”

  Our server laughs because he reappeared with the check in time to hear her response.

  “That’s my kind of date,” he jokes but is already off to settle the bill with the card I passed him.

  “I’ve noticed you have a thing for dancing.”

  She nods but she’s looking in the distance like she’s mentally recovering a fond memory.

  “When I was younger, my parents put me in dance classes to work on my coordination and agility. I fell in love with it. Dancing also gave me a way to clear my mind when I was stressed.” Imala stands after I sign the bill but continues with her story. “I never committed to it full time because I chose to put more effort into academics, but I did keep current with lessons.”

  I grab her hand and she laces her fingers in mine as we walk out into the slightly humid night. I smile as I imagine her younger self in a light pink leotard, hair in a tight bun, and her face the mask of seriousness. It’s the cutest damn thing I can picture in my head. I must get into the family photos once we’re back on the island.

  “And what about now? Do you still go to classes?”

  She nods and her happiness radiates from within. “Not only do I still make time for dance classes, I own the studio. I have a scholarship program that I fund for students who cannot afford it but have a passion for it.”

  Now that I’m finished ordering a ride to the French Quarter, I turn so we’re facing each other and grab her other hand. On the sidewalk, people filter around us, lost in their own night plans. She’s so beautiful and her sweetness and grace is damn sexy. Now, I’m the one staring.

  “I’ll add to the scholarship. We can double the effort.”

  Her face splits into a smile. Imala leans in and kisses me, her heels make it easier for her to do without stretching.

  “Thank you, Wyn. It’s a good way for children to build confidence. I’m not usually the life of the party, but I’m comfortable with myself and confident in my abilities.”

  Her statement reminds me of a question I’ve been meaning to ask. “Why do you wear clothes that are too big for you?”

  She giggles and we climb into the black sedan that has arrived for us. “Well, it started in puberty when I got these.” She points at my new best friends and I’m offended. “I was confused how they’re bigger than my sisters and I didn’t want the attention. Now, it’s habit and comfort but part of it still stands. I want to be admired for me and not my assets.”

  My eyes fall back to her impressive cleavage like they’re magnetized. “I’m quite infatuated with both, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Good to know.” Her tone is playful but her eyes are heated.

  We fall into a comfortable silence for the last few minutes of the short ride to our next destination. Music pumps out of several buildings into the night air, drumming up Imala’s excitement. Food and spices scent the air and tipsy people totter along the sidewalks looking for the next bit of trouble.

  “I want beads!” she beams with an excited clap.

  I pull her to me roughly and kiss her lips. “Hell, no. I’m the only one who gets to see your tits. I’m sure I can buy you some.”

  “That’s fair. I want to start with a grenade.” She points at the drink shop on the corner then pulls me in that direction.

  The line moves surprisingly fast and I get a drink for solidarity. Imala’s is the Hand Grenade and mine the Horny Gator; the titles are fitting because she’s blown up my life in ways I haven’t expected and I’m definitely horny. We sip our drinks as we walk around soaking in the nightlife. Imala finished her big drink faster than I expected. She dips into another drink shop and reappears with a smaller drink.

  “This one is called a Hurricane,” she announces like I needed a recommendation.

  The glaze in her eyes means the alcohol is doing its job. The next place we pass with live music draws Imala’s attention. She pumps her fist in the air, lets out a sorority girl squeal, and pulls me inside.

  The building has all the historical charm one expects from the French Quarter. I’d expected Zydeco or jazz, but the live band is doing a mix of 90s and early 2000s R&B, which gives Imala all the dance feels. The lady with her natural afro adorned with a flower on the side belts out the tunes so smoothly I’m impressed. We watch, swaying with the song as I enjoy the trip down memory lane.

  I’m sure Imala has heard most of these songs but I have memories attached to some of them. School dances, unauthorized parties, and make-out sessions to name a few. There’s nothing like trying to see a girl's tits while Avant croons about making good love.

  The band announces an hour break and the DJ takes over. Apparently, a dance party cannot begin until after women are encouraged to back their asses up. I’m polishing off a new drink as I watch my wife follow instructions too damn well. It reminds me of Oran’s wedding. Imala in her drinks having too much fun on the dance floor. This time she’s my wife and I’m allowed to touch her.

  Plus, if she pops it a little too hard, her tiny dress ensures her ass will be on display. Gulping the rest of my drink, I do what any respectable husband would- I stand behind her, grab her waist, and encourage her to grind on me like it’s her job.

  Damn, she does it so well that I’m over the party after a few songs. I spin her to face me but that doesn’t stop her desire to dry-hump me. Now, her hands slide up my abdomen and chest.

  The music blares and I feel the beat coursing through my body and preparing me for all that comes after. Locking eyes with me, she dips it low and picks it up slow just how Christina Milian suggests. I feel capable of dragging her out, but the Beyoncé mix has her excited. Imala continues to dance with me, singing along while promising to be my naughty girl and upgrading me. The next snippet starts with the beginning of Baby Boy. Imala sings to me, moaning along with the song but I can’t take it beyond her moaning to be hurt so good.

  Pushing her into a secluded corner, I hook my finger and tug at the top until a pert nipple pops out to greet me. I clamp my mouth on my new friend like it’s the source to quench my thirst. She bucks against me, making a sound of sweet surrender that ensures me she’s down for anything. Imala’s leg slides up my body to lock on my waist, pushing her already short dress further up her hips. I groan as I continue to tease her with the tip of my tongue. All the important parts are so easy to access right now.

  Imala moans as she humps the thigh I have pressed between hers.

  “I want to ride you, Wyn,” she says near my ear so she can be heard over the loud music.


  I tear my mouth away from her sweet nipple to respond. “My dick or face?”

  Her dark eyes flutter open to look at me. “Both.” She cups my face like I usually grab hers. “Please me with your face then impale me with your dick.”

  Imala’s request has be so primed and ready to fuck, I can’t do anything but release a shuddering sigh. Normally, I’d do everything she’s asking right here on the spot without giving a single fuck that we’re in public, but she’s an heiress and we know how that goes. Meeting in the middle, I snake a hand between us and watch her plush lips part as I play with her pussy.

  “Imala, my innocent wife, what’s gotten into you?” I tease her. My teeth sink into the delicate flesh of her lower lip.

  “You.” She removes my hand and sucks the two fingers that were just inside of her. My dick cries about being trapped. “Now, I’ve tasted the Old Fashioned. I must agree, both taste good.”

  “I want to be inside of you right now.”

  “Let’s go so you can,” she orders.

  I pull her into a kiss, dipping my tongue into her mouth. I communicate exactly what’s going to happen. She whimpers when I pull away but I’m the one sexually flustered when she rubs my dick through my pants.

  “Fuck, I might have to be like Oran and ban alcohol,” l grind out the words as I grab her ass.

  “You could, or you can appreciate knowing that it has me on the verge of cuming just from the thought of you tasting me.”

  "That's sexy but fuck the verge. I want you wet and writhing beneath me as an orgasm threatens to take your life." I stop talking to steal a brief kiss. "And just as you begin to relax, give you another."

  Imala's eyes are wild with lust and a little glassy from the alcohol.

  "Well, damn daddy, let's go." Her response makes me chortle but it doesn't diminish my efforts to leave and get us back to the hotel.

  Getting back to our room is a blur or activity we performed on autopilot. Our tipsy minds are both focused on one goal. I have her dress pushed down to expose her breasts the moment our door closes.