Page 31 of A Wulver for the Week

The intensity in his voice sends juices rushing south. “Wh-what fairytale?” Because Little Red already got eaten up, and she’s begging for more.

“At midnight, this ball is over, and I get to take you home with me.”

I barely swallow a whimper. “Sounds good.”

“WE HAVE TO GO TO BEDsoon,” I cry, kicking off my heels and tearing off Craig’s shirt. A button flies off and skitters under the bed.

“Leave it,” he orders, his hands unzipping my dress. “What a pretty princess you are. Are you after the prince or the beast tonight?”

“Oh the beast, definitely. The beast in the bedroom, baby, always,” I admit, both to myself and to him.

I’m surprised (in the best way) when Craig pushes me to my knees and his belt drops next to me on the floor. Like a maniac, I tug him out of his black trousers and finally get the cock I’ve been thinking of all day. It goes straight into my mouth, and I take control of the “beast.” My hands slide around him, and my mouth goes into overtime, jaw stretching until it aches and my eyes leak as he fills the back of my throat.

“You can’t do that for long, or I’m going to come on that talented tongue—and I’d much rather fill your pussy.”

I take a breath between sucks, letting my hand keep up its pump and glide. “Really? For practice?” I arch one eyebrow.

“Aye, but I’ll go much easier. You can’t be limping up the aisle.”

“No, but once Gerri and Barry sail away for their honeymoon, I’m fair game. Everything is fair game,” I say, leaning into the word.

Which is really helpful, Minnie. Like he’s going to figure that you mean he can pop the question at any second and you’ll be all for it.

“Anything is fair game? Meaning I can suggest something, and you’ll go for it?” he asks.

I can’t answer because he’s cupping my chin and cheeks, carefully avoiding my hair, and bouncing his cock in and out of my mouth.

“Anything related to you, me, and happiness. Or you, me, and destroying this bed,” I finally manage to gasp.

Craig scoops me up and puts me on the bed with my knees on the mattress and my calves hanging off. “I won’t muss your hair, darling,” he reassures, standing behind me, rubbing his tip up and down my slit, making me writhe each time he touches my oversensitive clit.

“So, what’s the suggestion?” I ask as he slides slowly into me.

His hand comes up to wrap gently around my throat as his chest lands against my back. Sharp teeth trace my shoulder before the soft black fur rubs my cheek. “It’s a surprise for tomorrow night—after the bride and groom have sailed away. Although, technically, it’s only the first part of a surprise I have in mind, love.”

“It’s atwo-part surprise? Wow. Do I get a hint?” I push back into him, impatient to lose the soreness of being stretched and find the raging bliss that comes from him filling me so full.

“I’m afraid you won’t like it. Or you’ll think it’s too soon.”

My heart leaps. “Does it involve you and me being together longer than this week?”

“Much, much longer.”

I sigh and thrust back against him, finding the rhythm of his stroke and wishing his knot was in me already—although, for the sake of walking smoothly tomorrow, we’d better wait. “Much, much longer sounds amazing.”

MY AUNT CHRISSY, WHOis a chaplain and a deaconess, leads Team Bride in prayer as we sit in a private room off the beach-side terrace. Six women in shades of pink, glowing, shining, andtrying not to weep, surround Gerri. I’m proud to say that I don’t limp as I take my place as the first bridesmaid.

My mind should be on holy and spiritual matters as I listen to Aunt Chrissy preach on the blessings of marriage and the serious step Gerri and Barry are about to undertake.

But I’m still reliving last night and trying not to think too hard about what surprise Craig could have in store. My eyes open a tiny slit so I can watch the white, pink, and green bridal arbor being staked into the sand in front of the rows and rows of white chairs. In half an hour, we’ll be walking down a petal-strewn path. My baby cousin is getting married...

“And dear Lord, we ask that you remember those of us who have been gifted with good and worthy men—and let us not sit around and wait until we’re old and gray—or until our mothers shed tears of despair—before we take You up on that blessing, dear Father. Let the young women in our family act in a timely fashion and not be tempted to neglect the blessingsYouhave bestowed!”

Now, that’s just cheating. Calling me out in prayer.

“Amen!” my mother says loudly and firmly from where she is patting my weeping, perspiring Aunt Belinda down with a lacy handkerchief.

“This is about Gerri,” I hiss at Mama when we scatter out of our prayer circle. “Not me.”

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