by Eva Charles
After Jasper gives me shit about being an old man, they leave us. “Where’s your dessert?” I ask, dipping a fork into the pie. “Didn’t want any?”
She laughs. “I thought we’d share,” she says, bringing her fork to my plate.
I swat her away. “Forget about it.”
As I take another bite of pie, she reaches over, dips her finger into the ice cream and brings it to my lips. “Midnight cookies and cream,” she murmurs, while I suck it off her finger. It’s so damn sexy, for a minute I forget that it’s how I first described kink to her.
“Finish your dessert,” she says in a husky voice. “The evening’s just beginning.”
“I’m good.” Without another bite, I grab her arm and haul her out of the restaurant. “Put it on my tab,” I call to Jasper on our way out.
Someone will pick up our cars later. Antoine is driving tonight, and from the look of Kate, I’m damn happy I made that decision, instead of having one of my guys drive. “Where we goin’?” I ask, leaning in for a kiss.
“You’ll see.” She speaks to Antoine in a hushed voice, and slides in beside me for the short drive to Tallulah’s.
When we get to the bar, it’s standing room only, and the music is slow and easy. “You want to play a game of pool?” I ask, after the waitress takes our order.
“I want to dance,” she says, brushing her hand over my chest.
“Dance? What kind of birthday present is that?” I groan and complain as she pulls me onto the crowded dance floor, but I don’t mean it, and she damn well knows it.
The lights are low, and I’m not shy about pulling her against me until my cock is pushing into her belly. “Mmmm,” she murmurs, pressing into the thickening shaft.
“You are the best birthday present.” I palm her ass, pinning her against me, while my lips find hers in a lazy kiss that goes on forever.
When I pull my mouth away, her eyes are dark, and she’s gasping softly. She’s gorgeous. I want her, here and now. It’s only my more evolved ego that stops me.
“Do you remember the song that was playing the first time we were on this dance floor?” she asks, nuzzling my neck.
“Mmhm. There was more than one song, but I’m pretty sure you’re talkin’ about the one by Lady Antebellum.”
She nods. “I like that song. It’s a shame Beau banned it from being played in the bar.” She’s trying to keep a straight face, but when I grin, she loses it.
“Delilah is a snitch.”
“You best remember that,” she warns, still smiling. “Do you remember the secret I told you about the bathtub?”
She has that look about her that she gets. Part coy, part sass. The one that says, you can fuck me, but you’ll have to catch me first.
“I’ll never forget it. You still get off in the bathtub thinking about me?”
“Shower. The nozzle in there is amazing.”
My dick can’t take too much more of this teasing. And she’s well aware, because she keeps rocking her hips into it.
“What do you think about when you’re letting the spray beat on your pussy?”
She tips her chin up and meets my eyes. “The saddle.”
I swallow hard. She smiles at me, angelically. And I swallow again. “I climb onto the saddle—it’s already prepared. You caress my breasts and whisper how much you want to fuck my ass. Your voice is rough and sexy. Then you wrap both arms around me and slide inside, ‘til both my holes are full.” She says all that with her sweet mouth.
My jaw is on the floor, and I’m sucking air, trying to breathe. But I play along. “You wanted me to know.”
“I did. What are you going to do about it?”
Fuck you right here on this dance floor right now, doesn’t seem to be the appropriate response. While I’m searching for it, she continues to stoke the fire. “I think about it all the time. Is the saddle still in the apartment?”
“Not sure,” I answer gruffly. “Haven’t been there in ages.”
“We should go check.”
It’s less than thirty minutes from Tallulah’s to the Wildflower apartment. Have I mentioned I’m so damn happy Antoine is driving?
The privacy screen is all the way up and Kate is straddling me, rubbing her bare pussy all over my cock. My pants are on, but she lost her underwear somewhere along the way.
“Are you sure?” I ask, with my lips on her throat.
“Never been more sure.”
