A Very Dirty Wedding (25 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Caulter

I'm surrounded by parts and pieces that go to baby furniture – crib railings, nuts and bolts scattered haphazardly across the surface of the hardwood floor – and thinking I'm
this
close to losing my shit.

"I think it's admirable that you're trying to put the furniture together yourself, Caulter," Ella says over the phone.  The phone is on speaker, and I curse under my breath as I look at the directions to the crib.

"These are the worst fucking directions I've ever seen," I growl.  "They make no sense.  And there are no words.  Only nonsensical pictures."

"You've never assembled anything before, Caulter," she says.  "You should call for someone to do it."

"It's baby furniture, Ella," I say.  "It's not rocket science."

The pieces I'm trying to screw together clatter as they fall onto the floor.

"Does Kate know you're putting everything together yourself?" she asks.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," I tell her.  "She's getting her wedding dress fitted, and I thought it would be nice if all of the baby furniture was delivered and I set up the nursery.  Obviously, I didn't know that assembling furniture takes a damn engineering degree."

"You have people to do that for you, Caulter," Ella says.

"I'm doing it myself," I snap.  "I don't want my kid to grow up helpless."

"It's not helpless to have help, Caulter," Ella says, her voice dismissive.  "Why shouldn't you have people to do things for you?  You tried.  There's no harm in admitting defeat."

"I'm not defeated," I say, feeling triumphant as I assemble the base of the crib…and then realize I put part of it together backwards.

"Should I send Bill up there to help you?" she asks.

"You're going to send your handyman from New York to Boston to assemble this shit?"

"You say that like it's excessive."

"It
is
excessive, Ella."

Ella grunts under her breath.  "You're not a regular person, Caulter," she says.  "Remember that."

"Kate and I are regular people, Ella," I insist.

My upbringing was as far as regular as you could get, as the child of a major celebrity.  When I met Kate, Ella was considered a
former
celebrity, aging out of the industry.  But two years ago, she landed a part in a huge movie that won an Oscar.  Since then, she's been in high demand, playing parts for "women of a certain age," as she puts it.  Now she's on set in New York, filming a television series.

That's put the spotlight back on Kate and I a little bit more lately.

I wanted a regular life.  When I backpacked around Asia for a year, after Kate and I were discovered at her father and Ella's wedding reception, that's what I had.  And for a couple of years after that, Kate and I stayed very far out of the limelight, living as far under the radar as possible.

"You're not regular people, Caulter," Ella says.  "That's not how you were raised."

I laugh.  "That's for sure."

"Oh, as if you would have wanted a normal childhood anyway," Ella says.  "My makeup artist is here.  When are you heading up to New Hampshire?  That's what I called for.  I was distracted by your handyman nonsense."

"Next week," I tell her.  "And you'd better make it for the wedding, Ella.  No excuses because something more important came up."

"Caulter Sterling, if I were there, I'd slap you," Ella says.  "There is nothing more important that will prevent me from attending your wedding."

I don't bother to stifle my grunt.  "Hey, are you sure that you and the Senator can put aside your differences and get along?"

Senator Harrison, Kate's father and Ella's ex-fiancé, were barely on speaking terms, the last time I checked.  The thought of the two of them being forced to spend even a few hours together, let alone the several days before the wedding, is insane.  They'll probably kill each other.

That makes it sound like our wedding potentially is the setting for a horror film, although with the Senator and Ella there together, that may not be too far removed from reality.

Ella makes a strangled sound.  "I have to run," she says.  "Makeup artist.  Oh, and Caulter?"

"Yeah?"

"Get a fucking handyman."

Instead, I go get another beer.  Apparently, assembling furniture requires beer, because an hour later, I have the entire nursery put together.

When Kate returns from the wedding dress fitting, she stands in the doorway to the nursery, her hands covering her mouth.  "You did this?"

"I did," I say.

"You put all of this together yourself?"

I shrug.  "It was no big deal."

Whatever.  I'm proud of that shit.  And also a little buzzed from the beer.

