Chapter 11
Eleven
Zoey
I suck his cock into my mouth, then let it go before I spit on the head of it and crawl up, straddling him. I lean down and put one hand on his cheek as I bend to kiss him. I could kiss him every single fucking hour of every single fucking day. I don’t even need him to touch me, just kiss me, and I think I would be happy. He puts his hands on my hips before reaching between us to position his cock so I can sit on it. “Ride me, baby,” he invites between kisses as I move my hips up and down, getting him all the way inside me. Filling me like I’ve never been filled before. He literally fucked me not less than thirty minutes ago before he came down my throat. He then proceeded to eat my pussy like it was his last meal, taking me to the edge over and over again. Making the orgasm build inside me so hard that when he finally sucked my clit and rubbed my G-spot as he finger-fucked me, I think I saw fucking stars. I’ve never been with a man who draws it out. Usually, they just want to get it over with, but not fucking Nash. He savors it, makes it last so fucking long every single touch feels like he’s setting me on fire.
“That’s it,” he urges, his hands moving with my hips. I kiss him like it’s the last time I’m going to kiss him. The kiss is as wet as he’s making me. His hands move to my ass as I ride his cock, my forehead on his as I watch his eyes as I take him slowly. “That’s it, baby, take me.” I get up a bit on my hands as I move faster on him, my tits hanging near his mouth. “That’s my girl.” He sucks my nipple into his mouth as he moves to the other one. “Taking my cock the way she wants to take my cock.” Just his words make me wet. I move faster and faster, feeling it coming, which is impossible because I think I’ve had four orgasms in less than ten minutes. But the bottom of my stomach gets tight, and I can’t help but move faster, as if I’m chasing it as it tries to run away from me. When his hands stop moving my hips, I groan. “You were going too fast,” he informs me as his hands move from my hips to my tits and he plays with my nipples. “Enjoy the ride.”
“I was enjoying the ride,” I groan, moving my hips slowly, the feeling lingering, “I was almost at the end of the ride.”
“I know.” He smirks. “But you just got on.” I rotate my hips, his cock twitching inside me as I bend to kiss him again. The kiss is slow and less frantic than it was a couple of minutes ago, which makes me want to ride him harder than I did before. I suck his upper lip into my mouth. “Baby,” he murmurs, “I want you to sit on my cock.”
“I am.” I slide my tongue into his mouth again as I move my hips, looking into his eyes as I move again.
“No, sit up,” he orders me. “Sit straight up on my cock.” I move my hands to his chest as I sit straight up on his cock, and I swear he fucking touches my fucking throat. “That’s what I’m talking about.” All I can do is feel the way his cock fills me more than it did before. “Tell me what you feel.”
“I feel full,” I admit to him. “I feel like I’m coming out of my skin.” His hands move from my knees to my hips, just with his fingertips, the touch so light if I wasn’t watching, I wouldn’t know, yet the touch soaring through me.
“Listen to your body,” he urges me, and I just stare at him. “What does your body want to do?”
“It wants to ride your cock,” I tell him.
“Put your hands on my knees,” he instructs me, and I reach behind my back, arching a bit as I do it, and the way his cock is curved inside me makes me shiver. “Your body wants to move, doesn’t it?” he asks, and I can’t answer. The only thing I can do is nod. I sit on his cock without moving, and I swear I’m about to come all over him. He sticks his thumb in his mouth before moving it to my clit. “Move up and down twice, slowly,” he urges. I do as he says, his thumb moving as slow as I’m moving on his cock. My eyes close in ecstasy because his cock rubs my G-spot at the same time. “What do you feel?”
“Heaven.” It’s the only word that comes to my mind. “I need more.”
“Then take more, baby,” he says. “Two more.” This time, his thumb moves side to side instead of in a circle. “You want more than two?” he asks, and I groan because all the words are fucking lost. “Now you can ride my cock.” He gives me the go-ahead. “Feel my cock rub your G-spot?” he asks me as his thumb rubs faster and faster. “Every single time you get a touch tighter,” he says. “If you think my cock feels like heaven”—I watch his face—“I wish you could feel what your pussy feels like.”
