Epilogue
Merrick
Wes Foster thinks he’s getting away with something.
He’s had his hands all over Cora all night, keeping his arm around her waist as they walked around during the tapas hour while the happy couple had their photos done and groping her on the dance floor, even holding hands with her like a lovesick puppy in the buffet line.
Pathetic.
Cora thinks she’s getting away with something, too. She thinks she’s getting away with teasing me. She thinks she’s safe, that Wes Foster is going to protect her, that she can torment me and even pick a fight with me without being punished.
The moment Blaise and Tilly leave, the full bar comes out.
We weren’t trying to hold out on them or anything, but I think we’ve all been groomsmen for friends who got too drunk and ended up ruining their wedding nights with whiskey dicks.
Blaise doesn’t drink like he used to, but a lot of people aren’t themselves at weddings.
Cora isn’t herself at weddings, apparently.
It’s late. Stupidly late. I would have gone to bed hours ago, but she had to be a bitch tonight. And she had to get shitfaced and stupid after tormenting me for hours.
The married couples, the people with kids, have all left. Most of the guys with the stricter training regimens have left. It’s a bye week, but some of us don’t have days off.
I don’t have days off. I spent three hours in the gym today before leaving early to get ready for the wedding, and tomorrow, I’m seeing my personal trainer at nine in the morning. It’s well past midnight, and I still have to deal with Cora’s shit.
At least a dozen of my teammates are still here. Some of their dates, as well, and Cora fucking Prasad, a goddamn household name, someone who can get into a scandal because of some asshole with a camera every bit as easily as Blaise did, is naked in my hot tub.
Wes Foster still has his hands all over her.
I’m going to fucking lose it.
I’m done with her shit.
She’s too drunk to notice me until I’ve already walked up behind her and thrown my arm around her chest to hide her tits floating on the surface of water.
Everyone goes silent.
And then Foster yells, “The fuck, bro?” as he wipes splashed water off his face.
Cora tries to shimmy out from my arm, but I’ve got her locked against the tub. “Let me go!” she shrieks.
“No.”
“Fuck you,” she spits at me. “If I want to be topless, I’m gonna be topless!”
“Not in my goddamn hot tub! Put your top back on. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
This time, when she pushes at my arm, I let her go so she can spin her drunk ass around to face me, so at least Foster and I are the only ones looking at her tits.
And he better thank his lucky stars that she immediately covers herself with her own arm even as she yells, “No, you’re just a fucking prude, Briggs! I see boobs all the time! I’m a fucking fashion designer. They’re just fucking boobs.”
“You’re not fucking skinny dipping in my goddamn hot tub!” I scream in her face.
“I have my panties on!” she shrieks, getting out of the hot tub so I can see the tiniest fucking thong in the history of thongs, so snug that her camel toe can be seen from space. “Fuck off and die, you psycho!”
And then she takes off on bare feet down the gently sloping backyard, where tables are set up from the reception.
My job, my life, is to be the rabbit the greyhounds chase, running, running, running, the end zone my only hope for safety. I’m good at my job. I love it.
But I love to chase even more.
No one stops me. No one cares. I’m going to catch her and destroy her drunk ass, and no one cares, because she did it to herself. She deserves it. She’s a bad girl.
I give her a fifteen-second start, but she’s too drunk, and she doesn’t have shoes.
She’s halfway through the tables, just beyond the halo of floodlights illuminating the patio, when her foot slides and she nearly falls.
She manages to get herself steady, but only gets a couple more steps away before I tackle her.
She screams. “Get off me, you brute!”
“Shut up and stay down,” I snarl at her, holding her down with one hand as I whip my belt off and unzip my pants. I pull my cock out and tug that stupid ass quarter-inch of fabric out of her ass crack to rub my cock there.
“Absolutely fucking not, Merrick,” she hisses.
I roll my eyes and pull a condom out of my pocket. I know, I know.
I roll it on, hike her hips up into the air, and slam my cock into her.
And then the only thing she screams is, “Harder!” until I know she’s not going to be able to sit on her ass tomorrow for how bruised she’s going to be.