7. Butch
CHAPTER SEVEN
BUTCH
P resent Day
I’m so screwed. Fucked up the ass without the courtesy of a spit job, kind of screwed.
Try as I might, I can’t look away from the one thing that could mess with my happily ever after. My eyes stay glued to the heavy piece of paper in my shaking hands. I blink, trying to unsee the names scrawled across the Nevada legal document.
Stay calm. No need to panic.
It’s only a marriage certificate between me and the woman I love—a marriage between two, hopefully consenting, drunk adults.
“Fuuuck,” I hiss, rubbing my forehead to ease a building headache.
Just as things were moving in a positive direction for us, I somehow torpedoed it clear out of the water. How the hell did I let this happen?
If I could only remember last night’s events. The details are fuzzy, no doubt affected by the heavy drinking the night before.
I usually limit my alcohol intake when I’m away from headquarters, back in Fort Collins, Colorado—I prefer a clear head. However, our intel team was celebrating Chase and Simone’s impromptu wedding, as well as finishing a major pilfering case out in Sacramento. We threw caution to the wind, enjoying our well-earned vacation.
The past few days have been one party after another, with lots of booze and little sleep. My mind is shit for recalling the previous night’s events.
My SEAL training kicks into high gear, scanning the room for clues. Anything could trigger my memories to come back. The bed is rumpled from where Candy and I crashed hard after thoroughly fucking each other’s brains out last night. I want to get lost in the one memory I can recall, but now is not the time. I have a goddess waiting for me to join her in the shower, meaning I need to find my answers— stat .
The floor is littered with our discarded clothes, shucked after we closed the hotel room door. A lamp is overturned on Candy’s side of the bed, along with a whiskey glass with the remnants of liquor. My leather cut is draped over the chair, and my wallet is on the desk. I flip through my wallet, finding it all intact, but no other hints from the night before.
I round the bed to the other nightstand, hoping to find any clues, and that’s when I see it. A shiny pink Ring Pop.
Every moment of the night slams into me like I’m living it all over again…
“Take me dancing, Butch,” Candy purrs into my ear at the casino’s bar. Her arm is slung around my neck, her body pressed tight to my side. I can smell the Cosmopolitan on her breath—sweet and citrusy. Her warm exhale tickles my neck, making my dick jump at attention.
We’re separated from our group, hanging out alone—something I’m taking advantage of. I love the brotherhood, but alone time with Candy is rare.
At any minute, Punk and Ziggy could come back from their poker game on the other end of the casino, or Chase and Simone could emerge from their honeymoon suite to catch up with the rest of the crew. This is valuable time I’m sharing with Candy, and I’m relishing the attention she’s showering on me.
I have my arm wrapped around Candy’s tapered waist, squeezing her side gently. She’s wearing one of her many mini dresses, black and snug to the swell of her breasts. Some women would be self-conscious, wearing tight and revealing clothing. Not Candy. She radiates a confidence most women envy. It’s alluring.
Every man who passes us can’t help taking Candy in, some ogling her longer than I prefer. It doesn’t bother me that they look. She’s a beauty who deserves to be admired. But I draw the line at touching. I’ll break a fucker’s face if he touches her.
All is fine though. I must be giving off “I’ll end you” vibes, since no one’s dared to try. My biker cut will deter many from trying. All the better.
The sweet bubble gum scent wafting off her skin tempts me to lean in and run my nose along the slender column of her neck. She’s too delicious not to indulge in, and I’m a starving man.
I tip back the rest of my whiskey, eager to fulfill her request. “You wanna dance with me, Goddess?”
Candy gives me a sultry smile, turning her body to face my front. Her manicured nails creep up my chest, over the scar on my neck. Her fingers linger over my old wound a moment before wrapping gently around my throat. She pulls me in close, her pink cupid lips nearly brushing against mine.
I almost moan aloud in my needy, drunken state.
“Do you see me asking anyone else?” Her tongue swipes out, clipping the tip of my nose.
My seductress’s teasing has my heart skipping. We’ve flirted over the course of the last year, growing from friends into something more. But this is above anything she’s initiated before. It’s blatant, bold, and so overdue. Something I plan to collect interest on, as long as she’s willing to let me in.
A part of me realizes it could be the alcohol affecting our actions. Yet the way she looks at me with her sultry stare has me denying it as anything other than us taking the next step.
Candy downs the rest of her cocktail, lining it up with the several others we finished in a short period. She pulls me from the bar, tugging me toward the dance club.
“Come on. I wanna rub up against you.”
I groan deep in my throat, adjusting myself through my jeans. “Don’t tease me, Candy. You know how much I want you,” I admit easily, my tongue loosening from the alcohol courage.
She responds with a wink, giggling. “Don’t tell me you don’t get off on the teasing?”
