Alien in the Family

by Gini Koch

  “Now I get to kiss the bride,” he said, his voice dropped down to a purr. He pulled me up and covered my mouth with his. Everyone was still there, I could sort of hear them, heard the music change to “Your Body is a Wonderland” by John Mayer, but the only thing I was aware of was Martini’s kiss.

  We finally had to break apart to do the bouquet and garter stuff. Kimmie ran a new bouquet to me, a little safer for throwing over my head, while I discussed things with the photographer, also known as Mister Joel Oliver. It was the first time I’d actually seen him, but he insisted he’d caught pretty much everything.

  “Pictures are going to be amazing,” he said cheerfully. “The video should be particularly good.”

  “I don’t think I want to know. But glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

  He grinned. “Scoop of the year, at least this half of it. Royalty, huh?”

  “That’s the rumor.”

  “I’ll take it. It flies better than the truth.”

  “It is the truth.”

  Oliver winked at me. “Sure it is. Now, let’s keep the events moving.”

  The single gals were all behind me, so I decided to get back to having fun. Pierre played Madonna’s “Material Girl” while we got ready, and I did a couple of fake tosses for Oliver and also because hearing the shrieking behind me never got old. Did a mighty fling back there and spun around to see who would come up with it. Tim’s girlfriend, Alicia, was the lucky winner. She blushed bright red, and he grinned, while the other guys did the ribbing thing.

  Next it was garter time. Back in a chair on the dance floor, Pierre spinning the stripper music. Martini went down on one knee and slowly slid my dress up to a ton of hooting, cheering, and catcalls. He gave me a wicked grin, then ran his tongue up my leg and pulled the garter off with his teeth. I managed not to have a screaming orgasm from this, but it required more self-control than I was normally able to exert. He knew it, too, and looked extremely pleased with himself.

  Martini’s turn to do the fake tossing a few times, then for real. Since the guy who caught the garter would put it on the bouquet winner’s leg, Tim was doing his best to catch it. However, going into outer space apparently gave you the edge, and being an A-C meant he could really jump, and Michael Gower came down with the garter in hand.

  He enjoyed putting it on Alicia, but then he had the whole “you’re getting married next” thing explained to him. Offered to do the toss over again. Entire crowd said no in unison. Tim explained that Michael wasn’t marrying his girl, and much more hilarity that’s only funny when you’re there ensued.

  More dancing, mostly slow songs, and Martini and I made out through most of them. It truly was the best reception ever.

  CHAPTER 74

  SOMEWHERE ALONG IN THE NIGHT the dance floor got crowded enough that no one was paying attention to us any more, and Martini took my hand and led me off to the side.

  Reader joined us, carrying my veil. “I have the gate scheduled for noon tomorrow.”

  Martini nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “Girlfriend, unless you want to take it with you, I’ll get your bouquet preserved.”

  “Anything you’re not taking care of for me?”

  He grinned. “Only the wedding night and honeymoon. You two are on your own for those.”

  “I think we can handle it.” Martini hugged Reader. “Thanks, James. For everything.” They patted each other’s backs in that man way, then Martini put his arm around my waist.

  “James . . .” I moved away from Martini and hugged Reader tightly. “I don’t have any gift for you.” That wasn’t everything I wanted to say to him, but all the things I wanted to say I didn’t want to share with anyone else, not even Martini.

  He hugged me back. “It’s okay. This working out is the best present.” He kissed the side of my head and whispered in my ear, “Now Paul and I can get married, too, you know. I do have some skin in this game.”

  “You’d have done it if you hadn’t.”

  “Sure, but I’m not completely altruistic. Bring me back something nice from Cabo. It’ll give you two a reason to get out of the bedroom—shop for your wedding party while you’re on your honeymoon.”

  I laughed. “Will do.” I kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “I love you, James. Thank you for always being there for me.”

