Tangled Series: Tied Part 21

It reminds me of the first time we kissed, that night in my office years ago. It feels the same as that night-I'd wanted Kate, fantasized about her for weeks then too. The difference now is, I know precisely what I've been f.u.c.king missing. So I'm even hungrier for her, bordering on totally out of control.

My hand slides down the front of her dress, into her bra, straining the fabric. I palm and knead her full breast, and a welcome moan reverberates in Kate's throat. My fingers rub and pinch her nipple, making it harden to a perfect peak. Kate tears her mouth from mine and moves to my neck-sucking and licking-nipping the sensitive skin with her teeth. Making me weak in the f.u.c.king knees.

I switch gears and slide my hands up her thighs, bunching her dress above her waist. Then I kneel down and pause for just a moment to appreciate the sight of her exquisitely smooth s.n.a.t.c.h.

Panting hard, Kate tries to cover her stomach with her hands. "I know I'm not-"

"Don't f.u.c.king finish that sentence." I grab her wrists, holding them away from her body.

Pregnancy is a strange experience for women. So many fast-paced changes-mentally, emotionally, physically. And, no, Kate doesn't look exactly as she did before. But only a total a.s.shole would expect her to.

Only the eminent ruler of all a.s.sholes would care.

"You made a person, Kate. A perfectly amazing person." Then I look up into her eyes and tell her honestly, "You've never been more beautiful to me than you are right now."

A smile tugs at her flushed lips. I release her wrists, lean forward, and press my mouth against the soft flesh of her p.u.s.s.y.

h.e.l.lo, old friend. I've missed you.

I spread her with my fingers and delve in deep. She's hot on my tongue-already wet-and sweeter than chocolate frigging cake. I cup her a.s.s in my hands, pressing her forward, and revel in the taste of her. My eyes roll back in my head as Kate moans and gasps above me. Her fingernails cut into my shoulder blades, and after only a minute she's begging.

"Please, Drew . . . I need you inside me. I need to feel you now."

Unwilling to deny her and incapable of it, I lap at her one last time and stand. I cover her lips with mine and back us up to the wall of the building. As I caress her t.i.ts, Kate slips my pants and boxers down my hips.

She takes my straining c.o.c.k in her hands, pumping it firmly and slowly.

I groan into her mouth.

Then I lift her, cus.h.i.+oning the back of her head with one hand, so it doesn't smack against the bricks. My other arm is under her a.s.s, holding her up. Kate locks her ankles together at my lower back, then guides my d.i.c.k home.

I don't wait. Waiting is just not possible. I plunge into her roughly, deeply.

"Drew . . . ," she sighs.

Kate's wet inner walls stretch around me, still blissfully f.u.c.king snug. Buried fully, I savor the sensation of being inside her again. Being surrounded and held by intense, hot perfection.

I whisper the only word that matters. "Kate . . ."

Her legs pull me closer, knees squeezing tighter. I do what we're both craving.

I move.

Slowly, my hips pull back. Kate's c.u.n.t grips my c.o.c.k spectacularly as it slides from her.

"You feel like f.u.c.king heaven," I moan.

Then I thrust forward hard, rubbing her c.l.i.t with my pelvis, making sure she's feeling the same blinding pleasure I am. I keep that pace-slow, rough strokes that make Kate purr every time our bodies collide.

Her eyes close and her mouth finds mine.

We're gasping and moaning, gripping and pulsing-drowning in fantastic friction. With her cheek pressed against mine, Kate pants, "Oh, G.o.d . . . oh, G.o.d, Drew, I'm going to come."

My hips quicken, needing to feel her contracting around me more than I need air to breathe. "f.u.c.k yes, come, baby. Let me feel you come hard."

Then she is. Her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, constrict and tighten. Kate's p.u.s.s.y squeezes my c.o.c.k in a primal, uncontrollable rhythm that pulls me deeper inside her. I push and surge forward one last time, until I rise into the stratosphere with her. It's so f.u.c.king good, so intense, for several long, exquisite moments the only sound I can hear is the rush of our ecstasy pounding in my ears.

Minutes later, I'm still breathing deep against Kate's neck, and she continues to tremble with aftershocks. Still inside her, I lift my head and brush her hair from her face.

