* * *

A DIRTY WEDDING NIGHT

The fire bathed Katie’s face in lapping, golden light. She was sitting right beside me and she was so fucking beautiful, with her creamy skin and her sweet features and her dark hair… she laughed at something Zane said, and my stomach twirled.

Butterflies. The girl actually gave me butterflies.

As she raised her champagne glass to her lips, gazing into the fire, I glimpsed the platinum wedding band I’d slipped onto her finger earlier this evening; it glinted in the dark, reflecting the flames, and it gave me a total rush. That shiny band now marked Katie Bloom as married. As mine.

And that shit was making me hard.

Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were rosy; it was cold out, but that flush might’ve been from the booze. She was definitely a little drunk, but it was a cute drunk. She’d been pacing herself throughout the night. I’d made sure of that. Because sometimes when Katie got too drunk, she couldn’t come, and that wouldn’t fucking do.

Not on our wedding night.

Not when I was desperate to watch her come; to feel her come.

Several times.

She caught me perving on her and smiled. Her big blue-green eyes widened in the firelight—and that sweetly surprised look went straight to my cock. Just like it always did.

Didn’t exactly help matters that she hadn’t let me fuck her in two long, aching days.

Save it for our wedding night, she’d said, fending off my wandering hands as we arrived here at the resort, on the morning of the wedding rehearsal. It will be better if we wait.

Which sounded like a nice idea at the time. Romantic. Hot.

But that was yesterday. Before she proceeded to dance with me, flirt with me, make out with me at her stagette party—in a super-thin bikini top and minuscule cut-offs—then make me sleep in a separate bed.

Today, she danced with me again, flirted with me some more, married me in a jaw-dropping-gorgeous dress, and at the reception, let me peel off her garter with my tongue. Without ever once giving my aching dick so much as a pity stroke.

If I’d known by “wedding night” she actually meant almost dawn the next morning, I would’ve screwed her senseless every step of the way.

Because fuck waiting.

I held her gaze, sipping my beer, my tongue playing idly with the neck of the bottle, thinking about all the shit I was gonna do to her the second I got her alone… until her smile melted into something else, her teeth catching on her plump bottom lip.

Then my gaze slid deliberately south… to the hint of cleavage and that alluring dip between her breasts, bared by her half-unzipped, down-filled jacket… to her sexy, curvy legs, crossed, in her tight jeans…. to her furry boots. They were new, and I hadn’t fucked her in them yet.

I was gonna have to remedy that. Soon.

“Jesus Christ. Quit eye-fucking your bride and go do it already.”

I glanced at Zane, my lead singer and one of my groomsmen. I had to kind of blink him into focus, I was so cross-eyed with lust.

He was sitting on Katie’s other side, a dirty, cocky smirk on his face. It was the one he usually used on women he was planning to fuck. Since he was using it on me right now, it was meant to piss me off—since his arm was around my wife.

“You know, you’re married now,” he went on, his fingertips grazing Katie’s shoulder. “It’s not a sin anymore.” The touch was so light she probably didn’t even feel it through her puffy jacket. But it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for me, because this was how Zane entertained himself when my woman was around. “Unless you’re waiting on some pointers…?”

“Zane, don’t tease,” Katie scolded him, but she was still smiling too. She liked my friends; I liked that. She even put up with Zane’s flirting, which was both cool and annoying.

“Yeah, man. The fuck are you waiting for?” Dylan chimed in. My drummer was now grinning at me across the fire.

Not good.

Zane and Dylan ganging up on me was never good. And unlike Zane, Dylan rarely busted my balls when it came to Katie… which clearly meant that us newlyweds were wearing out our welcome at the fire.

Which was totally fucking fine with me.

I’d felt a little obligated to hang out with our wedding guests, even though the reception was long over, and I knew Katie did, too. After all, they’d come all the way up here, hours north of the city, by floatplane, just to attend our wedding—at a remote resort in the wilderness that didn’t even have Wi-Fi—despite the fact that many of them were rock stars, or people who worked with rock stars, and therefore had other shit to do. I figured the least we could do was keep them fed, liquored, and entertained.

Still; if I didn’t get to bury my dick in my new wife soon, I was gonna explode. Maybe literally. I’d been hard all fucking day.

Well, not all day. But every time Katie kissed me, or brushed up against me, or looked at me like she was doing right now…

Rock hard.

I adjusted a little in my jeans, thinking about the welcoming warmth of Katie’s pussy, slippery wet and swollen… all hot for me and so sweet and tight—

Jesus.

I took a cooling swig of my beer.

Time to fucking go.

Only one slight problem. That being, I didn’t love leaving my little sister to the wolves.

There were only a few people left by the fire, and my sister was one of them. After the reception had wound down and most of the wedding guests stumbled off to bed, my band, Dirty, and some of our closest friends had come out to the fire pit on one of the low cliffs over the cove to jam. We’d been drinking and playing songs, which had been incredible. With my sister, Jessa, here, it was like old times. The way it used to be when we were all together and she was still with the band. The best times.

But now the music had died and everyone was kind of paired off and chatting. Jessa and her friend Roni were huddled together, whispering in low, conspiratorial voices, glancing over at Dylan and his buddy, Ash. I didn’t even wanna know what that was about, though I was pretty sure it was about Roni, not Jessa.

Dylan and Ash were drinking and goofing around, as usual.

Brody, our band manager and another of my groomsmen, was sitting back in silence next to Maggie, our assistant manager, looking tense, just like he had the entire wedding. At least, whenever my sister was around.

