Chapter 39 Happy
HAPPY
“Ihope you know that I am totally risking a UTI right now,” Hannah whispers into my ear as we sit in the back of the car.
She’s referring to the way I fucked her again in the shower, filling her pussy even more. But what can I say? I love the thought of her perfect cunt so full of my cum, it dripping out of her and making a sticky mess of her pretty thighs. I’m a fucking animal for this woman, I swear to God.
I flash her a devious smirk, my hand squeezing her bare thigh through the high slit in her dress.
And when I trail it upward, I notice the way her chest hitches, hearing her shuddering exhale when my pinky skims her pussy through her sheer thong.
I’m forced to close my eyes to steel myself because fuck me.
Leaning in, I graze the shell of her ear with my lips, whispering, “So warm…”
Hannah clamps her bottom lip between her teeth, spearing me with a look I assume is supposed to be a warning but is actually adorable, making me sniff a laugh.
When the car rolls to a stop, I look out the window and can’t even contain my own grimace. When Hannah said her mom was getting married at a plantation, I assumed she was exaggerating. But this is an actual plantation. The fucking date it was in operation is right there on the goddamn sign. Gross.
“Who the fuck gets married at a plantation?” I shake my head at a loss.
“People like my mother,” Hannah mutters.
“Talk about bad fucking karma.” I unfasten my seatbelt and open the door, rounding the vehicle to open Hannah’s door.
When she hops out of the car, I’m taken aback again.
This dress. The photo she sent me from the dressing room the other day didn’t do it justice.
In real life, it’s stunning. When I walked out of the bathroom back at the hotel to see her wearing it, I almost fell flat on my face.
A shimmering, Ferrari red that makes her tan skin pop, it skims the floor but shows off a hint of her sexy legs through the thigh-high split.
And it dips low at the back, showing off those sexy fucking dimples just above her plump ass, and although it’s high at the front, the thin material skims her breasts, showing off a hint of the outline of her perfect nipples.
“You look…” I trail off, unable to find the words because perfect doesn’t even cut it.
Smiling, she steps up to me, running her hands down over the white shirt I’m wearing under my black Tom Ford, stopping at my belt buckle and giving it a teasing little tug. “You don’t look so bad yourself…”
I lean in and press my lips to the skin just below her ear, taking a moment to breathe her in while also teasing her with my mouth. “I want you again already.”
Pulling back, Hannah flashes me a mischievous smirk that goes straight to my dick. But she says nothing, just grabs my hand, links her fingers through mine, and leads me up the path to where attendants are waiting with trays of champagne.
“Thank you,” Hannah says sweetly, accepting a glass.
She glances at me, but I wave a hand, declining, and she winks, leading me around to the back of the property where everyone is gathered beneath a giant weeping willow entangled with Spanish moss, a string quartet set up in the corner playing a tune I’ve never heard before.
My brows knit together as I scan the crowd, noticing everyone dressed in light colors—pastels, tans, and florals. And, as if the crowd has just noticed how much Hannah and I don’t fit in with our red and black, they all turn to gape at us.
“Baby Draper?” I say out the corner of my mouth, side-eyeing her. “Was there a dress code?”
I don’t miss the way her lips twitch with a smile as she tosses back the remainder of her champagne in one go. “Yep,” she says simply, popping the p.
“Oh my God,” I murmur under my breath.
Placing her empty glass onto the tray of a passing waiter, Hannah takes my hand and offers me a saccharine smile, leading me deeper into the soiree.
“Hannah?”
Hannah stops, turning at the sound of the high-pitched voice calling her name.
“Fuck me,” she mutters softly enough so only I can hear, and I turn, following the direction of her fake smile to see three blonde women, all around Hannah’s age, with almost identical smiles that are borderline creepy as hell.
“Wow,” the first blonde says, looking Hannah up and down with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Look at you.”
Hannah keeps her chin held high, her smile beaming despite her gritted teeth.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” one of the other blondes says, barely disguising her disdain.
“Yeah, I mean, it is my mother’s wedding,” Hannah says like it’s obvious.
“And who do we have here?” the third blonde asks, looking in my direction, her gaze hungry as it trails over me.
“This is my boyfriend,” Hannah says, emphasizing my title as she wraps her arm around my waist, staking her claim. “Happy Slater.”
“Happy?” the second blonde, the more bitchy of the three, scoffs. “Is that your real name?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, flashing her my trademark grin.
