CHAPTER 38 Ford Bradley
Only an Hour Left
There are moments in life that we anticipate with excitement. Half the fun of anticipation is the wait. The thoughts about what lies on the other side of the event we’re anticipating. The hope of how incredible it will be.
Rarely does the actual event meet expectations.
But tonight with Tatum? This night exceeded those expectations. In every possible way.
I have a wife, and she’s the woman I pined for but never thought would possibly be mine. And yes, she agreed to this marriage out of convenience, but when she was faced with the choice, she chose me.
And that means everything.
It’s not just for the sake of the money anymore. Not after the way we just connected on such a base, visceral level. It advanced my feelings for her in ways I didn’t think possible. It wasn’t just sex. It was the start of a connection that will bond us together for the rest of our lives.
We lie together in silence for a while, but I know she’s not ready for this night to be over. I glance at the clock and see we’re starting to run short on time. Eventually I ask, “You want to go get drunk and ring in the new year downstairs?”
She leans up on her elbow, and her eyes are twinkling when she says, “I think I’m drunk on you.”
I nip a kiss to her lips. “You’re welcome to continue drinking from this well anytime.”
She wastes no time in taking that innuendo seriously. She starts to crawl down the bed, and she grabs my still half-hard cock in her fist.
She’s about to take me in her mouth to get me hard when I chuckle and place a hand on her shoulder.
“I need a little more time to recover. Your pussy took it all out of me.”
Her cheeks flush, and goddamn, she’s beautiful. “You tell me when you’re ready because I haven’t had the pleasure of this cock in my mouth yet, and I feel like that needs to happen this year.”
Jesus Christ. Did I hit the fucking jackpot or what?
“There’s only an hour left of this year,” I point out.
“Then you better get to recovering.”
I chuckle. “And you better put some clothes on before we head downstairs. That cunt and those tits are mine now.”
“Don’t you forget it. Oh, and one more thing,” she says, and she shifts back up to press a kiss to my lips.
“Hm?” I ask.
“The kiss in front of the keg?”
I smile sheepishly as I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t mean for that to slip out. I’m sure you forgot about it, but—”
She holds up a hand. “I never forgot,” she whispers. “I think about that kiss all the time.”
“So do I,” I admit.
Our mouths collide just like they did that night all those years ago. Who knew there would be a twelve-year gap between kisses but that we’d end up here?
“Don’t you ever forget that, either.” She rolls off the bed and points a finger at me before she moves to sashay toward the bathroom, but she trips on the wedding attire tossed haphazardly all over the floor.
I leap to help steady her, but she’s already standing upright by the time I get there. I just chuckle and shake my head. Tripping over her own wedding dress is so Tatum Barker…uh, Tatum Bradley.
She slips into a black cocktail dress, and I pull my tux back on for the party downstairs. She changes from the white heels to black, and the heels on these are so pointy that I ask her if she can actually walk in them.
“Of course I can,” she says, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
“I mean, you did just trip on your own clothes.”
“I blame that on the sex stupor. I’m fine now.” She says the words, but as we leave our room and approach the elevator, she grabs onto my arm.
I guess if she can’t walk in those shoes and chooses instead to hold onto my arm for the remainder of the evening, that’s not really a bad thing for me.
We’re alone on the elevator, and the heat between us is palpable.
“Are you recovered yet?” she asks quietly.
My eyes flick to hers, and I can’t help it. I nod.
She’s down on her knees in a second, reaching into my slacks without undoing the button. We only have fourteen more floors to go, and the elevator is pretty quick.
I tip my head back and close my eyes at the feel of her mouth on me, warm and wet as she sucks me in. I thrust my fingers into her hair, still done up for the wedding.
Fuck, it’s good. So good. Too good. I want to come in her mouth. I want to shoot it to the back of her throat, to mark her mouth the way I just marked her cunt.
But the elevator is slowing. She holds me in, and the crown of my cock hits the back of her throat. I grunt at the feel of it, and I turn down to watch her.
She’s looking up at me, need and desire clear in her eyes.
She fists me at the base as she pulls me out of her mouth, sucking hard the entire way, and then she lifts to a stand just as the elevator skids to a stop.
I push myself back into my pants, my glistening cock hard and ready and aching for more.