“Tell me,” I ask, hoping it’s just as good for him as it is for me.
“It feels like my cock is rubbing on satin.” His thumb never lets go. “Like it’s wet and tight and velvet smooth.” His hips move up to meet me when I thrust down. “Like your pussy was made for my cock, and my cock was made for your pussy.” I have to close my eyes, the power of his words, the way his cock rubs inside me, the way his finger manipulates me. My whole body tingles. “I can feel you’re close. Even your clit is getting hard, baby.” I swear I ride him harder than I thought I could. “Fuck, baby, get what you want.” I can’t even say the words because I feel like I’m coming apart. My pussy contracts, and my clit pulses, my body fucking trembling as this orgasm shoots through me. My body moves on its own, taking everything he has. “That’s my girl,” he praises as he helps match my thrusts to ride it out. When I’m at the end, he holds my hips down on his cock and groans out his own release inside me.
“That was…” I say, leaning forward on him. “That was…” His arms wrap around my waist. “That was”—I breathe in his scent, and my stomach contracts—“that was the last time.” I close my eyes as he moves under me before I hear the laughter roar out of him. “I’m not kidding.”
“Me either,” he says, turning me on my back and sliding his cock out of me. “That was the last time this hour.” He gets off the bed. “Don’t move, I’ll bring you a rag.”
I watch him walk with his perfect ass, perfect body, perfect fucking cock into the bathroom before I look up at the ceiling. I listen to the water running, trying not to think about how nice it is that he’s going to bring me a rag to clean myself with instead of lying in the bed and making me get up to clean myself. He walks back in with the white rag in his hand. I extend my hand to his, but he washes me off instead of giving me the rag.
“Um, I think I can do that.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replies as he washes me gently, “but I can also.” He finishes washing me, bending and kissing me on the landing strip I have. “I’m assuming you didn’t order room service.”
“When would I have had the time to order room service?” I sit up, grabbing the sheet and covering myself with it. “Before or after I went on the internet to see if our wedding was real?”
He walks over to the closet and comes back out wearing a robe, and my brain screams out nooo while my eyes watch one of my favorite parts of him being covered. “I’ll order the food, then,” he says, reaching for the iPad and lying back down on the bed with me.
I can hear ringing coming from the living room, and I know it’s not his since I think he tossed his phone somewhere on the bed, and then I might have heard a clunk when he was stretched out eating my pussy. “That’s mine,” I say, tossing the covers off and rushing to the living room in search of the ringing. Rushing to the door where my purse was tossed to the side, I open it to see it’s not there. The ringing stops, and I stand, taking in the area, the strings of the balloons hanging all over the room. It smells like a flower shop with all the roses around the space. I’m about to go back when the ringing starts again, and this time, I follow it and find the phone right under Nash’s pants that came off after I gave him head beside our wedding cake.
I turn the phone over and see it’s my father, and I swear to everything I’m a sixteen-year-old girl again who just smashed their car into the garage by accident. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” My eyes just watch the phone. “Maybe he’ll hang up,” I wish out loud, but I know I have to answer him. Maybe he’s just calling to see how I am and if I’m ready for the vacation. “Hello,” I answer, trying to pretend as if I’m not keeping a huge secret. “Hey, Dad.” I put him on speakerphone and close my eyes.
“Please, for the love of God, Zoey.” His voice goes from low to high-pitched by the end of it, and I look up to see Nash coming out of the bedroom with the second robe in his hand. He walks over and holds it out so I can slip my hands into it. “Tell me you’re not married to Nash.”
“It was a mistake,” I say softly.
“It was a mistake.” His calm demeanor has left the building. I’m pretty sure it left the building the minute he found out what I did. “No, a mistake is I took the wrong flight. You getting married to someone is a lot more than a mistake.”
