Wicked Wednesday: Runaway, Bride

Oh boy… Weddings. They are (almost?) (sometimes?) (always?) such a complicated affair, are they not? Please enjoy Wicked Wednesday: Runaway, Bride.

After seeing with my own eyes the truth, I slipped out of the simple gown I had pinched pennies to buy and left it in a pile on the dressing room floor. Back in my street clothes, I slipped out of the window with my purse and my carry-on bag. I had the tickets to Hawaii and I was about to fly First Class. I just had to get to the airport.

But first, I had to escape my wedding and all the guests. I had left a note with Paula’s name on it. I gave her my blessing. After what I saw, the last thing I wanted to do was to keep my fiancé and my best friend from having to continue to keep what they felt for each other secret. Whether it lasted for them or not was none of my concern.

Did my heart ache? Why yes, it did. A crack had formed. Who am I fooling? The Grand fucking Canyon split me open inside. I had heard whispers and I had seen the side-eye directed at me, but never knew what it meant. The last person I expected to pull me aside to tell me point-blank that my future husband and best friend were fucking each other set me firmly in the disbelief column. Obviously the woman who had bullied me all of high school would enjoy hurting me a month before my wedding, right?

His Southern twang caressed my ears like a lover’s fingers.

In order to prove to me that she wasn’t lying, she wasn’t trying to purposefully hurt me, and to earn my trust, she called me one morning. When I hung up on her, she texted me a photo of Marc and Paula touching and kissing on the way to the elevator. My number one nemesis opened my eyes to the truth. She also managed the hotel they happened to reserve a room at. I still couldn’t believe, though.

However, when you go to sneak into your fiance’s changing room to sneak a quick kiss and maybe a fast fuck to help you relax, and find that he’s already shoved his face beneath your best friend’s Maid of Honor dress, you finally realize that the whispers were true. That people were afraid to tell you, or perhaps they didn’t think it was a big deal. Men cheat, it’s in their DNA, right? Procreation and all?

Instead of flailing and crying and throwing and fighting, I slipped the door shut, quiet as a church mouse stealing the pastor’s cheese, then headed back across the hall. I was very lucky because the changing rooms were on the ground floor and my window pointed to an area clear of people and land with trees that would hide my escape.

Since it was now only fifteen minutes before the ceremony would start, I was sure everyone had arrived and no one I stuck my thumb out for to hitch a ride would be heading for my wedding. Boy was I wrong.

Owen pulled over and lowered his sunglasses with his playboy smirk, knowing exactly what I was doing. “So… you know the truth now, d’ya?”

His Southern twang caressed my ears like a lover’s fingers. “Yeah, I know. They’re all about to find out that I’m not in the dressing room. Can I get a ride outta here or do you want to go see the drama unfold?” I leaned into the open window, lowering my sunglasses like he had his own, but I didn’t dare try to mirror that smile.

“Get in. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, dahlin’.”

My door wasn’t even shut before he made an illegal u-turn and started shifting into higher gears, moving us as quickly away from the church as possible.

“Thanks, Owen. I’d like to go to the airport. I have a couple of tickets to Hawaii. Do you want to go with me?”

“Hell yes.”

“I’m glad you came with me, Owen.” I touched his face, the scruff on his face felt softer than it should. He pulled me into his arms.

“Despite the circumstances that landed me here, Zoey?” The warmth from his breath tickled my neck and I sighed against his chest.

I could feel the tightness that had left my chest rear up to remind me it wasn’t gone just yet. Tears stung my eyes and he tightened his hold on me.

Instead of spending my honeymoon with my husband, I was spending it with his best friend. I had no idea if there was anything real between us and, in a way, it wasn’t a concern at the moment. My fiancé made his choice and I made mine in the best way I could think of.

Owen picked me up and carried me back into the bungalow we’d rented. I could’ve kept the honeymoon suite that Marc had used his credit card for, but instead opted for a clean break. When we made it safely inside, working together, Owen carried me to the bedroom.

I sucked slow, teasing him, edging him. 

Laying me down, he kissed me. I’d never kissed anyone other than Marc. I’d never known kisses could be orgasmic. A little voice inside was grateful that he’d been the one to pick me up. He was teaching me new things, both in and out of bed.

“How about tonight you blindfold me and tease me, like I did this mornin’, sweetheart?” That playboy smile was back, but there was something new in his eyes, a light I hadn’t seen before.

Grabbing the scarf, I wrapped it around his head twice before tying it and guided him to the bed. I stripped off his clothing, kissing and licking as I went. I touched the bottom of his feet, his calves, his forearms, and biceps.

The quiet hisses and the way his body shifted and tensed told me he was enjoying trying to guess where I was going next. I teased his nipples with my thumbs and planted kisses down his chest. Owen’s hips shifted in response and when I took him into my mouth, I pinched his nipples. His cock thickened. I sucked slow, teasing him, edging him.

Sliding up his body, I guide his shaft into me and plunged my soaked pussy down. We both moaned loud and then panted until we could breathe again. Owen gripped my hips, but did not lift me. He was giving control over to me and I was more than willing to follow-through.

Riding on top was still new to me, but Owen was a patient lover. His hands caressed and squeezed and pinched until we couldn’t take it any longer. I took the blindfold off and he rolled me over. A few rough thrusts and we fell into bliss.

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