Chapter 4
Emily
“Our mothers are gonna flip.” Carrie shakes her head on a long exhale tugging her cheeks down with both hands. “This is crazy.” She turns to me, releasing her face to hold mine as we ride down the interstate in the back of Roman’s truck toward Wyoming. “Crazy!”
“I know!” I chirp, bouncing in the seat and slapping my hands over hers.
“No, not excited crazy, like, holy shit the family is going to freak out crazy. You’re getting married without telling our moms and dads?”
Carrie looks like the vein in her forehead is about to pop as I catch Roman’s eyes in the rearview. They have a new sparkle, a new…determination. Something shifted inside him. I knew he wanted to provide for me. Financially and more. But it was the money that held him back.
“I’ve always been…unpredictable.” I squeeze my shoulders to my ears, my insides twisting tighter than a reining horse chasing a paycheck.
He and Casey have been exploring their combined technical genius since they both got iPads for Christmas when they were 6 years old. It all started with Angry Birds, Cut the Rope, and a whole load of other games I had no interest in at that time, but the two of them fell down that rabbit hole.
Then came Minecraft, learning commands, and something called Java, and after that, there was no stopping them.
They are nerds on the insides and hunks of burning love on the outside, and I love them both. In vastly different ways.
I tug myself up between the front seats, Roman instinctively reaching back with one hand to squeeze my cheeks. “Where will the nuptials take place?”
“Wherever I say. Gotta get this deal done first.”
I pout and start to protest, but he squeezes my chin tighter.
“Ouch,” I screw up my face. My cheeks squeezed tight by rough fingertips and my pussy reminds me of how much I like a little ouch from my sexy cowboy.
He lets me go as he works the truck through traffic, he and Casey talking about royalty percentages, some stop loss clause and other contract jargon.
I’m excited for Roman. I pick up that it’s a multi seven-figure deal. They’ll retain majority ownership, too, and then there’s branding, spin-off options, and I’m so excited for my big, brooding, soon-to-be husband, I can barely sit still.
An hour and a stop at Buckey’s later, we’re pulling up to the valet at the Black Antler Hotel and Resort. It’s six stories of timber and stone and even the air here smells like money in Montana.
Roman’s been quieter and quieter as the drive went on. Carrie’s been reading, notating, and chatting to them about the contract she’s reviewing on her laptop.
I lost myself in wedding and dick dreams most of the drive, my belly flipping, and my girl parts all tingly and primed for the big event that’s coming.
Snort.
I know it will hurt. How could it not? I’ve seen what he’s packing and even when we play around, Roman’s lucky to get two fingers inside me if I’m good and primed and super slippery downstairs.
But something in me knows my lust will override the pain, and if it doesn’t, my inner masochist will just have to come out to play until my body adjusts.
“I got two suites on the top floor.” Casey shows us the reservations on his phone. “I told Carrie we should make it three, but she overruled.”
“We don’t need it,” Carrie insists, and I nod.
“I’m not superstitious about Roman seeing me the night before the wedding.”
Casey rolls his eyes. “Not for you two. For me and her.” He points to Carrie. “I wanted at least one night away from sharing the same space as my sister.”
Carrie is tapping away on her laptop. “You’ll talk differently when you’ve had one too many drinks, and you need me to pat your back and tell you it’s all going to be okay while you throw up, Mommy’s boy.”
“I’m paying for ours,” Roman pipes up, and Carrie and I both roll our eyes.
Roman refuses to let anyone pay for anything for him or for us. Which is a bit ridiculous, since we are all part of the same family and Casey and Carrie both have very generous allowances and expense accounts from their parents as well.
“Cowboys are the most stubborn creatures God ever made.” I huff as Roman grabs his Black Stetson Premier from its place on the dash.
“Only if you ain’t countin’ barrel racers. You keep that sweet ass right there until I come around and open your door.”
“Yes, sir,” I agree with a teasing salute resisting the urge to call him Daddy in front of his siblings although the shitstorm that followed would be glorious.
I love when all four of us are together.
My mom and dad had me, then things happened with Mom’s health, and Dad would never risk her getting pregnant again.
Not that they didn’t do all the trying. We had a big house, and while they were never over the top in front of me, you can’t live with two people that love each other that much, and like to show it physically, and not get a little squicked out as a kiddling, knowing your parents are doing the dirty every day.
More than once a day.
Ugggg.
I shake away the thought and re-focus on the cowboy that’s opening my door. He tips his hat, extending his hand, and I don’t miss the outline of what seems to be an ever-present hard-on behind the faded blue denim down his right leg.
“Got a problem there, cowboy?” I crinkle my nose on a wink as he helps me out of the truck, Casey and Carrie coming right behind us as the valets grab our few bags, and we head into the hotel, knowing tomorrow, when we leave, things will be different.
Because all four of us will have the same last name.