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MY LIFE IS OFFICIALLY out of control. My bodyguard let me have exactly one beer. And not in a bar. I got to drink it in his truck under his watchful eye about two hours ago. So I’m not drunk. I can’t explain what is going on in my head, and I can’t blame booze.
I think I’m drunk on him.
But when the officiant asks him if he takes me for better or worse, we both pause and look at each other like we just woke up from the world’s strangest dream.
I guess a part of me thought I’d call his bluff at some point before now. He’s taken me to several casinos and bars. He fed me a huge meal. He hasn’t so much as kissed me. So when he suggested our next stop should be a 24-hour chapel, I laughed and said, “Sure. Why not?”
I’ve enjoyed living this one night free of worry. I can’t explain it. Anvil makes me feel safe and shook up at the same time. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can hurt me. People clear a path for him wherever we go. He looks like we just left Thunderdome. He’s a head taller than every other bouncer we’ve come across, and they haven’t even carded me.
I have zero clue why he wants to hang out with me, though. I’ve seen the way women prettier than me look at him. Yeah, the scar, patch, and tattoos are scary, but in that primal way that makes us want what we shouldn’t. He could have any of those women, probably at the same time. But he doesn’t look at them. He looks at me. When I’m talking to him, he looks at me like I’m the smartest, most interesting person in the world. I don’t get it.
While I am smart, I am not captivating. I understand that my chosen profession is not really exciting. But he kept asking me questions all night. But Anvil, he’s the one with the good stories and exciting life. He’s traveled so much. He was in the Army. He’s got tales of adventure and anecdotes about funny and frightening bar fights.
And now we’re in the chapel. The organist is smoking cigarettes. The officiant smells like wine coolers. Twelve hours ago, I ate a Hot Pocket while doing homework and now I’m getting married to a man I hardly know. But I said yes.
What kind of actuary am I going to be? This is more than risky.
“I do,” Anvil says, and I feel relieved and inexplicably angry that he didn’t cave in this game of chicken.
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
“You may kiss the bride,” says the officiant. The organist starts and my husband...oh my God...my husband...smiles at me with the most devilish grin.
This will be our first kiss.
“Well, Mrs. Melvin Cartwright, I guess it’s time to make this official.”
His gaze moves to my mouth, and my lips part automatically, like he’d just said, “Open Sesame.” His big callused hand cups the curve of my jaw. Gently, so gently. He leans down so he’s an inch from my other ear and smells my skin like he did back at Billy’s. I’m dying now. He’s drawing this out so much. I’m about to just yell for him to kiss me already.
Then he claims my mouth. Finally. He brings his other hand up to hold my face, and I grasp his strong wrists so I don’t fall over. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I moan. My skin tightens over my body, every nerve waiting for more touch, more sensation. But he doesn’t go deeper. I try to angle my head to get more of him into me, but he holds us there in this sweet, sweet moment.
Oh my God, I’m married.
He leans his forehead on mine and looks into my eyes. I think it just hit him too. We’re like two insane people inhabiting the bodies of normally rational people. Then he pulls me into his body, the shelter of his arms, and he holds me.
I didn’t know. I never thought I could feel this way. I know I shouldn’t fall for him. This isn’t real. It’s going to cost us an attorney fee tomorrow to figure out the best way to undo it. It’s just my night of being rash. Of throwing caution into the wind.
But it feels good. It feels like the most real thing I’ve ever felt.
We’re alone in the chapel now. The employees have gone out to get ready for the next insane couple.
He pulls back a little to look at me like he’s looking through my skin and can see my darkest thoughts and my deepest longings. “I know, baby girl,” he says. “Me too.”
“Now what?” I ask, even though I know the answer. It’s all been leading up to what comes next. I see that now.
“First, we get pancakes. Because I always celebrate the best things that happen to me with pancakes.”
Okay, that wasn’t what I thought he was going to say.
“Then I’m taking you home, and I’m going to fuck you hard and long and deep.”
I inhale a shocked breath.
“I’m big everywhere, Mrs. Cartwright. We’re gonna have to work to make it all fit in your virgin pussy. But you’ll take all of me inside you, and you’ll be mine.”
I should be recoiling in horror. But I like what he’s saying. I like the way he’s saying it. The way he’s looking at me like he’s hungry for me.
For his wife.
“Are you wet? Are you thinking about my cock right now? Wondering how big it is? If I’m exaggerating?”
I nod. Well, I wanted to feel like I was alive and not just managing my life. Whatever happens tomorrow, I might as well give this night all the enthusiasm it’s due. “I’m wet. I want you. I want you so much...I didn’t know I could...” I drift off because I really don’t know.
He saves me, stepping in when I get lost in my own words. “Woman, you are making me so hard right now. I’m going to make this so good for you. You’ll be glad you waited for your wedding night, I promise.”
“But first, pancakes,” I say.
He smiles and I hear organ music that isn’t playing. See fireworks that aren’t exploding. I don’t think he smiles very often. I feel like I just got a new super power that I can make him smile like that.
“First pancakes. Then you come all over my cock.”