A Very Dirty Wedding (37 page)

I'm supposed to be going out to dinner with Daniel.  Instead, I'm thinking about how Gaige's real-life tool would look better than the one he was kind enough to giftwrap and send to me.

I lock my door and speed-walk across my room to my bed.

With purpose.

Because I'm so damn horny right now that I can't think about anything except getting relief.

And I certainly can't run into Gaige again in my current state.  He'd see the lust for him written all over my face, and that's the absolute last thing I want to happen.

It means nothing, I tell myself as I unbutton my blouse.

Scratch that.

I don't unbutton my blouse.  I
mean
to unbutton my blouse, except I yank the fabric so hard that several buttons go flying across the room.

And I don't even care.

I yank my skirt up over my hips so that it's bunched around my waist, and pull my panties down to my knees, not even bothering to take them all the way off.  They're damp, the way they've been since this morning when Gaige gave me his gift.

Bending over and supporting myself with one hand on the bed, I reach between my legs with the other hand, my fingers finding my clit immediately.  The immediate sense of relief when I touch myself is palpable, and I hear a moan escape my lips, far too loud to be appropriate if anyone were nearby.

But I can't think about anything except the fact that that total manwhore is making me wet.

I should feel humiliated and disgusted because all I've been thinking about today is Gaige bending me over the desk in my office.

Gaige pulls my panties down roughly, his hand connecting with my ass cheek before I even realize what he's doing.  The vibration from the blow reverberates through me, sending a tingle directly to my core.  He slides his finger between my legs, growling when he reaches my entrance.  "So wet for me," he says.  "You think I don't know you've been fantasizing about me?  Tell me what you've been thinking about."

"Your…cock," I gasp as he enters me with his fingers, immediately finding the sensitive spot inside me that makes my toes curl.   I look over my shoulder at him, and the expression on his face – dark and lust-filled – makes me more turned on than ever.

I slide my fingers lower, until they're inside me, and with my palm pressed hard against my clit, I stroke myself.

While bent over the bed, imagining it's Gaige fucking me from behind.

Something is incredibly wrong with me.

He slides his fingers out of me, taking away his touch, and I whimper at the loss.  "Not good enough, Delaney," he says, his voice low.  I watch over my shoulder as he unbuckles his belt, pulling it slowly from his pants.

What is he going to do with it?  My breath hitches in my throat, my heart racing with anticipation, but he drops it to the floor.   The twinge of disappointment I feel only lasts for a moment before he unbuckles his pants and they fall to his knees.  When he brings out his huge erect cock, I practically salivate.

"This is what you want?" he asks.

I swallow hard.  "Yes.  Your…cock inside me."

"What would you like me to do, Delaney?" he asks, stroking his length before guiding his cock to my pussy.  When he touches the tip – just barely – to my entrance, I shudder.  "Tell me what you've fantasized about.  Have you thought about the way my cock would feel inside your tight pussy?"

"Yes."  The word comes out like a breath.

"Say it," he orders.

"I've thought about you fucking me," I whisper.  "I've thought about you bending me over and shoving your cock inside me and fucking me hard and rough and taking everything you want from me.  I've touched myself thinking about –"

I don't get to finish.  He thrusts his cock inside me in one movement, his hands gripping my hips as he pulls me against him.  It's rough and deep and unexpected, and I let out a long moan.

Then he pauses.  "Continue," he says, unmoving inside me.  My pussy throbs around him, twitching, squeezing him, willing him to move

If he moves, I'll come so quickly.

"I've touched myself thinking about you coming inside me," I whisper, articulating my deepest fantasy.  "I've touched myself thinking about your hot cum dripping from me."

He doesn't hold back, thrusting into me with abandon, rough and deep.

I fuck myself with my fingers, so close to coming at the thought of Gaige inside me.

I can barely hold back.  I'm on the edge, so close, and when I bare myself fully to him, telling him my deepest fantasy, I come so hard that I swear I see stars:  "I've come thinking about you filling me up, making me pregnant."

"Damn it, Delaney," Gaige says, his fingers gripping me tightly as he pumps into me and fills me with his hot seed.  My pussy milks him for every last drop.

"Shit," I groan, as the image of Gaige coming inside me pushes me completely over the edge.

Afterward, I sink onto the bed, my skirt still around my waist, panties around my thighs.

What the hell just came over me?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gaige

"How was your day, darlin'?"  I pause in her doorway, leaning against the door frame. 
My
day consisted of the usual -- spending a few hours in the gym and then physical therapy -- but preceded by a visit to Delaney's office.  Screwing around with Delaney isn't on my usual list of activities, so I had something extra to look forward to this morning.  I woke with a spring in my step.  As much as I could have a spring in my step with this boot on my damn foot, anyway.