  We finally broke apart, Martini put his arm back around my waist, and Reader hustled us off in the middle of a particularly popular song, “Pennsylvania 6-5000” by Glenn Miller. Why this song had brought all the guests to their feet I couldn’t say, but they all, young and old, seemed to be loving it.

  We got out into the foyer, and Martini cocked his head at me. “So, you want to hit the tables before we hit the room?”

  I was kind of surprised at the offer. “Erm . . . well . . .”

  He grinned. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t mind? You’re not hurt?”

  “Nope. You’ve wanted to gamble since we got here. And dressed like this, you should be Lady Luck personified.” He scooped me up and carried me off. We got a lot of looks, lots of comments, all of them funny or nice. We continued on into the casino, where we got more looks, several rounds of applause, and a lot of positive catcalls.

  Martini spotted a somewhat empty craps table and set me down there.

  “Lady shooter!” the stickman called. “Just married lady shooter!” He slid the dice to me, as the table started to fill up. Martini tossed some cash down, but he stood behind me.

  Did the thing my Nana had taught me, moved the dice to show seven, tapped them against the table three times, and rolled.

  “Seven! Winner!” A lot of chips were shoved toward me. Whoops. I’d had all of Martini’s money on the pass line. Thank God I’d rolled decently.

  “Jeff, can you handle the betting? As in, get most of that money off the table?”

  He laughed and reached down and put a more reasonable number of chips on the pass line.

  Did the dice thing again, got another seven. Table started to get excited and loud, more people shoved over and in. Rolled another five sevens in a row. Started to wonder if Martini was using hyperspeed on the dice but decided not to care. I was winning back a small portion of the vast sums he’d spent on our wedding and felt pretty darned good about it.

  “Go shooter!” The voice was familiar. I looked at the other end of the table. My grandparents, all four of them, were there. Nana Sadie laughed at my expression. “Taught her everything she knows about the dice, folks. Roll ’em, kitten!”

  Shrugged, did the dice thing, got an eleven this time. “Winner! Lady Luck at the table tonight,” the stickman called out.

  Rolled again, finally rolled a number. “Eight, the number is eight. Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen.”

  I avoided looking at the money on the table, particularly the money Martini was putting on and around. I wanted to stay in the zone. Dice slid over to me, the stickman turned them to double fours for me. Did the tap, tossed the dice. Got the hard eight. The table went nuts.

  I ended up rolling for over forty-five minutes. Finally crapped out and apologized. Had chips tossed to me from most of the table. Nana Sadie got the dice next, held onto them for fifteen minutes. The gambling force was strong in my family. Interestingly, Martini had pulled most of our money off the table both for my last roll and Nana’s. “Table’s cold,” he said in my ear.

  I didn’t argue, just gathered up our chips, gave the dealers each a nice tip, then we left the table. My grandparents followed our lead. “Where to next?” Nono Dom asked.

  I looked around. We were near a roulette table. I never played roulette unless I wanted to sit down. “Go ahead,” Martini said.

  I shrugged and put some chips down on double zero. It was the longest shot around, but I didn’t care. Nana Sadie and Nona Maria followed suit.

  I watched the wheel spin with no expectations of winning. I realized I’d dropped more money down than I’d planned. Marti
ni stroked my neck. The ball stopped. Double zero. The screaming was loud, especially from my grandmothers. I stood there in shock. Martini nudged me. “Get your chips, baby.”

  I did, and they had to exchange them for the pretty black chips because I couldn’t carry what I had. I looked up at Martini. “I want to cash out now.”

  He grinned. “You sure?”

  “I’m all over the stopping while we’re ahead thing.”

  My grandparents were all for keeping us around, as were several other folks. But I’d had a great time for a little over an hour, made the most money gambling in my life, and wanted to get up to the room and rip Martini’s clothes off. I kissed and hugged the grandparents good-bye, and then we cashed out. I’d won several thousand dollars. Tried not to squeal and jump up and down. Failed.

  I handed the money to Martini. He pushed it back. We did this for a bit. “Jeff, I have nowhere to put it unless I stuff it in my chest.”