Kate stands there looking at me for a long moment, and I think that she might hate it.  Then her lower lip quivers, and she starts to cry.

I cross the room, sliding my arms around her.  "If you hate it, we'll change it," I say.  "Or rearrange it."

"No," she sniffs.  "It's just so…beautiful."

I wipe a tear from her cheek and kiss her on the forehead.  My gorgeous, pregnant, hormonal fiancé.  "So you're crying because it's beautiful?"

"I wish my mom were here to see it."

Now I feel like a jerk for chalking her tears up to pregnancy hormones.  Drawing her against me, I stand there with her for a long time, just holding her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kate

"Are you nervous?" Caulter covers his palm with mine as we near the road to my father's lake house, where we're holding the wedding.  We're driving back to New Hampshire to spend the next ten days relaxing before the wedding.

Yeah, right.

The next ten days are going to be less than relaxing.  They're going to be filled with last-minute wedding preparations and a rehearsal dinner and keeping the Senator and Ella at a safe distance from each other, and did I mention I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet?

There were a million suitable venues for the wedding around Boston – we also considered eloping, back to Bali, where Caulter proposed – but I was drawn to the house on Lake Winnipesaukee where I spent much of my childhood.

Some of my best memories are of summers at the lake house with my mother, while my father was working down in Washington DC.

It's the place where Caulter and I fell in love.

It's also the place where my mother returned for the last time, before she died.

It holds some of the best and most painful memories of my life.

And some of the hottest…

The thought of that summer with Caulter and all the forbidden things we did – the afternoon in the library when we broke the ladder and nearly got caught; Caulter fucking me in my bedroom while important people celebrated our parents' engagement downstairs; him bending me over my father's desk in his office…

The mere memory of that summer makes me flush warm.

"You're blushing," Caulter says, and I instinctively bring my hand to my face, trying to hide the redness I know is there.  He laughs.  "You're thinking about that summer."

"What?" I squeak.  "No."  I don't know why I'm embarrassed.

Caulter chuckles under his breath before sliding his hand up my leg.  "You so are," he says.  "Dirty girl."

"I wasn't until I met you," I say.  "You're the one who corrupted me."

Caulter slides his hand between my legs.  "And I'd corrupt you all over again, too."

Heat rushes through my body at the warmth of his hand, even through my jeans.  "I think you've corrupted me in every way possible," I say, my breath hitching in my throat.

"I have," he says.  "Are there any new ways to defile you, or have we figured out all of them already?"

He’s joking, of course, but as we sit there in silence, driving, my thoughts start spinning.  What if all of the excitement is gone?  What if marriage and a baby means that we’ll wind up with missionary sex once a week -- if that – for the rest of our lives?  Can Caulter Sterling, ex-manwhore, really be happy with the prospect of domestication?

"Are you happy?" I blurt out the words, realizing they must sound completely out of the blue to Caulter.

"Am I happy?" Caulter asks.  “What kind of a question is that?”

"I don’t want to have missionary sex once a week,” I blurt out.

Caulter laughs.  “I hope not,” he says.  “Where is this coming from?  Is this some kind of third-trimester freak-out?”

“Are you having second thoughts about the wedding?  About settling down?”  I ask the question, despite knowing it’s ridiculous.

Caulter loves me.  He’s happy.  He just put together a nursery.

From my seat, I can see Caulter wrinkle his forehead.  “Are
you
having second thoughts about everything?  Because I’m pretty sure there’s a no-return policy on babies.”

“What?  No.  Of course not.”

“What’s with the once-a-week-sex comment?” Caulter asks, turning at the next road we pass.

“You’re Caulter Sterling.  Women used to throw themselves at you.  Do you think you’re really going to be happy with the prospect of domestic bliss?”

Caulter shakes his head and doesn’t answer, driving silently down the small, quiet road dotted
with houses decorated for Christmas.  There’s patchy snow on the ground out here, and the grass that peeks through in spots is brown and shriveled, the decorations bright against the barren landscape.

