by H. M. Irwing
I could understand that. I didn’t want my friends gawking at him either. Especially when I didn’t even know who was going to be my friends on this hen’s night. Aside from Tracy and Rafael, I had really been too much of a recluse.
I played with the buttons on his shirt as he watched the news. I was dressed up to the hilt in a scanty red dress and, as usual, sky-high fuck-me-red stilettos. My black net stockings only completed the slutty look.
I started to unbutton Erin’s Armani, peering up at him as I did, so but he seemed preoccupied with the going-ons on the news, so I blatantly carried on. I pushed aside his shirt then placed a fire-engine bright-red, pouty kiss on his chest just where his heart sat.
There! I had marked him as mine. I sighed happily and tried not to meet his suddenly searching gaze. But comprehension dawned anyway.
“Good idea,” he whispered huskily before leaning down to catch me to him. I found myself caught securely between his hands, one palm open along my neck and then other on my shoulder holding me still.
I bit back a cry of pain as he proceeded to give me a hickey that would warn away even the most stalwart of men as if I had a troop of them after my ass in the first place. It was he who was at risk here. Not me.
“This thing is probably the size of a nipple!” I exclaimed, feeling the still sore spot. His guffaws of laughter didn’t endear him to me. But I was more concerned with the size of the hickey he planted on me. It would surely ruin my wedding attire tomorrow.
I groaned at that thought. Rafael was going to kill me. I scowled heavily at Erin, but he only grinned back wickedly and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.
I sighed, suddenly happy again, and snuggled back against him to wait for our damn friends to arrive and do their best to ruin our lives.
The night dragged on. Punctuality was not a strong point for our friends. I was beginning to think they might have gone on ahead of us and were even now at some sleazy joint, getting high and jiggy with it.
I would be happiest if that were the case. I only wondered if they could be up in the morning in time to get me dressed and on the road.
I thought back to earlier today. It had naturally been Tracy’s bright idea to secure that TV interview for me and then to thrust it upon me at the last minute. The camera men and entourage had descended upon us right there in my new home. My home with Erin.
Naturally, seeing the vultures arrive and knowing they were here for me, Erin had done what any prospective bridegroom would do. He’d high tailed it out of there with minimum fuss.
I was left fuming and fumbling alone through that ghastly interview.
Reporter: What made you decide to become a plus-size model? Were you trying to emulate the success of your sister, the supermodel—Janice William? Would you say that, with having Erin, a mega supermodel in his own right, as your boyfriend has paved your way into this highly competitive industry with such ease?
As if I didn’t know who my sister was, and that second question didn’t even deserve an answer. I took a moment to glare daggers at the first reporter and then directed my death glare at Tracy, who skillfully dodged it, skulking around as she was in the background. Where did she find this idiot?
Me: Firstly, Erin is my husband. My venturing into this industry was his idea. He was my agent until very recently. I have been undoubtedly blessed in having him there for me every step of the way. Being Janice’s agent for so many years also made the transition into modeling all that much easier. It was certainly a plus to have already known this industry as intimately as I already did.
Reporter: What about your obesity? By being a plus-size model, are you advocating that excessive eating is alright? You are now a role model to countless impressionable youngsters, and they look to you and your success as inspirational. Would you agree that you promote binge eating? Would you agree that encourages unhealthy eating?
This time, I tossed away all veneer of politeness. And I all but snarled out my response quite viciously.
Me: I am fond of food. You can say it’s my second love, but I do not promote obesity or even binge eating. All disorders are exactly such: a condition that should be treated by a health care professional like any other ailment. I am overweight from my indulgence for food, but I exercise and have been trying to control my diet. I have no desire to drop to size zero, and nor do I wish to bloom out of proportions either. I am content with my current weight and am comfortable with it. I am, as some would say, neither too fat nor too thin.