  He got the jungle cat smile. “I’ll put it there for you.”

  I snuggled up to him. “Later. In about five minutes later. Put the money away in your wallet. Please?”

  He did as asked. “Well, it’s all yours now anyway.” He took my hand, and we walked through the casino back to our elevator.

  “Jeff? Did you . . . do anything . . . to help me win?”

  He laughed. “No, baby, I didn’t use hyperspeed or anything else. Gambling is luck, but at the tables, craps in particular, much of it’s how the person with the dice feels. Too scared, nervous, or overconfident usually means they’ll crap out. I could tell when you and your grandmother felt the stress, and that meant you’d crap out the next roll. Everyone else at the table was worried they’d break the streak, meaning they would.”

  “What about the roulette wheel?

  He grinned. “Again, I didn’t do a thing. Nerves have nothing to do with roulette, either. You just picked wisely for that spin of the wheel.” He nuzzled my ear. “I told you—you’re personifying Lady Luck right now.”

  We got into the elevator and made out the whole way up. Martini kissed me tenderly and stroked my bare skin with his fingertips until I was a puddle. We walked hand-in-hand to the room. He opened our door, then picked me up and carried me inside.

  I gasped when I saw the room. It was loaded with flowers.

  “You like them?”

  “Oh my God, Jeff. Are these all from you?”

  “Yeah. Just wanted to make our wedding night special.”

  I grabbed his face and kissed him. “Just being with you makes it special, Jeff.”

  He nuzzled my neck. “Always like to be sure.” His tongue traced my skin, right where my shoulder met my neck, and I started to moan. He smiled against my skin. “How long is it going to take to get you unbuttoned?”

  “Probably longer than we want,” I managed to gasp out.

  He set me down. “Guess I can’t chase you, then.”

  “Maybe later. You’ll like what’s under the dress, anyway.”

  “Mmmm, I love what’s under the dress.” He turned me around and started unbuttoning. “Wow, called this one right. Good thing I’m doing this now.” He slid his thumbs down my spine and I gasped. It took him a little while, but he got the dress unbuttoned to about the middle of my bottom. Then he slid his hands around my waist, up my stomach, and cupped my breasts. I leaned back against him, my breathing heavy. He toyed with me for a bit. Once I was a puddle again, he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom.

  He took his wallet out of the tuxedo jacket. I took off his boutonnière. “Don’t take the tux off yet.” He started the low growl that always sounded like a purr. I backed away and shimmied out of my dress. His purr got louder.

  I turned around and hung my dress up. Turned back and he was right there, jungle cat look on his face. He picked me up by my waist and slammed our pelvises together. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and his mouth ravaged mine.

  I was already moaning by the time we fell on the bed. He grabbed my wrists and held my hands captive up over my head. Then he proceeded to do one of the many things he did best—bring me to screaming orgasm at second base.

  Martini let go of my wrists and slid my thong and shoes off. He left the garter belt and hose on. His hands slid up my legs. By the time he was at the middle of my thighs I was moaning and when his tongue followed I was back to my typical cat-inheat yowl.

  Lost count of the number of climaxes, couldn’t think much or form coherent words to beg him to make love to me. He finally moved back up my body, and I managed to get his pants undone and him in my hands while he made sure my breasts didn’t feel unloved or slighted in any way.

  I was moaning and writhing under him. “What do you want, baby?” he whispered in my ear.

  I’d been practicing for this moment. Had to get a whole sentence out, when one word was difficult because I was so far gone over the edge. “I want . . . my husband to make love to me.”

  He smiled and kissed me. “Can’t refuse my wife’s first official request.” He slid into me—my head went back, my back arched, and I clutched at him. It was intense—wild and tender at the same time, and I was gone in a matter of moments. “That’s what I want,” he purred against my neck. “Over and over again.”