“Evan,” my mother says in the background, “would you—” He must look at her or glare at her because I don’t hear her anymore.
“We’re getting divorced.” I look at my phone and not at Nash, who chuckles and doesn’t miss a beat of this.
“We’re not getting divorced.” He doesn’t even pretend to whisper, nope, not him. He’s fully letting my father know that he’s in this conversation.
I glare up at him. “Can you not talk to me when I’m on the phone?” I ignore the way he grins as I close my eyes and walk back to the bedroom, sitting on the bed. “Dad, I swear I thought it was a joke.”
“Zoey.” His voice goes low. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” I admit, “I swear I thought it was a joke.” I inhale. “Who actually gets married in Vegas?”
“Um,” he sings, “your Aunt Allison and Uncle Max. It’s not like your Uncle Matthew doesn’t bring it up at least once a week.”
“Yes,” I say, “but that’s different. They knew they were getting married.”
“Did you not know you were getting married?” he asks, and I look at Nash, who is now standing in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest, his wedding band catching my eye.
“Well, I knew we were getting married,” I admit, “but I just thought it was fake because it was Elvis.” My voice goes loud. “And he wanted me to be in a hunka, hunka burning love.” I should stop talking at this moment, but I can’t. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“For what?” My father’s voice is softer now.
“Not my proudest moment,” I say. When I feel the tear about to leave my eye, I brush it away. I’ve never wanted him not to be proud of me.
“It’ll be a funny story when we look back on it.” He tries to make me feel better, and the knock on the door has Nash turning and walking back out of the room. “We’ll talk more when I see you.”
“Gives you time to calm down,” I try to joke with him, laughing through the tears.
“Or gives you time to come up with a better excuse,” he counters. “I love you, Zoey, and I’m always proud of you. Some moments more than others, but always.”
“Thanks, Dad. I love you,” I say before I disconnect the phone and look down at my notifications, seeing I have about twenty-five missed calls and over one hundred missed text messages. Fifteen different family chat threads are going crazy, and then I spot the one with Josh’s name flashing on the top, so I open it up and see.
Josh: You need to call me right fucking now, Zoey.
Josh: What’s up with your Instagram?
Josh: WTF did you do?
I switch open my Instagram, and right there at the top of my profile is a picture of Nash and me from last night. It’s the same picture he sent to Caine with the caption: Introducing Mr. & Mrs. Griffin.
“Oh my God.” I don’t even bother reading the comments because I see a couple from my cousins Michael and Dylan, and I just can’t deal with this right now. I hear the door slam and look up when Nash comes back into the room.
“Do you want to eat in here or at the table?” He points toward the door and doesn’t even wait for me to answer before he switches topics. “And just saying, we aren’t getting divorced.”
I put my head back. “You haven’t even had one serious relationship in your life.”
“Until now.” He points at me. “I’m pretty serious about this relationship right here.”
“Okay, well then, let’s go with we don’t even really know each other.”
“Fine, I’ll give you that. We don’t know each other as well as other people who get married know each other.” He stands in front of me. “Give me ninety days for you to fall in love with me. For us to fall in love with each other.”
I gawk at him. “That’s not how this works,” I point out. “Usually, you get to know someone, and then you get married. You know, go out on dates.”
“I’m not going to be dating my ex-wife,” he scoffs. “I’m going to date my wife.”
“That makes absolutely no sense, Nash.”
He walks to me and puts his hands on my cheeks. “You were crying?” he asks softly, his thumbs wiping away where the tears must have left marks. “I don’t like it.” His words throw me off guard.
“Can we focus on one conversation at a time?” I tell him, trying not to get sucked into his charm.
“Yes,” he says, “we aren’t getting divorced because we are going to be dating.”
“Again,” I huff, “that makes no fucking sense.”
“It makes all the sense in the world, baby.” He bends to kiss my lips. “Besides, who dates their ex-wife?” He shakes his head. “Now that’s just weird.”