The reporter sneered condescendingly at that before grudgingly admitting, …
Reporter: You are somewhat unusual in terms of your bulk. I believe Women Today labelled your figure as hour glass, but as you wear a size eighteen? Twenty? I believe you qualify as obese.
I gritted my teeth and responded.
Me: I am a size eighteen, but I sometimes wear a sixteen, but with my height, that weight settles on my frame quite reasonably. I have a waistline, and that emphasizes my voluptuous form.
The interview had gone along in those lines for most of the afternoon, and then, they were packed up and gone with Tracy making a swift exit right in their wake. So, I was rather looking forward to seeing her and laying out some ground rules. I realized this being my agent thingy was new for both her and Rafael, but still.
The intercom rang, but I was not to go answer it. I was too comfortable in Erin’s arms and didn’t want to move for at least another century. But the bell persistently rang again. … Then again. …
“I think we may just have to get that,” I said grudgingly to Erin. He didn’t look all that pleased by it either, but he nodded and got up, lifting me in his arms as if I weighed nothing. I clung on to him and then tapped at the required button to let both Tracy and Rafael in, but the intercom only rang again.
“What?” I said into the speaker snappily.
“Come on down. We’re running late as is.”
I grimaced at that. They made it sound as if that was our fault. Erin let my feet drop to the floor, and I grabbed my little purse from its strategic perch by the door, and then, we were wrapped in each other’s arms, taking the elevator down. I was still clinging to him and him to me as we emerged out through the foyer and into the open.
Two sets of stretch limos greeted us—a hummer for Erin and one for me. What were we? In grade school, attending prom?
I was wrenched free from my frantic kisses to Erin and, only a moment later, tucked into the warm confines of a limo. I watched Erin still standing there, feeling bereft and alone. We had been mostly inseparable ever since that day he’d proposed to me. Well, except for this afternoon when he willfully bailed out on me in lieu of escaping the media and that dastardly interview.
Our limo shifted along St Kilda Road, gliding past street walkers, out to earn a few in a roll with some strangers. It pulled up in the sleaziest club in Melbourne but not after fetching a few more occupants along the way. The last of which was Janice herself. That explained the choice for sleazy. I glared at Tracy even as I reluctantly plastered a smile on my face and got out of the vehicle.
The door opened to reveal a grinning bouncer, the blare of loud music, the stale whiff of tobacco and alcohol, and an unusual tangy smell of sex. I grimaced and gingerly thrusted one foot over the threshold before being forcefully made to overcome my reluctance to enter with a shove at my behind from Tracy. The death glare was her reward.
We were guided to the very front and center. Right up against the platform were bawdy strippers, already tearing off their clothes and tossing strips of nothing into the inflamed crowd. Rafael grinned and waved back happily at the cowboy stud on stage already reduced to nothing but the G-string to preserve his modesty and a large cowboy hat on his head. I took my seat furthest away from the stage but, even so, could not overcome my shock over the 3-D visual effects of his shamelessly thrusting pelvis.
I was ordered vodka shots and made to drink them against my will ‘til my will altogether disappeared and to only after jus
t that second shot. And then, I was as bad as the rest of them, shrieking out cat calls and cheering my head off to the next sleazy number on stage.
My throat was raw and inflamed by the time the limo had safely carted me back home. I was thrust out quite rudely before the limo burned rubber, hightailing it out of there. Erin greeted me at the foyer, waiting for my return. I flung myself into his arms flushed and drunk but still willing to party hard into the night. Especially now that I was at his side. We returned to our room, eager to get the party really started.
I moved to the music—a fast Latino number with mix reggae beat that made my hips swivel and my bust shake. I had already drawn down the bust line of my dress so I could shake my tits freely in Erin’s lasciviously grinning face.
He lay sprawling across the bed before me, propped up against the pillows, wolf whistling at me encouragingly and cheering me on. I grabbed the hem of my dress when I realized the bodice could not be forced over my shaking hips without causing a serious rip in the fabric. I raised it high over my head and finished with a flurry of rotations before I tossed it aside.