"That was awesome."

She smiles wide. "Mind-blowing."

Carefully, I set her feet back on solid ground. Then I help smooth her dress back into place and tuck myself in and zip up. "And we still have a whole suite waiting for us."

"Take me to my suite." Kate holds out her hand.

I take it. "It'll be my pleasure."

Literally.

Back out on the sidewalk, the fog of l.u.s.t clears and Kate puts the hand I'm not holding over her eyes. "I can't believe we had s.e.x in an alley."

I snort. "I can't believe we waited so long to have s.e.x in an alley. What was I thinking?"

That's an activity that's definitely going on my repeat list.

Is alley-s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g respectful? Generally . . . no. But in this case, it was just what the doctor ordered.

Now, back to our card game.

Jack turns to Steven. "What do you say, Reinhart-you and me and two of the most flexible ladies in the club?"

"Alexandra would rip my head off if I got a lap dance-private or otherwise," Steven laments.

Matthew grins. "Delores would be into it-but only if she got to watch."

Steven shakes his head. "I don't want to give her another reason to be p.i.s.sed at me."

Matthew chuckles. "But that's the way it works, man. Dee-Dee's happier when I'm messing up-gives her an excuse to yell at me. She feels needed, and it makes me appreciate how lucky I am to have her. For men and women-that's the circle of life."

Steven considers the idea but still tells Jack, "I don't think married men belong in a private booth. If I want a strip show, I'll buy my wife pole-dancing lessons." His face brightens. "In fact-that's gonna be her Mother's Day gift. Boom-scratch that off the list."

At first I frown at the visual imagery . . . but then get over it and smile. Because I know exactly what to get Kate for my birthday.

After Warren emerged from the private booth looking dazed and satisfied-and walking stiffly because he most likely j.i.z.zed in his pants-we all sat down front row at the main stage to enjoy another show. This time without my partic.i.p.ation. It was a girl-power-themed production, meaning three girls and a variety of battery-powered toys. A show like that is guaranteed to make any man hope for an encore.

I gave it a standing ovation.

Then, the five of us went back to the game room for a dart tournament. See us there? Jack's taking his turn, Steven's watching another member of the Stripper Lollipop Guild play peekaboo with the Blow Pop across the room, while Matthew, Warren, and I lean against the wall nursing our drinks.

Warren's phone pings with an incoming message. He looks down at it for a few seconds and laughs.

For no particular reason, I ask, "What's funny?"

His reaction piques my interest. He drops the hand holding his phone to his side and wipes the grin off his face. "Nothing."

I push off the wall and stand in front of him. "Let me see your phone."

He puts it behind his back. "It's stupid. Nothing you want to see."

"Well, now I f.u.c.king do."

Looking like a cornered rat, he calls to Steven, "Reinhart-think fast." And tosses the phone in the air. Steven catches it, but because he always did love a good game of Monkey in the Middle, when I get close to him, he throws it to Matthew. Matthew gets Jack into the game. I take three steps back to Warren, so I'm right in front of him when he catches his phone.

Then I end the game-with a not-too-hard punch to Warren's gut.

Ooomph.

He doubles over, holding his midsection. The phone falls from his hands and clatters to the floor. I pick it up and access the main screen. Warren rasps out, "Evans-I'm telling you as a friend-you shouldn't look at the pictures."

I ignore him.

With the push of a b.u.t.ton, the images pop up in all their disgustingly vivid, high-resolution, multi-megapixel splendor. This is a historic day-mark it on your f.u.c.king calendar. For once in his life, Warren was right.

I shouldn't have looked.

The guys peer over my shoulder as I scroll through the pictures-clearly from tonight. The first is of Kate on the shoulders of some nameless, bare-chested b.a.s.t.a.r.d, surrounded by the outstretched hands of several other d.i.c.kheads who all bear a strong resemblance to Tarzan. I don't like it, but I can live with it.

The next one shows Kate cradled in the muscular arms of a different thong-wearing p.r.i.c.k. Her hands rest on his shoulders, and her skirt has risen up high on her thighs. High enough that, if you look closely, you can spot the pink-and-black-lace panties that caused me so much concern earlier.

I now plan to burn them like toxic waste as soon as we get back to the hotel.

