2. Feathers of a Bird
FEATHERS OF A BIRD
REX BUCHANAN
A delicious dream of me making love with Chelsea on my boat had me in a morning daze. My arms drew tight around a warm body. “Mm,” I moaned, awakened when a plump ass curved just right against my—Oh yeah.
This wasn’t a dream. I was one lucky S. O. B. Because I got what I wanted— her. Taking a week away from it all for a spring break proved exactly what we needed to escape the city before wedding planning and summer heated things up.
“Morning, Sweetness,” I whispered. Chelsea fit perfectly under my chin, as our bodies relaxed in the early morning on a bed of rich linens in my family’s hut, as we called it.
To Chelsea and her sister, small town girls from upstate New York, they called this building on private Buchanan island a castle by the sea. Hardly. Wait until they saw the size of the Buchanan home in the South of France, and our home in the Hamptons on par with that.
My hands slid down her silk slip, over her hip, and down between her legs. Ah, no panties. I normally wouldn’t allow her to be clothed in bed at all. Last night was the exception after a few too many drinks on my part. I fell asleep before she joined me in bed. She had a bit much to drink as well, as her last night on vacation with her sister on Buchanan Island.
While my buddy, Brooks, and I shot pool and drank through a bottle of tequila, or maybe it was two, the girls gabbed and giggled and made pitcher after pitcher of margaritas and they might have said something about mud masks and cucumber eyes.
Drunk off my ass, the rest of the night was fuzzy, but what the hell. We deserved to let it all go for once. Only this morning we’d pay the price with hangovers.
“How can I want you so bad, but want something for this headache just as much?” She croaked, lifting her hand to massage her head.
“Couldn’t agree with you more.” I spread her legs and felt through her wet seam and folds to her clit, drawing figure eights around the hard nub I found there. “We’ll make it a two-part hangover cure this morning. Here’s the first.”
My thumb toyed with her clit and two fingers eased into her, pulsing in and out through her tight walls. She sighed and lifted her slip to expose her luscious breasts. My eyes went from half opened to fully aroused, watching her tug at her nipples. An alarm went off, nearly startling me, but I didn’t stop pursuing her.
She reached over and shut off her phone. “Mm. We have little time. We told the staff we’d be leaving by ten. They’ll have breakfast ready for us at 9, and Maisy and Brooks are supposed to join us then and be ready to leave.”
“They can all wait for us. Nothing will prevent me from taking you one last time on this island before we leave. Hangover be damned.” As a Buchanan, I always got what I wanted. My movements intensified, and I nuzzled into her neck.
She relaxed into me again until her phone buzzed a few times. Then mine did the same. “Next time we come to the island on vacation, I’m locking up these damn things,” I muttered. “Don’t answer it.”
“It might be Maisy,” she replied, reaching for it anyway, but not enough to escape my grasp. I continued chasing her release, biting playfully into her shoulder. A few more messages buzzed in. “I was wrong. It’s Miriam.”
My mother’s name from her lips stopped me. Nothing killed a mood or turned my dick limp like Miriam, especially lately as the wedding planning stress ramped up since I proposed on Valentine’s Day.
We escaped New York City for a short getaway on this private island, bringing her sister, Maisy, and my buddy, Brooks, along for spring break. My entire goal for this trip comprised assuring Chelsea that we’d get through this wedding planning together, no matter what.
I knew the craziness that was in store for us over the next eight months until our Christmas nuptials, if my brother’s wedding was any indication. Poor bastard. Richard was the first of us two boys set to marry, and Mom made even the worst bridezilla look like an angel, becoming Momzilla through the planning process, as we came to call her. But when he called off the wedding at the altar, after finding out his bride-to-be was only after his money, well, Hell had no fury like a Momzilla scorned and embarrassed in front of her high society peers.
It’s as if she was using our wedding to more than make up for it.
After I asked Chelsea to marry me, and she thankfully accepted, I had a little talk with Mom about dialing everything back a notch this time around, easing up on the wedding planning. Despite her promises, and given the amount of messages coming through our phones at the moment, I’d say half a notch was about all she granted me.
“Ten messages about the centerpieces? Is your mother for real?” Chelsea bolted upright, ending our sexy time. “Oh, my God. Look at these pictures she sent.”
I sighed and sat up, bringing my chin to rest on her sun-kissed shoulder, and peered at the screen in her hands to see what could be more important than my fingers making love to my fiancé’s pussy. “What the hell are those?”
“Pink and turquoise ostrich feathers in tall glass vases she wants for the wedding centerpieces. And look at these other pictures. Pink and turquoise bridesmaids’ gowns? No. Just no!” Chelsea exclaimed, her voice hitching up by the second.
“You have a thing against pink and blue?”
She launched off the bed, standing with her arms outstretched, pleading with me. “It’s a Christmas wedding, for heaven’s sake. Who does pink and turquoise for Christmas colors?”
I had no answer and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My blue balls almost ached as much as my temples. I couldn’t resent Mom more for intruding on our morning.