My mood was great until Chelsea interrupted us.  Chelsea and I went out once a few months ago -- a business dinner and that's it.  She's aggressive as hell and I got the vibe that she wanted it to be more than a business dinner.  I also got the vibe that she's wound tight as a spring, the kind of chick who might go all psycho, boil a bunny or some shit.  And that's exactly the kind of girl I stay the hell away from.  But she's good at what she does, so I haven't had a reason to ask Beau to reassign her. 
Yet.

The point is, I wanted to see Delaney's face when she opened the box.  And Chelsea walked in and ruined the whole fucking thing.

Delaney is bent over, one hand on the white bedspread that covers her bed, the other on the zipper on the inside of her heeled boots.  She positively oozes temptation, wearing a black pencil skirt, the fabric pulled tight over the contours of her ass, and matching "fuck me" boots.  Her hair spills forward, partially obscuring her face, and she finishes zipping her boot before she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stands up, glaring at me.  "What are you doing here?" she asks.  "Don't you have to be in Vegas or something?  And don't call me
darling
."

"It's darlin', not
darling
, first of all.  And second of all, it's a term of endearment," I say, shrugging.  "You've been in New York too long.  This is me being polite, showing my Texan roots."

Delaney puts her hands on her hips and looks at me with her eyes narrowed.  "It's condescending," she says.  "And you're not even from Texas."

I step inside her room, looking around.  "I'm hurt that you'd say that, Delaney," I say.  "What would you like me to call you?  You hate
Delamey
, and now you don't like darlin', either?  And living in Texas the past few years makes me practically a Texan.  In fact, I should have your father take me shopping for cowboy boots."

"You can call me by my name like a normal person," she says.  "And you never answered my question.  Don't you have a flight to catch?"

"Shit, what crawled up your ass tonight?"  I walk past the photos she's already hung on her wall, her and her friends in various touristy places -- in front of the National Monument in Washington DC, the Lincoln Center, standing outside of a bar in New York City.  "Can't I check in on my stepsister before I jet out for this business bullshit?"

Delaney crosses to the other side of the room, standing in front of one of the photos protectively, her arms over her chest.  I really should tell her that the gesture does absolutely nothing to hide those tits.  In fact, it only pushes them up higher, giving me an even better view.  "Nothing crawled up my ass."

"You could have fooled me," I say.  "You were practically a ray of sunshine this morning, and now you're, well...
not
."

She gives me a look.  I know that look.  It's the one she used to give me when I'd rile her up and make her crazy.  It's the one that says she might be close to murdering me.  "I'm trying to make sure you're not late," she says.  "Remember, my new job involves managing you.  Why aren't you at the airport already?"

"I'm on my way," I say.  "The driver is waiting for me downstairs."

"So you thought you'd stop by and try to get under my skin before you left me in peace for the weekend?"

"I need to leave you something to remember me by," I say.

"I think you already did that."

"I know," I say.  "I'm disappointed.  I gave you the best first-day-of-work present ever and you have no reaction at all?"

"It was exceptionally mature."  She rolls her eyes.

"If you'd have used it, you might be less grouchy," I say.  "You haven't used it, have you?"

"No, I haven't used it," she says.  "How totally..."

"Filthy?" I ask.

"Disgusting," she says.

"Because it's my cock, or because we're family?"

"Do I have to choose one option?" she asks.  "And don't try to pass it off as if it was really made from your cock."

"It's mine," I say, reaching for my belt buckle.  "You can compare it to the real thing, if you want."

"Oh my God, no," she protests.  "Stop."

"That's just sad," I say.

"What?"

"That you've lost your sense of humor.  Old Delaney would have laughed at something like that."

"New Delaney is just as likely to laugh at your cock," she says, looking at me with one eyebrow raised.

"Then why all the hate?"

Delaney exhales heavily.  "Maybe it would have been a better present for
Chelsea
," she says.

"Ah, so that's it," I say.  I turn and squint at the photos on the wall, trying to see if there are any boyfriends I should be aware of.  Not that I want to be Delaney's boyfriend. 
That's
not my fucking style.  I like my women boyfriendless.  I brush aside the brief realization that I just thought of Delaney as "my woman."

"What's
it
?"  Delaney tilts her head up.  She's wearing makeup -- eyeliner and lip gloss, her cheeks a rosy red that gives her a flush that reminds me of sex.

"You really do have quite a jealous streak, don't you," I notice.

"I'm not jealous in the least," she says.  "I just think you should be directing your little cock jokes toward someone who's more interested in them than I am."