My grip on the phone tightens. If I were a superhero, it'd be dust by now. But I manage to keep my s.h.i.+t together.

Steven comments from behind me, "Buck up, little camper-they're not so bad."

Then I slide to the final image.

Jack says, "Oh, that one's bad."

Bad? Bad is a kid who wipes out on his bike, taking off several layers of skin. Bad is Derek Jeter getting sidelined with an injury during the play-offs. This photo isn't bad. It's a blasphemy.

She's leaning back on a dark-upholstered couch, with a guy on top of her-lined up just right to dry-hump her through his black, s.h.i.+ny thong.

If he put her legs on his shoulders, they'd be in one of her favorite positions. And she's smiling. She's looking away from the camera, off to the side, but her mouth is open. Frozen in a wide, laughing scream.

Not exactly the picture of the loyal, devoted fiancee is it?

Every muscle in my body demands that I reach into the device, grab the son of a b.i.t.c.h on top of her, and choke him the f.u.c.k out. But the final blow is when I see the writing under the picture. The message Dee-Dee probably gleefully sent. Take a look: Drew who? :D Remember what I was saying before? About how when you're in love, the choices you make can have huge effects on the person you love? Well, I wasn't just talking about my choices. I meant Kate's too.

Something inside me cracks. Breaks. Matthew-the only one who senses just how perilously close to the edge I am-tries to pull me back. "It's just a lap dance, dude. It's her bachelorette party. Tomorrow everything goes back to normal."

I laugh and my mouth tastes bitter. My movements are dangerous and desperate. I shove Matthew's hand away and toss Warren's phone back to him.

"You're right, Matthew, it doesn't mean s.h.i.+t. None of it's real, right? It's Cinderella's motherf.u.c.king coach, a one-night freebie-then tomorrow, it'll be like it never even happened."

Matthew frowns. "Drew-"

Warren interrupts, "Would you stop being such a f.u.c.king hypocrite?" He holds his hands out wide. "Do you see where we are right now?"

I don't think about how he's once again correct. I don't think about all the wrongs I've committed, or all the promises I've made.

Because back in the caveman days? They didn't have time to consider the ramifications of their actions when a woolly mammoth was bearing down on them. All they could do was react. That same primal instinct is pus.h.i.+ng me now. Driving me to do something-anything-to get rid of the jealousy that's burning through my chest.

Once upon a time there was a guy, and he was awesome. He had a perfect life-good-looking, a great job, money to burn, and woman tripping over themselves to f.u.c.k him. He was the ace in the hole. A number one. Mr. No Apologies, I know exactly what I want and I get it, if you're not with me, you're against me, get on board or get the f.u.c.k out.

I liked that guy. He called the shots. He was in control. And there was never a time he felt as bad as I do right now. About anything.

I know what he would've said at a time like this: Stella can lick Chomper's b.a.l.l.s; Drew is the one who needs to get his groove back. Then he would've grabbed a stripper and paid for a raunchy lap dance-maybe paid for more. To even the score.

But if you think you know how this goes, you're f.u.c.king wrong.

'Cause I'm not going to do any of that stuff.

As s.h.i.+tty as this is, as sick and jealous as seeing those pictures makes me feel? I know something that feels even worse.

Letting Kate down. Breaking her trust. Making her cry.

Kate has forgiven me my screwups and she trusts me, even when I don't always give her a reason to. Mercy is a gift-given out of love, not worthiness. And that's what Kate will always be to me.

She's my mercy.

And I will be d.a.m.ned if I punk out and fail to be the man she adores-the man I know I can be. For her. For James.

I rub my eyes and take a breath. The guys watch me as I walk to the bar and sit down.

"What are you going to do?" Warren asks.

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Try and make yourself feel better? Hook up with a stripper?" Matthew offers.

I just shrug. "Been there, done that-it never ends well."

Besides, you know as well as I do that she didn't get that lap dance 'cause she wanted it-any more than I wanted a G.o.dd.a.m.n thong in my mouth. The girls put her up to it, and she was just going with the flow.

Still sucks, though. Which is why when Jack repeats Warren's question, I say, "I'm going to do what any guy in my shoes would do. I'm gonna f.u.c.king drink."