“Adorable…” the first blonde says, looking me up and down.
I instinctively shift closer to Hannah.
“Happy, this is Celeste, Amanda, and Jolene.” Hannah points to each one. “We went to high school together.”
“I’m the wedding coordinator.” Celeste, the first blonde and the nicer of the three—if that’s possible—thrusts her hand in my face, and I hesitate before shaking it.
“Did you not see the dress code memo on the invitation?” Amanda, the blonde who doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she’s a raging bitch quirks a brow at Hannah.
“Yes, I did.” Hannah smiles.
Amanda makes another show of looking my girl up and down again, and I have to remind myself that I don’t raise my voice at women.
“I didn’t see a plus one on your RSVP…” Celeste says with an awkward smile, glancing briefly at me.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Hannah huffs a dramatic sigh, pointing her thumb at me. “He only arrived this morning. He’s a professional ice hockey player, and we didn’t know if he’d make it.”
Jolene gasps, her eyes lighting up as she gapes at me. “Ice hockey?”
I nod once.
“Well, the thing is,” Celeste interjects, a smile twisting her lips that isn’t at all apologetic, “the seating arrangement won’t allow another guest at your table.”
Hannah waves a hand. “Oh, that’s okay. I can just sit on Happy’s face.” She gasps then, and when I gape at her, she’s smirking at me. “Did I just say face?” She laughs out loud, gently smacking herself against her forehead. “Of course, I meant lap. Silly me.”
Jolene scoffs, clearly offended. And I don’t like this one bit, so I decide to play along.
Turning to Hannah, I pinch her chin lightly between my thumb and forefinger, forcing her eyes to mine as I say lowly yet loud enough for the three blonde assholes to hear, “You can sit on my face anytime, baby.” And then, I lean down and kiss her fully, tongue and all, for everyone to witness.
“Okay, well,” someone says. I’m not sure who. I’m too caught up with this kiss to give a shit. “Y’all have fun.”
By the time Hannah and I come back up for air, I glance over my shoulder to find the blondes have scurried off, and it’s just the two of us again.
“Friends of yours?” I quirk a brow, grinning down at her, still holding her chin and smoothing my thumb over the corner of her mouth, collecting the small smear of red lipstick.
“God no.” Hannah winces. “I didn’t really have a lot of girlfriends growing up. And I don’t like to talk down about women, but those absolute fucking assholes are precisely the reason why.”
“Want me to beat their boyfriends up?” I ask, only half-joking as I wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her head.
She giggles softly against my chest, melting into me, and fuck, there goes my heart.
The wedding ceremony was possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen with my own eyes. And I’m the son of an ex-addict rockstar who once got his cock out while on stage and let some guy pierce the end of his knob in real time.
First of all, the bridesmaids walked down the aisle while one of them sang a Carrie fucking Underwood song.
The bride, Hannah’s mother, wore a wedding dress that barely covered her nipples, and the groom freestyled his vows, full Eminem out of Eight Mile style.
It was the cringiest shit I’ve ever witnessed, and I was fighting for my goddamn life sitting through it, trying to stop my whole body from shuddering with the laughter I tried to contain.
I’d been expecting something super conservative, but this was about as conservative as a fucking Kid Rock concert.
As Hannah and I stand around with the throng for cocktail hour, I can’t even look at her without laughing.
“Are you so glad you flew down this morning?” Hannah asks with a knowing smirk.
“I mean, I cannot think of a better fucking way to spend my day off.”
She buries her face into my shoulder as I continue fake-smiling, gazing out over the view of the cotton fields that surround the property while the sky above us transforms from pink to purple.
“Hey, sis,” a deep voice says behind us, one that immediately raises my hackles.
“Oh, great,” Hannah murmurs on a sigh as we turn around.
I’m faced with a tall, lanky blond, who looks like he stepped out of the pages of a mid-nineties Gap catalog. He smooths a hand through his locks, looking from me to Hannah and back again, tipping his chin at me. “You must be the boyfriend?”
I rear back because who the fuck says that by way of introduction?
“I’m Peter, the new stepbrother.” Hs holds his hand out.
“Happy Slater,” I say gruffly, shaking his hand with a lot more force than necessary because fuck this guy and his wandering paws.
Peter snags his hand back, and I try not to smile at the way he shakes it out at his side. “So, you’re the hockey player?”