Perfectly Ever After (Pieces) (3 page)

It took me a moment to register the pain. I was too stunned that I'd actually just been hit with my own belt. But a sharp sting soon flared across my chest. And as if that wasn't bad enough,
Kojak came out of nowhere, yanked up my undershirt, and licked the welt that had formed.

That was the point I officially lost my mind. I began to buck wildly, causing the girls to fling themselves backward. This, coupled with the rage-infused insults I was hurling at everyone in the place, caused Frank to rush the stage and get the handcuff key from
Kojak.

Once I was free, I stood up, told Frank he owed me a new shirt, jumped off stage, and got the hell out of there. I boarded the bus and checked my cell phone.
A text from Carly. Thank God.
She had sent me a picture of her sitting on a red vinyl couch, sipping her drink, with her dress inched suggestively up her leg. She looked fucking beautiful, and I knew in that moment that I wanted—no
needed
—to be wherever she was. My traitorous friends boarded the bus soon after me and everyone found a seat as we pulled out of the parking lot.

There was a few minutes of tense silence, until Frank asked, "So where to now?"

I glared at him with such contempt, I thought he would wither and die on the spot. "If you take me anywhere but home, I swear I will make your wife a widow tonight."

Frank looked at me for a moment before silently standing and conveying our destination to the driver.

I spent the rest of the ride home staring out the window, wondering if it was too late to find a new best man.
The mailman has always been friendly. Maybe he's a good choice.

When the bus pulled up outside my house, I darted out of my seat, and practically sprinted to my front door.

I heard Frank's voice behind me. "You had a good time, right Adam?"

I ignored him as I put my key in the lock.

"Adam?"

The lock turned and I threw the door open.

"Adam!"

I turned long enough to shoot the bus the finger, before slamming the door.

I looked down at my watch: one in the morning. Odds were that Carly wasn't home yet, but that didn't stop me from taking the steps two at a time to check. I ran into my bedroom only to find it empty.
No problem. This just gives me time to prepare.

I shed my clothes and headed into the bathroom, wanting to rid myself of the stench that permeated the air in The Magic Shop. I inspected myself in the mirror. The swelling had gone down, turning my welt into a nasty bruise.
Fucking animals.

I jumped in the shower and lathered my body with soap. Twice. Then I quickly dried off and made my way back into the bedroom, wearing only a towel around my waist. Trying to insert some romance into this seedy evening, I lit a couple of candles, lost the towel, and climbed into bed to wait for the one woman whose touch could undo everything I had endured.

But as the minutes ticked by, and two o’clock became 2:30, I was having a nearly impossible time staying awake. Finally, at 2:45, my phone chirped. Expecting a text from Carly to tell me she was on her way, I was more than a little disappointed to see that it was from a number I didn't recognize. But my disappointment only grew as I read the words.
Hey Adam. It's Corinne. Carly is WASTED, and passed out on my couch. So, we decided to leave her there and we'll just bring her home in the morning. Hope you're enjoying your night!

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Very. Slowly. I resisted the urge to ask Corinne where she lived so I could pick Carly up and bring her home. Even if all I got to do was hold
her, that would have been better than lying there alone all night. But I knew that would only make me seem like a lunatic, so I texted a brief
Thanks
and threw my phone on my bedside table.

And just before I drifted off into one of the most restless sleeps of my life, I swore to myself that I would make it my mission in life to keep Eva off the pole.

Chapter 2:
“Hungry Eyes” (Eric Carmen)

The days after my bachelor party were more insane. In my defense, not ever having a wedding before had made it difficult to predict what all of the chaos would be like. And since Carly had organized each detail gradually along the way, I figured that the week before the actual wedding would be relatively calm. Everything was done, right?

             
Wrong. Somehow, Carly had caught a few last minute issues with the flowers and
her dress. And it wasn’t like I was marrying Bridezilla. These were real problems that needed to be rectified, and since the wedding was being held at a lodge in the Poconos a few hours away, it made it difficult to oversee all of the small details.

             
Carly caught the first mishap when she went to try on her dress. I’m not sure why women need to have a million dress fittings in the last few weeks leading up to the wedding. I mean how much can your body change in a few days? But when Carly went to pick up her dress for the last time, it was two sizes too big. Unless I wanted my wife’s tits popping out as we said our vows, that was a huge issue. It turned out that they had put another woman’s alterations on Carly’s dress.

             
I assured her that her dress would be fixed and that none of the little things mattered in the big picture. As long as we were married at the end of the day—and her boobs managed to stay tucked away until I got my hands on them later—the day itself would be relatively insignificant. But regardless of my assurance, Carly checked and double-checked every detail, no matter how minor.

             
Apparently, fall weddings call for darker flowers. Who knew? And since we’d be getting married in the middle of November, Carly had chosen some flowers that matched the deep red of the bridesmaids’ dresses. But when she called the florist in the mountains near the lodge, they’d forgotten to add the bouquet that she planned to toss and the flowers for the centerpieces had been the wrong color.

When she set the phone down on the kitchen counter, I could see the tears starting to form.
It wasn’t like her. The stress of the wedding had clearly taken a toll on her. “It’ll all work out. I promise,” I said, pulling her into me and stroking her hair as she rested her head on my chest.

“I know. I just want it to all go smoothly.
I’ll be happy when it’s all over and I can have you to myself in Jamaica for a week.”

A small laugh escaped me before I replied.
“A week in Jamaica? Right now I’d settle for about fifteen minutes
in this kitchen.”  

