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Imala
New Orleans is known for lively parties, rich culture, wonderful Cajun foods, and all-around debauchery; yet I still haven’t discovered most of these things for myself. I’m still too busy revisiting my latest discovery: Caerwyn’s body. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt. The logical side of me believes it’s because I’ve never experienced it before. The romantic side knows it’s our connection. We’ve been drawn to each other from the moment we met. And that pull has only gotten stronger.
Even now, I’m so sexstruck or dickmatized -depending on who’s judging- that I’m lying next to him and watching him sleep like he’s a rock star who’d happened to have fallen in my bed. It’s his fault really, we’d passed out after an afternoon romp where he’d introduced me to being eaten from behind then being taken on all fours. The devil in my bed always presents a weak protest about not wanting me to get sore only to roll over to make it happen.
“I’m starting to feel like a deity,” he teases with his eyes still closed.
“Immortal?” I volley.
“Worshipped.” His eyes pop open to enthrall me with their blue-green intensity. “I can feel you staring at me.”
I turn my head to hide my blush. Maybe I’ve read too many books and am caught up in the fantasy. I don’t want to come off as weird, so I need to chill. The last thing I want is to make the honeymoon awkward. Wyn grabs me before I can climb out of bed. It happens so fast that I don’t know what’s going on until I’m on my back with him on top of me.
He cups my face to force my gaze to his. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?” I ask.
“Don’t hide from me.”
I feel another flush of color and drop my gaze to his lips, since I can’t move my head. “And what if you think I’m weird?”
Wyn picks up my left hand and brings it near our faces. “Let me explain something to you. Do you see this?” he asks while pointing at my ring. “When I put it on your finger, I meant it. I’ve considered, chosen, and accepted all sides of you. If you want to be weird, that’s your fucking right as long as you’re being weird with me. We may not have had the traditional courtship or professions of love, but I knew what I was doing last week. I’d do it again and fight anyone who has a problem with it. You’re stuck with me. You may as well stay true to yourself. I want you raw and unfiltered.”
I’m touched by his words. Since I’d seen the reception hall based off scenes from my favorite book and movie, I knew he was special. And when he’d presented me with a rare autographed copy of the book at our reception as the Hale family traditional gift to the bride, I decided not to fight falling for him. Now, I’ve decided that I’ll give him my all, consequences be damned.
“What if staying true to myself meant I want to go join the craziness of the city we’re in then come back here for drunk sex? I want to know what that’s about.”
Wyn flashes me a soul-scorching smile. “I’d be more than happy facilitating such a request. Please tell me you have some kind of sexual bucket list or checklist.”
“No, but I can make one.”
He gives me a slow, lingering peck then sits up. “That’s my girl. Now, let’s go get dirty in the south.”
His statement gives me the giggles. “Is that a thing?”
He shakes his head with a smile. “But it will be once we’re done.”
Caerwyn
Being ignored is one of the things I’d loved about living off the island. On the island, we’re like royalty without the titles. Hell, our families even pass power in a royal family structure. There, everything we do is newsworthy. In the states, people know who we are but not the entire population. And some of the people who could recognize us don’t give a fuck about our existence.
Since Imala wants to party, I figure now is the time to go full on tourist and check out Bourbon Street. She was getting dressed when I left the room to check in with the concierge and look at some brochures. Imala offered to meet me downstairs, so I wasn’t rushing as I perused the options. We’d literally fucked away our week - not that I’m complaining- but it’ll be nice to do at least one thing before we go.
“Caerwyn.” Imala calls my name once she exits the elevator. “I’m ready.”
Looking up at her, I do a double take then work on not swallowing my tongue. My baggy clothes wearing wife has traded in comfort for an outfit built to drive me crazy. I briefly remember the story Jagger told me about Oran carrying Karessa out of the club because she showed up half-naked. That won’t be a problem for us because I’m not sex starved.
I stand up straighter and face her, so she knows I’m openly ogling. The glasses are gone for the night and are replaced with contacts and sultry makeup. She’s had time to style her hair by taming her natural soft waves that fall mid-back. My favorite part is the little slip of red satin barely covering her body. The spaghetti straps cut into a deep vee. Each step makes the fabric fight to tame the tits I’d feasted on this afternoon. The dress is tight across her abdomen then flares out at the hips until the fabric stops just above mid-thigh. My dick notices as if it’s been deprived. The legs that have been wrapped around me in some form all day are on full display. Narrowing my eyes as if it’d give me x-ray vision, I wonder if people can see the marks I’d left.
Once Imala is within touching distance, I pull her close to me.
“Are you wearing that strap of a dress and fuck me heels just to tease me?”
She wraps her arms around my neck and smiles at me. “Is it working?”
I bare my teeth with a soft growl and press my hand to her lower back so she can feel the damage.
“Let’s go to dinner before I spread you on a plate and devour your pussy for dinner.”
