Page 8 of Cream Pie

Chapter 3

Amy

I textHope on the way to check how she’s feeling with her jet lag, but she doesn’t answer. Probably still sleeping, I guess. At Kendall’s bungalow, I knock once before barging right in.

“Sorry!” I gasp breathlessly and sincerely, seeing her sitting at the balcony table alone with all of the brunch already laid out. “I’m so sorry!”

She beams at me and stands as I rush over to her.

“It’s fine!” she smiles. She winks. “I know you went out last night.”

I blush, but she doesn’t push it.

“Honestly, room service just brought all of this. You’re fine!” She beams at me again and I shake my head.

“How do you look so freaking calm and cool?”

“Um, because look at where we are?” She giggles, sweeping a hand towards the big open windows and the gorgeous vista of the beach and ocean.

I roll my eyes and gratefully take the coffee she pours for me. For a second, I can feel something warm and slick between my legs, and I blush fiercely, knowing what it is.

“I want you to feel my cum dripping out of your little pussy and leaking into these panties.”

Swallowing the heat from my face, I sit quickly.

“You’re not at all nervous?”

Kendall grins. “About?”

“About today! I mean, about all of it!”

She smiles impishly. “Well, only about becoming your stepmom.”

I roll my eyes and flip her off, and we both giggle. Her becoming my “stepmom” has been a running joke since she told me about her and my dad. Trust me, we’ve already definitely agreed that we’re never actually going there. Marrying my dad or not, Kendall’s my best friend, and that’s it.

“Well, you look gorgeous already and you’re not even in your dress.”

She smiles. “So do you. Actually…” she arches a brow. “You look a little flushed.”

My cheeks burn, but I quickly sip at the hot coffee.

“I ran here.”

Kendall wags her brows. “Have fun going out last night?”

“Nope.”

I say it way too quickly, but I cover it by shoving some toast in my mouth. Kendall eyes me, but if she suspects something, she lets it go. I will tell her about losing my v-card—probably, at least. But not now. Not on her freaking wedding day.

Instead, we laugh, we joke, we stuff our faces with croissants and bacon and eggs and coffee. And for a little while, I actually do think of something besides how fucking amazing my stranger was, and how wild it is to not be a virgin anymore. Eventually though, there’s a knock at the door, and the wedding planner walks in smiling.

“Morning ladies!” she beams. “Ready for the stylists?”

I glance at my friend. “Still feel like marrying my dad?”

“Yup.”

I giggle. “Then let’s go get our hair done.”

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