I force my mouth away from her soft skin and tip her chin until we’re eye to eye. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Don’t be a chicken,” she says.
“Kate.” I don’t want this to be some ill-conceived birthday present from her. One she’s not ready to give. “Don’t rush it, for me.”
“Are you rusty?” She tilts her pretty head to the side, and her hair grazes my arm. “Have you forgotten how? I can show you how to use it.”
“Wench.” I sink my teeth into her neck until she moans. “I would show you, right now, how out of touch I am, but I want you needy and begging when we get there.” I feel her lips curl against my skin.
When we arrive, Antoine drives through the crowded parking lot into the garage. A year ago Kate would have been thrilled to be here. I gaze at her. She’s still pretty damn happy, but this time it’s because of me.
We take the elevator up, and I drag her down the hall and into the apartment. We shed our clothes on the way to the bedroom. But I stop before heading into the playroom. I glance at her, and begin to have second thoughts.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, walking her fine naked ass into the room with the toys.
“It’s here,” she squeals. I follow her in, and pull her luscious body toward me, lifting her off the floor. She snakes her legs around my waist, rubbing herself on my steely cock.
“Let’s start here.” I lower her carefully onto a chest. “I want to lick your pussy until you’re begging for it.” Her eyes shimmer as she leans back on her hands and spreads her legs for me.
I growl as my tongue connects with the sweet pink flesh. My mouth takes her to the edge, but I don’t let her come. It’ll be better for her first time with the saddle if we don’t take the edge off.
She’s breathing heavily when I pull away. “More. I need more.”
“There’s more. Come with me.” I take her by the hand, to the drawer with the silicone phalluses, wrapped in plastic. “Pick one.” Her hand reaches for a long fat one. “No. It’s too big.”
“I like big,” she says, her eyes on my throbbing dick.
“You’re going to have big, princess.” I bring her hand to my cock. “But they don’t both need to be big.” I kiss her, roughly, because I’m all out of gentle.
“Isn’t there another attachment?”
“You are a greedy little princess.” I brush my nose against hers. “There is, but I’ll choose that one for you.”
She’s intently focused on my hands, as I attach the silicone pieces. “Are you going to watch or—play?” she asks.
I touch her cheek. “It’s your fantasy. I’m just along for the ride.”
She brushes her fingers over mine. Her skin is soft and warm. “Can’t it be both our fantasies?”
I nod. “Why not?”
“I want you to play,” she says, in a breathy voice, her rosy nipples furled tight.
“Then let’s play.” I lower the mount and help her straddle it. “Put your feet on the footrests for leverage. I can help, but it might be better if you insert it yourself.”
She nods carefully and lowers herself onto the silicone cock. I don’t take my hands off her. I’m so hard, my dick is leaking. “How does it feel?”
“Like a vibrator. Before it’s turned on.” I pull up a padded leather-covered board that’s tucked underneath, and angle it so she can rest her chest on it when she leans forward. “This will prevent you from falling off. You can wrap your arms around it or hold it any way you like.”
She’s flushed, and her eyes a
re hooded. She leans forward, gasping when her clit makes contact with the ridged wedge. “Ohh. It vibrates,” she murmurs, squirming against it, before pulling back.
“Feel good?”
“So good,” she moans, forcing her body forward again. Both her arms are wrapped around the leather pad. She’s angled, cheeks spread wide, and all I can think about is sliding into the tight little rosebud.
“You can move,” I tell her, sweeping my hands up and down her back, and across her shoulders. “Ride it just like you ride me.”
Her hips rock back and forth, tentatively at first, and then they sway from side to side. I watch her blissful expression in the mirror. She needs no more instruction.
“Smith,” she gasps. “I want you, too.”
“Anything you want, princess.” I lube my finger and spread it over her pleated hole, before sliding it through the tight muscle. She moans as I press into her.
I feel the plastic cock through her walls. It sends a prickle into the base of my spine.