“Oh, I do. Prolonged gratification makes it so much better,” I nearly growl, not bothering to hide my desire. “I’d prefer it better behind closed doors, though. You can tease me as much as you want if we go back to our hotel room.”
“Mmm…kinky,” Candy muses aloud in appreciation. “I like the sound of that. But first, we dance.”
My pink haired beauty pulls me into the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by bodies swaying in time to the pulsing music and hypnotic strobe lights.
It’s definitely not my scene. Neither is it Candy’s. We prefer more rugged surroundings with folk tunes and Old Man Mickey bartending to this glitzy club with techno beats and mixologists. But when in Vegas…
She pushes her ass into my crotch, grinding against my hardening junk. I’m not much of a dancer, but for Candy, I’ll make a fool of myself.
I catch her hips and hold her to me, matching her motions. Her head drops back against my chest, pushing out her breasts. My hands itch to take them in my palms, squeeze her nipples into stiff peaks.
Our hips rock to the beat, the motions becoming more vulgar with each song. It’s almost too much to bear. If my dick gets any harder, it’ll rip through the zipper of my pants .
“Shots. Get your shots,” a drink server shouts as she moves through the crowd with her tray.
Candy grabs two test tubes with some weird looking blue liquid and hands one to me. I’m already countless drinks into the night, but I don’t hesitate taking the shot from her. We clink tubes and throw them back. The sugary drink is not to my liking, yet it goes down easily.
I throw some bills at the server, and Candy grabs two more. Again, we toast and drink.
The song changes to something more upbeat. Candy twerks her ass at me in a come hither way, making my cock drool in my boxers. She’s making it hard to behave in public. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess she knows what she’s doing to me. Tempting me until I beg to be balls deep inside of her. And I’m not above begging.
A ballsy douche canoe in a yellow polo shirt tries to move in on my woman, forcing himself between the two of us.
Not a fucking chance.
“Piss off,” is all Candy gets to shout at the grabby prep boy before I grab him by the back of his collar, yanking him away from her. I move too fast for him to react as I swing him around and release my grip. He flies back on his ass, too drunk to do anything but stare wide-eyed up at me.
“Come near her again, and I’ll break all your bones,” I threaten the prick.
The idiot quickly nods his head before scrambling to his feet, leaving the dance floor.
Familiar arms circle my neck. I return my attention to Candy. A wide smile on her round face has her apple cheeks popping out. Too fucking cute.
“Oooo,” Candy teases, hiccupping. “Butch is getting possessive.”
“Getting?” I smile, showing her all my teeth as I pull her tight against me. “Already there, sweetness.”
Candy spins in my arms, her ass taunting my dick again. “Touch me,” she says loud enough for me to hear over the pounding music.
Like I could deny her anything .
My hands run from her hips, over her rib cage, and cup the underside of her heavy breasts. She throws her arms behind my neck, pushing her tits into my waiting hands. Unable to resist, I pinch her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress as I grind against her ass.
Candy laughs, turning in my arms to face me. “Naughty biker boy.”
“You have no idea,” I husk against the delicate shell of her ear, cocking my hips forward. She gasps when she feels my rigid dick brush against her sex through her dress.
“Fuck, that’s big.” Candy licks her lips.
I’m about to suggest we go back to the hotel room for her to check it out when a group of loud women pushes into our bubble. The ringleader wears a plastic tiara on her head with a white veil and pageant sash over her shoulder reading, “Bride To Be.”
The bridal party dances around us, laughing and sucking drinks down through penis straws. It’s annoying as hell, but I restrain myself from telling them to get lost when I see Candy laughing and dancing along with the other women. I know she’s been missing the other MC women back home at headquarters—I won’t interfere with a bit of girl time if it makes her happy. She’ll be all mine by the end of the night. I’m sure of it.
One bridesmaid has a party basket, tossing things out to the crowd. One of the mystery items hits me in the chest, and I catch it in my hand before it hits the dance floor.
A Ring Pop.
Laughing, I rip open the package and pull out the pink sucker on a ring. As I go to stick it in my mouth, the light catches on the edges of the candy prism, and I see Candy in the multiple sugar facets.
I look up, my eyes landing on the woman of my dreams, bouncing happily in the center of the ring of women. Her pink hair swirls around her in soft tendrils, giving her a celestial appearance.
Something stirs in me, awaking a need I thought I had under control.
“Mine,” I growl under my breath, transfixed by Candy.
If I go another day without claiming her as my old lady, I may do something desperate, like handcuff us together and throw away the damn key. I need to make her mine—like right now.
And sex isn’t what I want. No. I. Want. Her.
I’ve resisted making a move on Candy for a year, giving her the time to work on herself in therapy and figure out what she wanted to do with her life. It was hard to deny myself from begging for her to pick me, but I managed for her. You do shit like putting your own needs aside when you love someone. And I’ve fallen to my knees for this woman, waiting dutifully.
Yet standing here, holding a ring and seeing her blissfully happy, has me going primal.