Erin howled and cheered me on, clapping his hands as I leaned forward to shake my bouncing tits right in his face, offering a 3-D effect of my own.
I dodged his reaching hands and lips and danced backward in my stilettos, socks, and thongs. I turned, offering a view of my back, bending over to shake the flabs in my ass at him and was rewarded with more wolf whistles and howls. Then, I peeled off my thongs and kicked it with the heel of my shoes onto his Armani-clad chest.
I finished with a slow twirl and a low curtsey before bounding over to him and grabbing his hand.
“It’s your turn,” I panted out at him, tugging him off and leaping on to take his place on the bed. I grabbed a pillow to smack him as he tried to make a grab for my ass.
“Nope. You. Strip. Now!” I ordered indignantly, ignoring his chuckles of delight.
I caught a pillow and tucked it comfortably across my torso, effectively concealing my nakedness from his greedy gaze then leaned back to watch eagerly for the strip tease of a lifetime.
The music changed to slow seduction, and Erin’s moves reflected the mood. I watched, mesmerized by his raw beauty. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, rocking to the jazzy beat. I felt it strum along my blood to my pounding heart. Just like that, I felt the first blooms of my first love. I thrilled and flushed with excitement. His grin was slow and knowing.
Erin shrugged out of his shirt, still swaying to the music, making me want to kiss my way across his muscular chest and shoulders. Then, his hands fell to his belt buckle, and I rocked to my knees, aiming for a closer look. I landed on my chest, propped up on my elbows, with my heels kicking up, twirling in the air in lazy circles. I watched on with breathless anticipation.
He did a slow, seductive turn as he smoothly stepped out of his pants in an erotic move, and I licked my lips over the tent in his briefs. Then, he offered me his ass as he bent over to pull that down, and I chortled in laughter, wanting nothing more than to bite him.
But then, he turned, waving his erection before my face, and I shifted, trying to catch it between my lips. I missed once, twice, but then, he was filling me lush, smooth, and strong. I moaned and fell back even as he came over me, urging me on, murmuring soothing words of encouragement then dirty words, stroking at my own heat. I got greedy and possessive, trapping him to me. My hands strong and firm on his flanks, and then, he came into my mouth and tightened his hands over my bobbing head.
Afterward, I lay drowsy and contented on his chest.
“I don’t think that counts, does it?” I questioned over our initial intention not to fornicate this last night before our wedding. “I mean, you coming in my mouth shouldn’t count as—” But the soft snore that emitted from his sexy lips alerted me that his attention had waned—as had his ability to stay awake. So, I cuddled in closer and pulled on the covering to sleep away the last night before my second and more traditional wedding to the same man.
Chapter 7
“It’s a horrendous monstrosity!” I exclaimed in shock, staring at the gauzy, frothy, and then brocade and silk creation laid out in all its gory before me. And was that strips of velvet? A bloody couture! A wedding couture, no less. What were they thinking?
“I am not wearing that hideous garment,” I exclaimed again indignantly, not waiting for any replies. The shame-faced looks on both Tracy and Rafael told its own tale.
“You have to Claire. We have signed the contract. Your wedding will be the launch to a couture wedding line—a new trend. This whole shebang has been arranged as the official launch. Not only is the house of couture funding your wedding, but you are going to be a very rich lady at the end of it,” said Rafael, wringing his hands fretfully. “All you have to do is walk down the aisle in that monstrosity and beam a smile that will not only convince the world that this is the next new thing but have them actually fly off the racks and onto the bridal marches, only the world over.”
I stared at him, opened-mouthed, utterly aghast.
Erin and I had been hustled awake not long after we closed our eyes, only hours earlier this morning. Then, the hordes of hair stylists, makeup artists, and what not descended on us. But the dress. … That damn dress had only just arrived. I realized, now, that too had been plotted and planned to precision.