I add another finger, with my tongue in the hollow of her back, licking my way up, and kissing my way down, all while working her good, so she can take me.
When she’s ready, I’m long past that. “Kate. Open your eyes. Look in the mirror.” I lube her well and coat my cock with the thick liquid. I pause at the entrance. “Open your eyes.” When she does, I slide in, an inch at a time. Carefully breaching each ring of muscle. “You’re so tight with that fake cock in your pussy.” I enter her hot body, slowly. It’s sweet agony.
“Relax. Breathe. Push out.” I remind her when I can form words. She always forgets.
Her face is sweaty in the mirror, her red hair matted against her creamy skin.
I’m nearing the end of any control I had.
When she begins to move, riding the silicone cock and grinding her clit against the ridged rubber. I begin to move, too. Deeper and faster.
Palming her breasts in my hands, I kiss her neck, and slide my teeth over her flesh.
“Look at you, princess.” I wind her hair around my hand. It’s soft and silky around my fingers. When I tug her head back she gasps. I feel it in my groin.
“You’re so tight, Kate,” I murmur near her ear. “I’m going to come so hard inside you.” I push her forward with my hips, pinning her clit against the vibrating wedge. Her entire body tightens and she bucks wildly. The orgasm consumes her, milking my cock until I can barely see. I wrap my arms around her torso tightly, fucking her right through the waves of pleasure.
We gaze at each other in the mirror, while I thrust with abandonment. I feel her climbing again and force myself to find a sliver of control. When she trembles, with my name twisting its way free from her lips, a roar escapes from somewhere deep and primitive, and I empty myself inside her.
My legs are still jelly when I find the strength to separate. I lift her off the saddle, and sweep back her hair so I can see her face. Her eyes are closed, but she smiles at me. The groggy contented smile of a woman who has been thoroughly fucked by a man who loves her.
Epilogue
Two years later
Kate
In the end, I didn’t want to go back to Boston. Not because I don’t love Boston, and Fi, and even my family, but because I love Smith more, and the life we’ve built is in Charleston.
For months after hell, I lost entire days fitting the pieces together, large and small, until the puzzle was complete. There were some days that I only got through because Smith was beside me, and his rock-solid strength was enough for both of us.
With the help of Dr. Long we were able to track Fenny’s original owners. Although I didn’t know it at the time, Smith contacted her the night Fenny was killed. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to remove the microchip before the guys buried what was left of the poor cat. The serial number on the chip helped us locate the original owners, Jessica Daniels and Rory Lister, graduate students in town. Rory was odd on the phone, but it was a strange call to receive, I’m sure. We agreed to meet at their home the next evening.
I spent the following day assembling a small scrapbook for them, with two dozen of the best photos I took of Fenny while she lived with me. When we got to the house, it reeked of weed. Smith coughed several times in what was a gross exaggeration, and within five minutes I could tell he was done with those two.
They hadn’t known Disco was pregnant—that was her real name, and although they missed the little bugger, they never bothered to look for her, either. They couldn’t explain it—she just never came home again. By the time we left, I decided to keep my photos. While Fenny’s end was tragic, her last month spent with me was probably the best of her life. “Those two morons should never reproduce. The world can’t take it,” Smith said loud enough to be heard on our way out.
Virginia is serving a life sentence in prison for her part in the murder of ten homeless women, who nobody ever reported missing. Don’t get me started. I spoke at her sentencing hearing in favor of leniency, because I believe she is also a victim of Father Creighton and Warren King, and all the others who covered up the abuse of a young girl.
It’s been difficult for Petey, who doesn’t understand why his mother can’t come home. But his father has deep pockets and that’s made it a little easier on the boy. It took sworn testimony, court orders, blood tests, and a threat to send the Federal Marshals to his doorstep, but Warren King is officially Petey’s father.
