Chapter 15

Becky

1:04 AM THURSDAY

If tonight has proven anything, it’s that I’m still a party girl at heart.

He lifts me up like I don’t weigh anything at all. Zilch. Nada. Nothing.

Our bodies slam into the side of the confessional so hard that for a second, I’m sure it’s going to tip over.

It doesn’t, thank fuck, because then where would I bang my husband? In a hotel room like proper newlyweds? Girl, please.

I’m a party girl at heart, and now I’ve finally found the playboy that’s my other half.

If I had married Dan, we would have consummated our marriage in the most boring way possible—if we even consummated it on the night of our wedding at all. Knowing Dan the Man, he’d be snoring like a fucking water buffalo before the reception was over, and I’d spend my wedding night trying to get myself out of my own dress.

But my new husband—my real husband—is fucking me right now, with the ceremony barely even over, and my bridesmaids outside this tiny little booth we’ve shoved ourselves into just to make sure that no one tries to stop us or calls the cops.

“Hail Satan!” I hear Percy bellow just on the other side of the confessional booth door that my husband currently has me shoved up against.

Oh boy. I have this crazy feeling that the rent-a-priest is going to love that one.

Some couples consummate their marriage to the dulcet tones of Lou Reed or Lady Gaga or, if you’re real classy, Def Leppard. But me and my new hubby?

Yeah. We’re fucking each other to the sound of chaos, pure and simple.

I can smell something on fire inside the church, just edging towards creating enough smoke that it sets the fire alarms off. But who cares? Right now, I can also smell my husband, all expensive cologne and pheromones and aftershave.

And as my husband lifts my skirt, I can smell my pussy: wet, wild, and more than willing to take my husband’s long, fat cock inside it until I’m so full, I cream all over it.

That’s the dream, right? Handsome husband, last-minute elopement, orgasming around his huge dick, and the delicious scent of the church you were married in being burned down around you while you fuck in a fucking confessional booth.

If the smell of fire isn’t the altar on fire, it’s probably the scent of the level of hell we’re going to for all this.

Outside the confessional booth, it’s clearly chaos. In sound and smell and—fuck—I can even taste the smoke.

But within the confessional booth? It’s love, baby. Pure, true love.

And lots of fucking, too.

My husband levels his dick with my entrance. I’m tight, even after all the fingering he’s been spoiling me with. I’m tight—and he’s thick. It’s a match made in fuck heaven, even if we are probably going to hell.

When he slips inside me, my juices coat his tip so completely that they start to drip down his shaft. My cunt is hot, but somehow, his cock is hotter.

He pushes into me like a hot knife through butter, and I feel like I’m melting everywhere he touches me.

But then his cock slides up against my G-spot, and I’m not just melting. I’m exploding. I’m on fire.

Maybe that’s the real source of all the smoke. They’ve always called me a fire-crotch. Now, I can finally feel it. My cunt is burning up, the scent of burning is in the air, and my husband’s fist is wrapped up in my hair as his lips conquer mine.

It’s the most passionate thing I’ve ever felt, and I once drank champagne out of a Mickey Mouse hat while drunkenly watching the fireworks at Disney World.

“Babe,” I whimper, because I can feel some fireworks of my own beginning to be set alight in my womb. “Babe, I’m gonna come.”

“Fucking good,” he growls. “Lose yourself, love. Give it to me—give me everything.”

The orgasm hits just as the fire alarm sounds and the sprinklers go off.

The water sprays down on us and the alarm sounds so loudly, I can’t even hear my husband’s name as I’m screaming it. His mirrored sunglasses are askew, his faux sideburns are melting off his face, and he’s definitely not getting the deposit on this stupid fucking Elvis costume back—but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter at all.

I’m his, and he’s mine, and we just fucked in a confessional booth after getting married in Las Vegas. All of my girlhood dreams have finally come true, and whatever I promised Dan—whatever he thought I owed him and whatever life we had planned to live together—has been left so far behind me, I couldn’t even see it in the rear-view mirror if I squinted.

This man—this gorgeous fucking man with his cock still inside me right now—he’s my future. Now and forever.

And it never has to get boring, and it never has to get old.

Christ, considering the way we’re spending the first few hours of our marriage…I don’t think it could be anything but fun from here on out.

I can feel my husband’s hot, thick cum pumping inside me, filling me up and dripping back out again as the water sprinklers soak us from above.

Just as we come, the owner of that bitchy voice from earlier yanks open the confessional booth door.

“Get OUT!” she commands, her hair flat and her mascara running down her cheeks.

Like two teenagers who’ve been caught canoodling beneath the football field bleachers, we have the dignity to look embarrassed for all of five seconds before we’re tucking away our respective genitalia and running away, hand in hand, while the altar smolders behind us and we leave a totally trashed, cum-covered church in our wake.

I’m laughing as we run. Like, honest to god giggling. I can hear Mysti May and the showgirls clicking in their heels as they flee behind us. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Sammi tugging a giant, shark-sized cooler on wheels behind her, and just out in front of us, Percy has thrown her arms up to the heavens, like she’s thanking the night sky for the crazy shit we just got into.

“We are gods!” she bellows up to the moon. “Nothing can stop us now!”

And when I look over to my husband, all I see is love. His scruffy blonde facial hair and sparkling blue-gold eyes. His lips, smeared with my lipstick and my honey and my love. His hand, dwarfing mine as he holds it, squeezing me as we run away from the church we nearly just burned to the ground.

I’m a party girl at heart, but tonight, I’ve discovered something more, too.

I’ve never felt more clear-headed than I do right now. I’ve never felt so alive. It’s like the universe has aligned in my favor—and now, nothing can go wrong. Nothing could ever possibly go wrong ever again.