I glared ferociously at my two new agents but then sighed in resignation. There was nothing else to it. I had to wear the ghastly garment and simply hope for the best—hope that Erin overlooked the horror that would be approaching him down the blasted aisle. Then again, the poor man was already leg shackled to me for life. It was not as though he could run away in fright at this point. Nope. For better or worse: he was in with me on this for life. A pinch of pity for my Erin stung at my heart.
“It will be over before you know it,” offered Rafael encouragingly.
I shook my head bitterly at that then helplessly lifted my arms for the deed to be done.
It took three of them working together to slip the freak of nature over my head and have it come to rest gracelessly on my shoulders.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror then simply closed my eyes in earnest.
Our hotel was not far from St. Paul Cathedral: the choice venue for our wedding. But still, we opted for the limo rides getting there. Our return to the hotel being on the more traditional and photographic horse drawn carriages, I arrived awkwardly but on time. Gathered there, awaiting me, was an assortment of carefully-selected flower girls and bridesmaids. A milieu of photographers were working them over, snapping shots from every angle. Reporters and paparazzi hovered at the sidelines along with a robust crowd of curious onlookers.
We were snapped on arriving, and as I got out, yet more flashes lit up around me. I stood there on the footpath, frowning. It felt weird being a bride. And more so strange being this well photographed. Standing around model bridesmaids and flower girls was just plain awkward. I doubted my frown would be wearing off anytime soon. But then, Michelle, who was the appointed time keeper, descended amongst us. And after buzzing around, refreshing our makeup and hair, took the lead in ushering us all in.
It was time.
I was the epitome of an English bride. I had something borrowed: Colin leading me down the aisle. Something new: Janice smiling at me sweetly from her place in the pew. And most importantly, something blue: me walking down the aisle in this gothic horror in white.
I beamed a fearsome smile that surely cracked the lenses of several cameras snapping crazily all over the place. They wanted to capture the hideous look of my dress from every possible angle, but I ask them, how could they possibly miss? The thing was huge with a train that was still winding its way past the entry. Admittedly, the brocade waist was corseted, and it squeezed out a waistline that was quite satisfactory.
But my cleavage surely spilled out most inappropriately for a church. And the gauzy fluff that was edged in lace flared out knee-high, knocking into Colin w
ith each step I took.
Then, there was that strip of velvet—white velvet that hugged my hips and then folded into pleats over my ass as if I didn’t already have an ass big enough to relocate an entire township.
I hadn’t looked at Erin as I started down the aisle, but I did so now, halfway down the aisle. Lifting my head high so that my hair, pinned up straight over my forehead in a high ponytail with an extension of curls wavering over my shoulders, tossed back defiantly, I caught his gaze beneath the half veil of net and lace.
The look in his eyes stunned me.
Such pride and happiness radiated out of him. I stared back with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps the dress was not as horrendous as I had thought. Certainly, I would never understand couture. I beamed a shy but happy smile of my own and had to stifle the urge to bound over to his side like a happy puppy.
Then, I was there, having floated over the remaining distance on the strength of his gaze alone.
I smiled delightedly into his eyes and then stared hungrily at the sensual turn of his lips. I licked my own in anticipation, instantly lost in inappropriately erotic thoughts. I droned out the priest’s long-winding diatribe but was then forced to turn away at the insistent clearing of a throat to face the intrusive priest, who annoyingly demanded my attention.
“Yes!” I snapped at him before turning back to glue my eyes on my Erin. His lips twitched in barely restrained amusement, and I felt mine lift too in a besotted smile that served only to beam my love for him loud and clear for all to see.
“Now, you may kiss the bride. …”
That penetrated my haze of happiness like nothing else could. I lifted my lips happily, eager for his kiss, then reached out to tug his chuckling face lower when he failed to comply speedily enough. My lips closed over his in a swoon-worthy kiss that he took over and made his own in a flash.