“Where are we going?” I ask.  The fact that he hasn’t responded makes me wonder if my concerns are right on the money.

Can a bad boy really be tamed?

When we pass the last house on the road, Caulter pulls over to the side, in a space shaded with a cluster of trees.  "Kate," he says, his voice urgent.

“You didn’t answer me.”

"I didn't answer you then, because I wanted to pull over and tell you this," he says.

"Tell me what?"  I ask, looking at him.

"That I’m pretty effing satisfied with the prospect of domestic bliss,” he says.  “And that you're sexier now than the first day I laid eyes on you.”

"Well, I hope that much is true, at least," I say.  "I mean, I was pretty un-sexy in high school."

"I don't know about that," Caulter says.  "That night in the hotel room, when you called me to hook up, you were pretty sexy, in your conservative dress and your headband."

"Oh God," I groan.  "Don't remind me about the headbands I used to wear.  Why did I wear those?"

"You were the hottest thing I'd ever seen that night," Caulter says.  "Actually, you should wear headbands more often."

I stifle a snort.  "You have a thing for headbands?" I ask.  "Is that why you hooked up with me?  Headband fetish?"

"I have a thing for whatever you wear," Caulter says.  "Or don't wear."  He leans forward, his elbow on the console between us, and slips his finger under my chin, bringing his lips to mine.  When he kisses me, it's not tender or gentle, the way it is so often now.  It's passionate, urgent, his tongue finding mine the way he did the first time in that hotel room.

His lips on mine send a shiver up my spine, a tingle of electricity that rushes through my body all the way to my feet.

When he finally pulls away from me, my lips are swollen, throbbing under my fingertips.  The way he looks at me, eyes filled with lust, is the same way he looked at me that summer at my father’s lake house -- as if the prospect of containing himself, of my denying him, would be too much.

"In fact, right now I want you out of those clothes," he demands.

"Right now?" I ask, looking around the SUV and laughing.  "Like, you mean right now, in the car?  We're on the side of the road.  Anyone could drive past and see us."

"Right now," Caulter says.  "I want to taste you.”

His words make me flush warm, no matter how many times I've heard him say the exact same thing before.  "Do you think you can fit back there with me?”

“I’ll manage somehow,” he says, his voice gruff.  “Now, it’s too cold outside, or I'd be pulling down your jeans on the side of the road.  I'd like to put my face between the legs of my hot pregnant wife.  So get in the backseat."

I open the car door, shaking my head.  Caulter definitely seems un-bored with domestic life right now.  In fact, he is just as inappropriate and filthy as when we first met.

He slides the SUV seat back until it slams up against our suitcases in the back.  “Still concerned about that boring married life thing?” he asks.  “Because I’m enjoying the idea of figuring out new ways of fucking you.  I’m pretty sure I have a lifetime of ideas.”

“Oh, really?” I ask.

“No more talking,” Caulter says.  “Take your pants off.”

His words send a rush of arousal between my legs.  Tugging at the sides of my pants, I pull them down over my hips as Caulter drops to the floor of the SUV in front of me, yanking them off completely.

"This is the best view I've seen all day," he says as he tosses my pants onto the floor of the vehicle.

"I can't believe I'm pregnant, pantsless, and in the back of a car with you," I whisper, only half-joking.

It's Caulter Sterling.  Of course I can believe it.

"Pregnant, pantsless, and getting eaten out on the side of the road," Caulter says.  He runs his hand up the inside of my thigh, and my body responds immediately to his touch.

When he presses the tips of his fingers between my legs, he groans.  “You’re soaked.”

"I know," I say.  "I'm so wet lately."

"
That
is so hot," Caulter says, his finger rolling easily over my clit.  Desire courses through my body, and I close my eyes lightly, surrendering to his touch.

He pulls my hips forward, bringing his mouth between my legs, and a whimper escapes my lips as his heat envelops me.  I try to watch what he's doing but can barely see over my pregnant belly, and finally give up, leaning my head back and letting go while he does what he does so well with his tongue.