She glanced down at her watch.
“What do ya know? We’ve got fifteen minutes.”
 

I felt my cock stiffen instantly at the thought.
Eva wouldn’t be home from basketball practice for almost another half hour. Somehow, over the past week, Carly and I had made a few attempts to have sex, but we could never seem to finish what we’d start. Life just kept getting in the way. But there we were, alone in our kitchen and hornier than all hell. Well, at least
I
was.

My mouth moved urgently against hers, and I relished the feel of her body against mine as I backed her roughly against the counter.
She moaned softly and let her head fall to the side, allowing me access to the sensitive flesh on her neck. I felt my pulsing erection jerk against my jeans, and I circled my hips against her for a few moments before pulling back enough to slip a hand up her shirt to thumb her nipples beneath her bra.

“Oh, Adam, I’ve wanted this all
day.”

“Yeah? What is it you’ve wanted?
Tell me.” I loved to hear her talk to me, and since our first intimate encounter—not counting the one in ninth grade—had begun under the pretense that we wouldn’t see each other again, we’d both been uninhibited. Thankfully, that attitude had continued once we’d started dating.

“To feel your cock in my hand,” she said as she stroked me above my pants, causing me to nearly explode on contact.
“Your fingers inside me.”

At her words, I slid my hand from her breast down
beneath her underwear. I groaned as my hand hit her pussy.
Jesus, she’s fucking soaked.
Her heavy breaths faltered as I thrust two fingers deep inside her. “Like this?” I asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting her to confirm it anyway.

“God, Adam, exactly like that.”

I felt myself get harder with every stroke of her palm above my jeans, and I was so fucking close to coming. “You want me to make you come like this?” She moaned in agreement, and I felt like I might lose it at any moment as her hand rubbed against my hard-on more vigorously. “God, Carly, you’re gonna make me come in my pants.”

“That’s
kinda the idea.”

Shit, that’s hot.
With great effort, I tried to hold my orgasm off, but it was nearly impossible after how tense this week had been. Combine the stress of the wedding with the sexual tension we’d been experiencing since the day of the bachelor/bachelorette parties, and we were both long overdue for a release. “Come for me, Carly. I can’t wait much longer.” Just as I said the words, Carly’s phone vibrated on the counter next to us, stealing our attention for a brief moment. “Leave it,” I instructed, sensing she was tempted to answer.

Her hand left my cock for a moment to look at the screen of her phone.
“It’s the florist, Adam. I gotta take this.”

“No, you don’t.
The only thing you have to take was in your hand a few seconds ago.”

Carly shot me a playful look.
“We’ll finish this later. I promise.”

I removed my hand from her pants and let out a deep sigh of frustration as I looked down at how hard I was and realized Eva would be home soon.
Fuck. Me.

***

Needless to say, Eva had come home before Carly had been able to make good on her promise, so I didn’t get much sleep that night. I tried to think of anything that would stave off the arousal I’d been feeling. I ran through the pre-wedding “to-do” list in my mind hoping the thoughts would occupy my brain enough to focus on something other than how hard I’d been for most of the night.
Okay, pack the car, make sure things are set for the rehearsal dinner when we arrive at the hotel, meet that asshole Frank and the other guys in his room at ten in the morning to get ready for the wedding, see Carly walk down the aisle in a white dress, then rip it off of her that night. Fuck, this isn’t working.

Hadn’t Carly seen those commercials that warned about the dangers of having an erection that lasted more than four hours?
Obviously, she had no concern for my well-being. I’d texted her around eleven, trying to get a little verbal foreplay started, but she said she still needed to pack and she’d see me tomorrow.
Try to get some sleep,
she’d written back.
And don’t even think of touching yourself. It’ll be so much better when I can do that for you.

Shit
. Why had I agreed to that? And why did I feel like she’d know if I did it anyway? For whatever reason, I felt a promise was a promise, and I didn’t want to break any promise I made to her before our wedding day, no matter how insignificant.

Chapter 3: "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" (Cyndi Lauper)

I wasn’t entirely sure why Carly and her sister had declared my house as wedding central, but by Thursday I was overrun with wedding crafts. As I watched them tying ribbons around our wedding favors, I knew that I couldn’t fight it. Shit was
everywhere.
Paper was strewn all over the floor from their catastrophic attempt at making programs for the ceremony—an attempt they abandoned after two hours of arguing and then finally declaring that programs were a waste of their precious time.

             
I walked over to the French doors that led onto the patio and stared out, a frown settling over my features.

             
“They’re fine, Adam.” Carly’s voice was filled with an amusement I didn’t share.

             
“Did you see his arm? He has a tattoo for Christ’s sake. What sixteen-year-old kid has a tattoo?”

             
“A lot of them probably,” she replied casually, seeming unperturbed by the fact that my daughter’s boyfriend had ink that would make him fit right in when he eventually went to prison for knocking over a liquor store.

             
“I hate him.”

             
I heard Carly set the wedding favor down. “That’s very mature.”

             
“It’s also very true,” I retorted. “Maybe he’s preparing his body for the numerous other tattoos he’ll receive in Cell Block Eight,” I added, voicing my previous thoughts.

             
Katie snorted. “I told you we should’ve gotten tattoos on the night of your bachelorette party, Carly. Maybe you would’ve made more friends that night.”

             
I almost ignored Katie’s words, but they sunk in after a few seconds had lapsed. “Wait . . . what?” I turned around to face them. Carly’s face paled, and she shot a deathly glare at her sister.