And there was Zane, his arm around my wife and that infamous panty-wetting grin on his face.

“Unless, of course, you aren’t up to it.” Jesus; was he still fucking talking? At me? “Maybe you need a little nap? It’s been a long day, and you’re getting old. Pushing thirty. And you’ve been drinking… Maybe you just need someone to fill in for you. You know, get things warmed up—”

“That kind of comment didn’t fly when I was dating her,” I told him, keeping my tone casual. No way I was letting Zane fuck with me tonight, and just because he was a recovered alcoholic and therefore sober did not mean he got to win some imaginary hard dick contest. I was plenty able to fuck my wife. Didn’t matter how late it got or how many beers were passed around; I’d been pacing myself, too. “It’s definitely not gonna fly now that I’ve married her.”

Zane just laughed.

Fucking guy.

I could not wait ’til he fell in love. I’d have a fucking field day with that shit. The guy was always busting everyone else’s balls; he deserved some payback.

Of course, I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting on Zane to get serious about a woman. Fucking around was kind of his lifeblood.

Case in point: we’d just finished jamming on an acoustic cover of “Brown Eyed Girl”—Zane’s idea. He’d sung it specifically to serenade my brown-eyed sister, probably in part because he was happy she was here—we all were; it’d been fucking years since she’d been home to see us all—but also in part to piss off Brody. Because nothing ramped up Zane’s meddling urges like a guy who obviously had it bad for a girl—yet failed to make a play for her.

“Hate to say it, but he’s right,” Brody told me, low enough Zane wouldn’t hear as he settled into a seat next to me; I was watching the cocky bastard whisper in Katie’s ear, making her laugh. “Just go back to your cabin and I’ll take care of things here. It’s past three o’clock. At this rate, your wedding night’ll be over before you consummate it.”

That may have been so, but I didn’t like being told when, how or where to fuck my own woman. It wasn’t Brody’s fault, though; he was just born bossy. Usually, I didn’t mind.

“How about you?” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Amanda?”

He sucked on his beer, looking gloomy. “Later.”

I doubted that.

Brody had brought his latest “girlfriend” to the wedding, but that didn’t mean much. It never did. They were always perfectly nice and perfectly pretty, with perfectly nice names like Amanda or Jennifer or Michelle—and he was always bored with them before they even got started. The odds of him actually sleeping with this one tonight seemed slim, what with the way he’d been acting around my sister all day… avoiding the shit out of her, then staring at her from afar like some lovelorn stalker.

My little sister was gorgeous; I got that. She turned heads everywhere she went, and not just because she was a lingerie model and looked like one. There was something about her that guys had always eaten up, even when she was a dorky little kid; I’d had to witness it all my life. It was this kind of awkward sweetness she had, some kind of dick-throttling magic that made boys follow her home from school and reduced grown men to idiots. Made them all—boys and men alike—want to get in her face, push her buttons; make her squeeze out a smile in their direction so they’d feel better about themselves.

None more than Brody.

I had no idea what shit had gone down between the two of them, though what I’d once assumed was a more-or-less mutual infatuation had obviously turned south—and now neither one of them seemed able to either completely ignore or tolerate the other.

I looked at my sister across the fire. Jessa caught my eye and swiftly flashed her infamous bratty look—the one that earned her the nickname “bratface” among my friends, years ago, when they were all crushing on her but wouldn’t admit it in front of me; it was the face she’d given me as a little girl when I pissed her off. I didn’t even know she was still capable of that look, yet she’d been in Brody’s vicinity for mere hours, and now there it was.

I didn’t love it, but not much I could do. I wasn’t exactly a relationship expert.

The fact that I’d managed to get Katie to the altar still kind of stunned me.

I looked at Brody. He pretended not to notice Jessa sulking and leveled me with a gray look. “Quit being a fucking hero and take your woman to bed,” he muttered.

“Uh-huh.” I stared at him, gauging his reaction to my words. “Guess someone should get laid tonight.”

He didn’t touch that. Just sipped his beer and pretended he hadn’t heard me. But he still wouldn’t look at my sister.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, when he could feel me staring at him.

And I realized I didn’t have to. Not really. Brody was one of the good ones. If I’d ever had qualms about the idea of any of my friends hooking up with my sister—and I did—Brody wasn’t one of them. Still; if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass and quit putting that bratty look on her face, I was gonna have to say something to him about it… sometime.

My wedding night, though, was not that time.

But at least one thing I knew for sure: Brody wasn’t gonna let Zane or anyone else fuck with Jessa.

I sighed. “Babe,” I said, standing up and extending a hand to Katie. “Let’s go.”

Katie beamed her sweet smile up at me, like she’d been waiting on those words all night. She took my hand and I yanked her to her feet. She fell against me, her tits squishing against my chest, just like I wanted them to.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and leaned down to give her a kiss. It was soft and slow, and earned us a bunch of whoops and growls from the guys.

So maybe I was showing off. A bit.

Then we did the obligatory round of goodnight hugs and kisses and backslaps. We got congratulated, yet again. Then I picked up my new wife and tossed her over my shoulder, despite her mild protests, and finally, we got the fuck out of there.

“Don’t come back ’til she’s popped your cherry!” Zane called after us as we disappeared into the dark of the trees.

“Go easy on him, Katie!” Dylan added. “He’s new at this!”

And then my friends all laughed, which was understandable. They were, after all, jealous.

I couldn’t blame them for that.

* * *