Caulter licks and sucks my clit until I'm nearly breathless, practically panting.
 
"I want you," I say, trying to pull him up, my voice needy.

Instead, he fucks me with his tongue, moving in and out until I'm throbbing, leaving me teetering on the brink.  "I know what you
want
," he says.  "But I want your pussy.  I've been thinking about it all morning, and I want you to come on my face."

"Damn it, Caulter," I whisper, trying to sound annoyed but failing.

"I'll have you riding my cock soon enough," he says, teasing my opening with his fingertips.  I bite my lip, trying to stifle my whine.  "Does that feel good?"

I laugh.  "You know that feels good," I say.  "You're just taunting me."

Caulter chuckles.  "I am," he says.  "Because I want to hear how badly you want to come."

"Make me come, Caulter," I say, my breath catching in my throat as he circles his fingers near my entrance, then over and over my clit.

"You didn't say please," he teases.  "It's not really begging unless you say please."

"I want your tongue on me, Caulter," I say.  "
Asshole
."

"Goody two shoes," he says, referring to the names we called each other that summer at the lake house.  He brings his tongue to my clit, so gently that the movement is more like a flutter, a breeze brushing over it.  I'm so desperate for him that even that slight movement is almost more painful than pleasurable.

"I gave you my tongue," he says.  "Like you asked.  Is that it?"

"I want you to suck my clit," I say.  "I want you to fuck me with your tongue until I come, Caulter.  I want to wrap my legs around you and fuck your face."

Damn, where did all of that come from?

Caulter growls, a sound deep in his throat.  "
That's
what I wanted to hear, Princess," he says.

He doesn't wait, then.  He covers my pussy with his mouth, the warmth sending waves of arousal rushing over me, one after the next.  Licking and sucking, his tongue flicking in and out of me, he brings me to the edge.

"Wrap your legs around me, Princess," he says, his hands on my ass cheeks, pulling me tightly against him.  I do what he tells me to do, my legs over his shoulders, thighs pressing against his face as he thrusts his tongue inside me.  I buck against him, and when he groans into my pussy, the sound is too much.  It sends me over the edge, my orgasm ripping through me with the intensity of a freight train. 

Caulter doesn't give me any respite.  He doesn't wait until I'm finished.  Instead, he pulls away from me, leaving me throbbing, practically whimpering.  Unbuckling his jeans and pulling them down his legs before I can even register what he's doing, he sits on the seat beside me.  "Come here," he demands.

I know he wants me to ride him, but I don't want to do that.  Not yet.  "I want you in my mouth," I say.

Caulter shakes his head.  "I don't want my pregnant wife on her knees in the car, sucking my cock."

"Are you saying you don't think I can fit?" I ask, dropping to my knees between his legs.

"I told you not to do that," Caulter growls, but the sound changes to a groan when I wrap my hand around the base of his cock.  His thick hard dick springs to attention at my touch, and despite his protest, Caulter slides forward in the seat so I can reach him.

My eyes on him, I run my tongue up the underside of his cock, trying not to smile when he groans louder this time.  "That fucking tongue of yours," he whispers.

"This one?" I ask, licking his head, before wrapping my lips around his cock.

"Those fucking lips of yours," he says, as I go to work, bringing him deep into my mouth.  I take him in further each time I go down on him, sucking more forcefully when I reach the head of his cock.  He threads his fingers through my hair as I suck him, careful not to pull me down on him, careful not to lose control.

He's been careful with me ever since I got pregnant, as if he's afraid he's going to break me. 

But I don't want him to be careful.  "Stop treating me like I'm fragile," I whisper.

"I'm not treating –" he starts, but I interrupt.

"I want you to fuck my mouth," I say.  The words come out of my mouth in a rush, almost surprising me.  I'm frustrated by his restraint.  "I want you to come on my tits.  I want you to come on my face."

"Careful what you wish for, Princess," Caulter says, his voice thick.