Page 71 of The Wedding

“Then hurry up! You have no idea what this shit is doing to me!”

“No, I don’t, but I think I like it.”

“Fuck you!”

“I think you mean…” Etta dared to untie her hands, clutching her wrists and shoving them against the headboard. Before Jamie could shout in defeat, her wrists were tied there, and Etta loomed over her, hands firmly oneither side of her head. “Fuck you, right?”

“Oh my Goooodddd.” Her wail shook her feet, toes digging into the bedspread for relief. “Fuck me! Please!”

“Wow,” Etta said again, looking down. “You are wet.”

“No shit!”

“No, I mean, more than usual.”

“Fuck me!”

When she finally did, Jamie thought she had died – or at least left her poor, hapless body to the whim of destiny.

Few people had ever seen her act like this. In fact, she was pretty sure that Etta was the only one who could possibly have, seeing as how her ex-girlfriends and hookups could barely stay in the mood sometimes, let alone cover her in the most expensive, potent magic in the world.

As wonderful as this was, Jamie was pretty sure she didn’t want this to be a common occurrence. Her fiancée’s strap-on was supposed to be a welcomed addition to her body, not absolutely necessary for her existence to continue.

Etta’s curses and groans matched hers, probably because she was going fuck-nuts around her waist – legs shaking, body yearning, and face contorting in what probably looked like pain but was anything but. Yet if Etta didn’t take care of her fast? It probably would turn into pain.

Etta could barely keep up with Jamie’s thrusts, but she still managed to make it seem like this was all part of her master plan to please her fiancée tonight. No matter how much she spoke to her, however, or how much she touched and stroked other parts of her body… Jamie could barely acknowledge it. She was too lost to a world of personal pleasure that was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

She came multiple times, but they weren’t the satisfying kinds of climaxes a woman looks forward to. The kind that scratch the sexual itch and bring endorphins to places untamed. No, these were almostmedically necessary. And they followed each other, one after the other, exhausting her even though she still didn’t feel satisfied. It wasn’t until Etta clung to her hips, pushing the strap-on deep inside of her, that Jamie finally felt any semblance of relief.

“Oh, my God,” she muttered as her hands came down from the headboard and she nearly passed out. “If we ever use that shit again, half the dosage. I think I almost died.”

Sweaty, breathless, Etta collapsed beside her. “I think I almost died too.”

“No. You don’t understand.”

“I started feeling it too. That stuff is intense.”

“You need to put it away. Lock it up. Put a timer on it so it can only be opened once or twice a year. I’m serious.”

“Well, at least we can say we tried it…”

She probably said more, but Jamie was out, like the rest of her poor body.

Chapter 23

Although the weatherman tried to argue otherwise, the sun was shining on the engagement party. Out in the countryside, where the sophisticated playground of the wealthy dwelled, a hundred guests gathered to drink champagne, play croquet, and congratulate Ms. Coleman on her upcoming nuptials. Oh, and they congratulated Jamie as well. One often had to do with the other, of course.

I don’t know any of these people. Even though she thought that countless times, Jamie was always amazed at how many faces she continued to never recognize. Perhaps she saw them many times, but the women had so much work done, and the men wore so many different hats and haircuts that it was impossible to remember them from one occasion to the next. The worst part? Jamie wasn’t even face blind.

Nevertheless, she graciously thanked them all for attending. Jamie had never been to an engagement party of this scale before – she had to miss Monique and Helen’s due to illness – and had no idea that she and her fiancée had to spend the first forty-five minutes standing at the doors thanking every guest who came by and paid their respects. Since it was April, most of the men wore dark colors and the women a variety of colors.There were, however, the occasional whites here and there. Helen wore her customary off-white dress while Monique teetered beneath white lace. When people weren’t kissing Etta’s ass, they were glowing over Monique, who was entering her sixth month of pregnancy but had the stomach of a woman about to haul a baby around. More than one person commented that the baby must definitely be a Warner, since almost every member of that family was at least six feet tall.

“I must sit down,” Monique told her friends. “Looking at you standing here for so long is making me weary. Please tell me there’s an open bar.”

Etta narrowed her eyes at her. “There is. Adele arranged it.”

“I’m assuming they can make virgin drinks.” Monique flicked her arm. “No jokes. I’m irritable today.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”