  I obliged. I had no choice—everything he did made me want him more, and I was screaming and sobbing and begging him to stop and keep going all at the same time. We were slamming into each other, fast and furious, then he threw his head back and roared as he erupted inside me, and I flipped so far over the edge I almost passed out.

  The feelings lasted for a long time, but finally our bodies quieted. Once my body stopped shuddering enough so I could walk, I undressed him and hung his clothes up. Then he took the garter belt and hose off me, so we were both fully naked. He slid us under the covers and made love to me again, for hours.

  Just before dawn we wrapped around each other. “I never got time to buy you a wedding present,” I murmured against his chest.

  He kissed the top of my head. “You are my present. I got to unwrap you, too.”

  “Cabo tomorrow?”

  “In a few hours.”

  “Goody.”

  Martini laughed softly. “Can’t wait for it, myself. Go to sleep, baby. Tomorrow’s the first day of our married life, and I want you rested so I can exhaust you.”

  I heaved a happy sigh. “I love being married to the alien sex god.”

  CHAPTER 75

  “IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL HERE.”

  “Yeah. Glad we could get the same cabana as our first time, especially since we were six weeks earlier than I’d reserved.”

  “You passing the desk clerk an extra hundred probably didn’t hurt.”

  Jeff laughed. I was managing to think of him as Jeff about fifty percent of the time on our honeymoon and was immensely proud of myself for it, too. “You weren’t supposed to see that.” I shrugged, and he purred. “Do that again.” He buried his face in my breasts for a bit.

  Finished that round of lovemaking. I was on my back and he was on his side, head leaning on his hand, while he stroked my skin lightly with his fingers. He had a funny look on his face.

  “Jeff, are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “You. When we’re going to have kids. That sort of stuff.”

  “You want them right away, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Always have. Once I met you . . . I’ve always known I wanted you to be the mother of my children.”

  My throat felt tight. “Same here.” I thought about it. Everything I’d done since I’d met him a year ago had been a step into the scary unknown. And, scary or not, everything had worked out all right in the end. “We can start trying right away if you want.”

  He didn’t get the excited expression I expected. He still looked kind of funny. “I don’t want you to feel rushed or frightened.”

  “I’m twenty-eight and you’re thirty-one. We have to start somet
ime. Might as well have them while we’re young enough to handle them. Besides, you’re going to be the best daddy in the universe, so I’m not as afraid as I could be.”

  Mar- . . . Jeff smiled at me. “I hope so. You’ll be a wonderful mother.”

  “Hope so.” I wondered if he was worried about how the drugs that had enhanced his powers could affect our getting pregnant. “I’m sure we won’t have any trouble.”

  “No. We won’t.” He sounded both sure and unconcerned, not breezy, but definite. He also seemed to be struggling with something.

  “Jeff . . . is there something you need to tell me?” I tried not to get worried, and failed, as always.

  He kissed me tenderly. “Yes. But it’s not bad. At least, I don’t think it’s bad.”

  “Okay, so tell me.” He took a deep breath. Opened his mouth, shut it, tried again, didn’t work again. “Jeff, we’re not making any progress here on the telling.”

  “I don’t know how to tell you.” He looked nervous and worried all of the sudden.

  “Just blurt it out. Before I start freaking out.”

  “Yeah, don’t want you getting upset.” His fingers were running over my stomach. Normally he drew circles around my navel, but this time I could feel he was drawing the infinity sign. “Getting upset’s not good for you. Especially . . .”

  “Especially . . . what? Do I have some dread disease you’re trying to tell me about?”

  “No, not a disease.” He kissed my forehead. “I just . . . I need to take care of you, baby, that’s all.”

  “Why? Not that I’m arguing, but you always sort of take care of me. I take care of you, too. That’s why we got married, remember?”

  “Yeah. I’m glad we had to speed it up.”

  “Well, it might have been nice to have had a few more weeks to adjust, but it was all great, so I’m glad, too.”

  He shook his head. “No, I think we’ll be happy for the extra adjustment time now.”