Determined, I push my way through the throng of women. As soon as I’m in front of Candy, I drop to one knee.
“MARRY ME!” I shout over the music, presenting my goddess with the Ring Pop.
She balks. “WHAT?!”
“LET ME LOVE YOU. MARRY ME. RIGHT NOW.”
Candy’s face lights up like the Milky Way in the country night sky—dazzling beyond anything I’ve ever seen. “YOU SERIOUS?” she shouts back, her face splitting in a big smile.
“DEAD SERIOUS,” I holler with a smile, ignoring the painful strain on my vocal cords.
Candy squeals excitedly before launching herself at me. “YES!”
Her pillow soft lips slam against mine, and I melt. Not breaking the kiss, I stand to my full height. My arms encircle her, pulling her in to deepen the kiss. She matches my energy, her lips and tongue claiming my mouth as her own.
This tough-as-nails woman is picking me—finally.
Heaven at last.
The women around us scream in applause as I hoist my bride-to-be into a threshold carry. Candy peppers my face with kisses as I move us off the dance floor. People part for us, cheering congratulations. It’s chaotic, only heightening the endorphins pumping through my nervous system.
I’m able to navigate us through the nightclub out onto the main strip, setting her on her strappy heels. The cool autumn air whips around us, but my insides are on fire as I stare at Candy.
My bride. My woman. My goddess.
I hold my hand out to her, beckoning her with a smile to take it. She beams back at me, sliding her hand in mine. Two halves becoming a whole.
We mad dash it down the strip to the nearest chapel, laughing like two kids up to no good…
Coming back to reality is a mind-fuck. It feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of the room, leaving me woozy. My ass hits the edge of the bed, where I sit in a frozen state, staring at the Ring Pop on the nightstand.
I proposed to my wife with a goddamn sucker and married her in a drunken haze. How fucking stupid could I be?
This was not how we should’ve gotten married. It shouldn’t have been on a whim, with no family or friends to watch us tie the knot. For a woman who’s been robbed of so many moments in her life, I feel I’ve robbed her of yet another one. Candy deserved the white dress, the cake, the first dance, not some cheap thrill with a sugar ring for her wedding band and a wasted groom.
Gnawing on my bottom lip, I reach for my cell on the nightstand. I open my phone to my camera app and find a plethora of candid wedding picks of the two of us. Though drunk, we appear thrilled in the images.
One picture has me holding the air in my lungs. Someone from the chapel must have taken the picture, since it wasn’t either of us. The two of us are facing each other, foreheads bent together, hands linked, and smiles only for each other. It’s very much us and how we are together.
I close the app, dropping my head into my hands. Candy is going to kill me when she finds out.
Shit. Candy.
She’s waiting for me to join her in the shower. My head whips to the bathroom door, where I hear the water running. Images of her naked, covered in soapsuds, infiltrate my mind. And like a fucking teenager, I’m instantly hard.
Scowling, I peer down at my dick. “Not a good time, dude.”
My dick doesn’t get the message, staring up at me expectantly.
I sigh, ignoring my hard-on. I’ve got bigger problems. How the hell am I going to break the news to her?
Hey, Goddess. You know how you enjoyed the bondage play last night? Well, I’m now your personal ball and chain—legally.
I groan, internally chastising myself for not cutting off the alcohol sooner.
Being married to Candy is not an issue. If I had it my way, I’d have tied the knot with her the night I admitted I loved her.
My worry is how Candy will react when I tell her I’m her husband. The future conversation has my gut burning with indigestion.
Hold up! Why am I automatically assuming she has no memory of the wedding? She remembered us having sex last night. And from everything I know about women, they have way better memories than most guys. Perhaps I’m sweating over nothing and she knows we’re hitched.
That would mean she’s good with being tied to me. Hence, her asking me to join her in the shower for a little action before we hit the road to head back home like it was no big deal.
My heart does that weird somersault thing when I get excited over anything related to Candy. Hope consumes me, praying she’s happy to be my wife.
Last night when we returned to our room, I sobered and was brave enough to drop to my knees and beg her to have her way with me.
The way her eyes shined when I knelt before her to say, “Take me however you want, but take me and be mine,” I’ll never forget the determination that swept through her face. She was bold, in control, and it was fucking glorious.
The sex…nothing can compare to what we shared. It was everything and more—the start of our forever.
I need to play it cool, join her in the shower, and ask her exactly what she remembers from last night.
As I rise from the edge of the bed, I quickly scoop up all the evidence—the Ring Pop, the marriage certificate, and my cell. No reason to have this out, in case she has a shit memory like me. I stuff the candy in my duffle bag, fold up the marriage license, and slide it to the inside of my leather cut, along with my cell.
Running my hands over my head to settle my rattled nerves, I take a calming breath. Time to man up. I head into the bathroom, where my wife waits for me.