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I pace nervously outside the spa doors, waiting anxiously for Simone to emerge. I’m half-worried she’s changed her mind and made a run for it out the back door.
“I knew I should have marched her ass right to the chapel,” I mutter. “She’s going to keep me waiting on pins and needles.”
“She’s not doing it on purpose,” Punk says on a yawn, leaning against the wall. “A woman goes through a lot for an occasion like her wedding.”
My anxiety continues to spike until Simone exits the spa with Candy.
The air in my lungs gets trapped as I take in my future wife. She’s wearing a body-hugging, white-wrap, mid-calf dress. She spins in a circle with her arms out at her sides to give me the full effect. It molds to her curves like a second skin, showcasing her hourglass shape in the most seductive way imaginable. A slit runs up the back of her skirt, stopping right under her heart-shaped bottom. Plenty of cleavage spills over the top of her bodice. Her hair is down the way I like but pinned back on one side to showcase the long column of her neck and earrings I sent over. And her makeup is artfully done, the way she always has it.
She’s stunning, and she’s about to tie the knot with me.
A groan escapes me as I reach out to pull her close. “Fucking hell, Numbers.” I kiss her as softly as I can manage without messing up her blood-red lips. “After we’ve exchanged rings, I want your lip marks all over my face.”
Simone cocks an eyebrow at me, a seductive smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Only your face? I could have sworn you would have loved it around your cock.”
And now I’m sporting wood like a pubescent teen.
“Chapel, NOW!” I holler to the rest of our wedding party, trying hard to calm down my erection. Getting married with tented jeans wasn’t on the agenda. Guess I’ll have to make do with it.
I’m running our asses across the boulevard to the chapel. Simone hollers at me to slow down. “I’m going to break a heel on one of my pumps if you force me to move any faster.”
“I’ll buy you another pair of heels. I don’t care if they’re fucking Louboutin or whatever the hell you like,” I rasp over my shoulder where she drags along, my feet not slowing.
She yanks me to a halt. “I don’t want my hair or outfit ruined. Stop tugging on me.”
The woman may be a pain in my ass, but she’s mine. Without skipping a beat, I throw her over my shoulder and sprint the rest of the way.
Simone slaps my ass, and I slap hers back, with a smile. “This is going to be such a fun marriage.”
I storm inside the chapel, with Simone slung over my shoulder like a bag of flour. “Where’s the officiant?”
A man dressed as Elvis in a rhinestone jumpsuit comes running up to the altar. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. That would be me. Are you two lovebirds looking to get married?”
“Not if he doesn’t put this lovebird on her feet,” Simone growls, smacking my butt.
“Only if this lovebird agrees to wear my property patch,” I counter, slapping her rump back.
“Ow!” Simone smacks my backside again, and I return the favor. “Forget it.”
“You broke my heart.” I slap her peach. “Make it up to me.”
“This is mildly entertaining,” Candy muses.
Butch sniggers beside her, nodding in agreement.
After a couple rounds of Whac-A-Mole on each other’s asses, Simone finally relents. “Ugh! Okay, you win. I’ll wear your property patch. Just put me down. If my hair is wrecked, so help me God, I will whip your ass with my leather jacket.”
“Yeeeesss,” I hiss victoriously as I set her carefully on her stiletto-feet.
Simone mutters to herself, smoothing out her hair. Punk throws me the property-patch jacket we retrieved before picking up the women. I hold it out for her to slip her arms through, with the biggest fucking grin consuming my face.
She glowers at me a moment before she turns to don the coat. She turns back to face me, and I swear my heart stops. Simone looks like the most seductive bad-ass biker babe. She must see how damn happy I am. Her own vibrant smile takes over her lovely oval face.
“Are you happy now?”
“As soon as you sayI do, I’ll be over the fucking moon.”
Our Elvis officiant clears his throat. He goes through the spiel about wedding packages, and I wave at him to stop. “Give us the whole shebang and get this show on the road.”