Judge King never made it to the Supreme Court, but he remains on the federal bench. There were not enough votes to impeach in the House. At the time, I was speechless, but perhaps it’s for the best. If he had been impeached and convicted in a Senate trial, he would have slithered away from the public eye. But now, whenever a case comes up involving—well almost anything, the attorneys ask for his recusal. Each time it happens, it makes the news, reminding everyone that he impregnated an underage girl and tried to abort the fetus without her consent. Even for a scoundrel, it must be embarrassing.
Smith and I were married at St. Claire’s by Father Tierney, who had been such a big part of my life growing up. When he first proposed, we thought a civil ceremony made the most sense. I still wasn’t sure about priests or churches, or even God some days, and Smith didn’t have an opinion. He just wanted it to be legal so I couldn’t get rid of him easily, as if I would ever.
But as the prospect of marriage sank in, I began to have second thoughts about being married by a layperson, even if he was the governor. The Catholic church had played an important role in my life, and in my family’s history. Ultimately, I decided a psychopath, masquerading as a priest, wouldn’t destroy my faith.
The only hiccup happened on the day of the rehearsal. There had a been a funeral Mass that morning at St. Claire’s and traces of frankincense and myrrh hung in the air, clinging to surfaces as incense is wont to do. It started with an unease and the bitter taste of adrenaline. Then my chest tightened, as the airways closed in.
I blamed the lightheadedness on pre-wedding jitters and not eating lunch, but it didn’t fool Smith, or Fiona, or Gabby, or maybe anyone for that matter. It was a panic attack.
When I came clean, Gabby had the solution: have the entire church scrubbed by fire restoration experts. “With an experienced company,” she assured me, “you won’t be able to detect the smell.”
When you have unlimited resources and are a former presidential family, like the Wilders, you can make things happen that seem like miracles to everyone else. The church was thoroughly scrubbed before morning Mass the next day.
I slept in my childhood bedroom the night before the wedding. With Joyce out of the picture, the room has been restored to my liking.
For weeks, I had been torn about my father walking me down the aisle. He had a way of sneaking in little digs when I least expected them, and I didn’t want anything to spoil the day. But I didn’t want to be vindictive, either, because that would ruin my happiness too.
After watching me wring my hands about it for too l
ong, Smith gave me the answer. “He doesn’t deserve the honor, if you ask me. But if that’s what you want, talk to him. Tell him straight up there will be no bullshit that day. If you want, I’m happy to have the discussion with him.”
And that’s what I did. Not Smith, but me. I should have done it long ago. When we were finished, my dad and I were both in tears. I was under no illusion he would stop overnight, but I was done tolerating the bad behavior, and we both knew it. My brothers were another matter.
My brother Tommy couldn’t get any of the wedding weekend off—probably because he didn’t try. I didn’t miss him. Liam, however, I missed terribly.
Sean was deployed at the time, but he sent me his good wishes and a package containing my mother’s rosary that he keeps with him. I hung it out my bedroom window the night before the wedding, because that’s how Catholic girls from Boston ward off the rain before they get married. I held the rosary close during the ceremony, and then sent it back to Sean on my way to the reception. He’s far away from home, in his own hell, and although I know my mother is with him, just as she was with me, I also know it brings him great comfort to have her rosary.
“What?” my new husband asked incredulously. “You want to make a stop at the post office, in your wedding dress? Today? What about the reception?” But when I explained, he gave my fingers a quick squeeze. “It’s just a small detour,” he murmured. “The guests can wait a few extra minutes.”
During the ceremony, Father Tierney reminisced about my childhood, recalling my love of reading and of chocolate cupcakes with white frosting from Rita’s Bakery. He never actually admitted to it, but it was him. He sent the cupcakes to school on my birthday. My smile reached from ear to ear. Smith kept glancing at me while I grinned like a fool, which made me grin longer and harder. I half expected him to lean over and say something lewd about my smile and the wedding night, or to pinch my ass. Thankfully, he did neither.