“This isn’t over,” I mutter.
“Not by a long shot,” she agrees, shooting me a wide smile as the doors pull open and we find a group of people waiting to board.
We exit and head to the party in full swing. We find a server carrying a tray of champagne glasses, and we each take one and toss it back before we find the same guy and take another.
We head to the dance floor, and this party feels like it’s sort of serving as a second reception—only just for the two of us instead of with family and friends.
My cock is still aching, though. She got me all worked up and ready to blow my load into her mouth, and then the fucking elevator had to stop moving.
Sometimes life’s not fair.
I chug the rest of my champagne, and the deejay lets partygoers know that there’s only a half hour left before it’s a brand-new year.
We dance, we drink, we grind, we get hornier and hornier for each other.
Eventually, Tatum grabs onto my arm and leads me toward a door.
I don’t even know how she saw this particular door, but it looks like it’s a hallway leading back to the kitchens, only this particular hallway isn’t being used tonight.
It’s dark, lit only by a small window at the top of a door on the other end of the hallway that must lead into the kitchen area.
Nobody’s back here, and she drops back down to her knees.
“Fuck, Ford, your cock is so beautiful,” she hums as she takes me back into her mouth.
She moans as if she’s getting off just by sucking me off, and it’s a beautiful sight to witness.
It’s somehow the sexiest moment I’ve witnessed in my entire twenty-nine years.
I’ve had blow jobs before, sure—but never this intimate.
Never this sexy. Never from a woman I was in love with. Never from my wife.
She sucks on my cock, and she lets go of me to fist me and stroke up and down a few times.
“You know,” she says softly, and she sucks on the crown of my cock again before she continues talking.
“I feel your cum in my pussy still. Now I want it in my mouth.” She sucks me back in, and she bobs her head up and down as her fist moves along in time with her mouth.
Goddamn, she’s good at this.
“You’re about to get it,” I grunt, and my fingers thread into her hair as I fuck her mouth, my hips delivering punishing thrusts in and out as she follows me, drive for aching drive.
I can’t stop this freight train. It feels too good, too hot, too perfect.
I burst inside her mouth with a growl as jet after jet of cum shoots to the back of her throat.
She moans through it, and when I glance down at her as my climax comes to an end, she’s got her free hand under her dress, and she’s furiously rubbing her own clit.
She keeps rubbing, keeps sucking me even though I’m dry, and I reach under her armpits to haul her up. I bat her hand out of the way, and I slip my fingers down only to discover she’s not wearing any panties.
Fuck. I could come again just at the mere thought.
I slip my finger into her, and I move slower than she was on herself. I slide my finger in, and I hold it there, curling it up before I pull it back out. I thrust a few times, and then I pull my finger out to use her own moisture to rub at her clit.
“Fuck, Ford! Fuck!” She clutches onto my shoulders as her sweet pleas are swallowed by the loud music just outside this door, where the party rages on and nobody is the wiser that we stole this intimate moment in this hallway.
Her legs tremble with the force of her second orgasm of the night, and she holds onto me like she’ll fall over if she doesn’t. I lean forward and kiss her lips, the salty taste of my semen still on her tongue as it dances with mine.
As the quakes subside, her legs continue to tremble, and she links her arms around my neck as I pull my fingers out of her and hold her tightly, turning something as simple as a blow job and a finger bang in a dark hallway into an emotional, meaningful moment for the two of us.
We take a moment for ourselves, breathing in each other deeply, and once she’s straightened out her dress and I’ve tucked my cock back into my pants, we head back out to the party, no one any wiser as to what we just did in that hallway.
We grab more champagne, and when Tatum drops hers on the dance floor, the woman dancing beside her starts to slip. Tatum manages to catch her before she falls, but then her heels slip, too, and they both crash down to the floor.
And instead of rubbing the painful spot where they each fell on their asses, they laugh together from the floor.
That’s Tatum. Chaos wherever she goes, but a shining light to make everyone around her happier at the same damn time.
I know she makes me happier.
The countdown begins. We kiss at midnight and toast with champagne.
Life feels pretty damn perfect as we dance the night away.
But if it was actually perfect, that would be our happy ending…right?
Instead, our story is just getting started.