"Sure you're not jealous, darlin'," I say, looking at her lips.  Those soft, plump, lying-ass lips.  "And I've never heard my cock described as
little
."

Delaney runs her tongue over her lower lip and I want to take it between my teeth.  Her lip-gloss gives it a sheen that makes it even more irresistible.  I bring my hands to the wall over her head, pressing them flat there so that I can't possibly grab her in my arms the way I want to and crush my mouth down on hers.  Instead, I just stand there, pushing my hands into the wall and looking into those bright green eyes.

"I don't care what you do," Delaney says, looking up at me.  "With Chelsea or otherwise.  So have fun on your Vegas trip."

"You should just admit you're jealous," I advise.  "It's not good to keep all that pent up anger inside, you know.  It leads to all kinds of problems."  I don't mention that this Vegas trip with Chelsea is exactly the last thing I'd ever want to do.  It was booked before Beau had assigned Delaney to me, and it's going to be a fan event.  I'd been hoping that if I swung by Delaney's room, I might be able to talk her into going and being a fucking buffer between me and Chelsea.  But it doesn't look like that's going to go the way I pictured.

Delaney groans.  "I'm not jealous."

"Liar."  I whisper the word, looking into Delaney's eyes.  Her pupils are as large as saucers, her own body betraying her. 

She laughs.  "You're one to talk," she says.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."  She shakes her head.

"It's not nothing," I say.  "I might be a lot of things, but I'm sure as hell honest."

Delaney raises her eyebrows.  "Never mind.  It was a long time ago, Gaige," she says.  "It's all water under the bridge."

"Darlin', nothing about us is water under the bridge," I say.

"I didn't come back here to restart something with you, Gaige."

"You and I are the fucking definition of unfinished."  I want to pull that skirt of hers up over that curvy ass and show her exactly how I want to restart things between us.

"It was finished that night," she says, finally looking away.

Now I slide my fingers under the edge of her chin and tilt it up at me.  Touching her sends a jolt of electricity ricocheting through my body.  I run my thumb along the other side of her jaw, trying to keep my desire for her under control.  I'm
trying
to be reasonable.  "The night you never showed up?"

She pulls away from me and steps back, crossing her arms over her chest.  "You mean the night I ran into -- what was her name, Bambi or something?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I was on my way to meet you in the guest house that night," she says.  "Until I ran into one of your bimbos on the way."

"I didn't fucking have any bimbos," I say.

"Some girl," she says.  "She knew you."  The way she says the last three words, practically spitting them out, tells me everything I need to know.  Whatever the hell she misunderstood about whatever girl showed up back then, she's been sitting on that for the past four fucking years.

I hear my voice soften, despite my annoyance at her for being so easily dissuaded back then.  "There were no other girls, Delaney."

She rolls her eyes.  "Sure, Gaige," she says.  "You're as pure as the driven snow."

"Exactly the opposite," I say.  Before Delaney, there were lots of girls, a parade of girls I displayed partially to make her jealous.  But the moment she kissed me that summer, it ruined me for anyone else.  There wasn't anyone, as long as she was there.  When she left, well, that was a different story.  Post-Delaney, I was sure as hell the opposite of pure.  I fucked every chick I could find who might possibly erase Delaney from my head.  "But when you and I were together back then, there were no other girls.  I might be a lot of things, but I'm no cheater."

"So some chick just shows up at your house, her panties in hand, ready to party?" she asks.  She shakes her head again, purses her lips.  She doesn't believe me.  "Anyway, the entire thing is irrelevant.  We weren't together; there was nothing between us.  You might not think it's water under the bridge, but I haven't given it a moment's thought since I left Dallas.  Chelsea is my boss and your manager at Marlowe.  So I'm looking out for you."

"You're looking out for me, huh?" I ask.  "That's it?"

"That's it," she says.  "Don't shit where you eat.  That's all I'm concerned about."

"I'm sure that's all it is, darlin'."  She's obviously lying.  I'm tempted to kiss her, but I don't.

"Have a nice flight," she says abruptly.  My cue to leave.

"I hope you can find a way to entertain yourself while I'm gone," I say.  I picture her using the dildo and the thought makes me rock hard.  Damn it, there's nothing worse than leaving for a trip with your dick as hard as a fucking rock.

"I will," she says.

I'm down the stairs and on the way to the airport before I realize that her "I will" sounded way too smug.  And she was all dressed up,
fuck me
boots and all.  I was so concerned about giving her grief, I didn't even ask where the hell she was going.  Trapped in the car on the way to the airport, I can't stop thinking about it.  And now I
really
don't want to be stuck in Vegas with Chelsea.