“Really? That’d be awesome. Thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do for our wed—I mean, ceremony planner.”
Trick digs his fingers into my side showing his lack of appreciation for my mocking him. “Originally, I thought we’d make love tonight, but you seem to be asking for me to fuck you hard,” he whispers in my ear.
I hope the dark blanket of night covers my red face as everyone stares at us, probably thinking my doting husband just whispered sweet nothings into my ear. They have no idea he’s not always a gentleman.
“Ahem …” The guy next to Colby clears his throat.
“Sorry, dude. This is Wes. He’s a marine biology student and he’ll be here for the next few months to observe the whales, aka get college credit for surfing.”
Wes smacks Declan in the back of the head, and we laugh. “Nice to meet you and congratulations.” Wes is stocky with cropped blond hair, not the typical surfer look.
“Thanks.” Trick and I both smile.
“And last but definitely not least, this is Mallory, Colby’s girlfriend.”
“Fìancée.” She corrects him holding up her ring finger.
Declan rolls his eyes. “Whatever, you’ve had that ring for two years and still no wedding so I’m no longer sure it’s really an engagement ring.”
She sticks out a pouty lip and flips back her long dark hair revealing some serious silicon pouring out of her small halter top sundress, then elbows Colby in the gut. “We’d have a date set if a certain someone would hurry up and find himself. Anyway, Trick and I met this morning. I did yoga with him.”
I make a quick glance at Trick, who keeps an impassive look to her comment. Then I look to see if his eyes are tempted by the large rack. Just in case old habits die hard. Yep, he’s staring.
I snuggle into him pretending to nuzzle his neck. “If you don’t stop gawking at her rack, the only thing you’ll be fucking tonight is your hand.” I smile at everyone as they look at us like we’re the poster couple for happily ever after, and we are … or we will be after we get a few things straight.
Trick’s fingers dig yet a little deeper into my side, but I don’t know why. I’m not the one staring.
“Well, we should let the newlyweds have some alone time,” Martin interrupts. “And it is a Wednesday so some of us have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Who might that be?” Declan jokes.
“Well, we really appreciate this. It was so kind of all of you to befriend us and make this such a special day. We should hangout this weekend or something … if you want.” I hate the never-been-accepted-school-girl insecurity that bleeds from me. They don’t know me and I have no reason to think they wouldn’t want to be friends, but my confidence has been beaten down too many times.
“Absolutely!” Declan replies. “We live right over there.” He points to the house down the beach a little ways. “Martin rents it out to my parents but they’re over in China for the next six months so we decided not to let a perfectly good beach house sit vacant.”
I nod and smile.
Everyone exchanges hugs and I hate the way I watch Trick to see how his body responds to Mallory and her cleavage. I was jealous and possessive when I thought he was gay. Marriage could push my limits past the boundaries of all reason.
As the small group trudges off through the sand we watch them in silence for a few long seconds; then Trick turns and pulls me into his arms. “Don’t.”
I lift my shoulders, avoiding eye contact.
“Mrs. Roth, look at me.”
I can’t hide my faint smile as I look up.
“Have you ever seen the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile?”
I laugh at the words I never imagined coming out of his mouth. “Yes, why?”
“Does it catch your attention when you see it?”
“Yes, why?”
“Is it because you wish you could drive it or you wish you had one?”
Another laugh and a head shake. “No.”
Trick jabs his thumb in the direction of our neighbor’s house. “That rack was the Wienermobile.” His hands slide to the zipper of my dress. I close my eyes as he drags it down with seductive patience, eliciting a flood of prickly goose bumps across my skin. “You, my sexy, beautiful wife … you are a Ducati.” My dress falls to the sand.
My heavy eyelids flutter open as his mouth claims my neck, his hands feathering down my arms. “A Ducati?”
“Mmm hmm.” He works the buttons of his shirt, letting his lips hold me submissive to his touch. “My bike is a Ducati.”
“You love your bike?”
“Very much.” He tosses his shirt to the side and my hands claim the tat-covered skin I crave. He’s so damn sexy; my body feels on the constant edge of convulsion just from the heat of his skin.