Selfish Desires

1. Wendy

“Do people really fuck on their wedding night?” Vincent asked, watching the happy couple on the altar.

“Vincent.” I squeezed his tense, muscled forearm under his dinner jacket. “Don't even start with this now.” My eyes search the hundreds of guests in attendance watching our best friends exchange vows.

“I just did, baby.” Vincent popped his eyebrows, sucking his bottom lip through his perfect white teeth, and planted a quick wet kiss against my slightly parted mouth. “And if you're wondering, I'd totally fuck on our wedding night.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” announced the potbelly, white-haired priest. As I looked around, everything and everyone was dressed in white or black. It was one of those weddings where the hosts requested two things: you wore two shades, no color allowed.

I wore a black sequin, low back, high slit gown, while Vincent donned a white dinner jacket over a sharply fitted tuxedo. Of course, he couldn't settle on one option. He always had to be the one to make everything work, while I marveled at his efforts from a distance.

Distant .

That word clung to my brain like a nasty magnet with spikes lately.

As Zachary and Blair kissed, bringing a close to the ceremony, all four hundred attendees cheered, whistled, and even threw silver glittery confetti in the air. Vincent simply clapped, and my hands squeezed Vincent's corded forearm.

“Isn't it so sweet?” I whispered into Vincent's ear.

“It's to be expected.” He glanced at me, his jawline never looking so square.

I jabbed him in the ribs.

“Hey, careful. I bruise easily.” Vincent winked at me.

I rubbed his side, nestling into his embrace. “Isn't it crazy they're married?” I motioned to Zachary and Blair, watching their lingering kiss until they broke apart and skipped down the aisle, hand in hand.

“I still can't believe you weren't maid of honor and I the best man.” Vincent clicked his jaw. “I can't believe no one stood up there with them. Other than Amanda, of course. She's a good kid.” He nodded.

“Believe me.” I rolled my eyes. “Neither can Blair's mother.”

Vincent chuckled, a deep, rich sound that hadn't lost any of its charm after all this time. It was his sound. My sound. He drew me close, his arm encircling my waist. The heat pouring from his body seeped into my skin, an old and familiar sensation.

“And so what will we do now?” Vincent asked, looking down at me as the married couple disappeared out of view, leaving only a scattering of confetti behind. His eyes were dark like a moonless sky, and my heart ached at seeing them.

“Um, I think it's time to party?” I giggled as Vincent buried his nose in the crook of my neck.

“You still smell like roses,” he whispered into my hair.

“And I probably always will as long as I keep using this shampoo.”

Vincent threw his head back, laughing. “Come on, babe.” He laced his thick fingers with mine. “Let's go party with the lovebirds.”

Walking toward the reception area, I noticed how the old wooden floor creaked under Vincent's weight, teasing a history that only it knew. The hall was adorned with tall, elegant chandeliers dripping with crystals that caught the light and scattered gold rays across the room. The band had already started playing, and I could hear a guitar's faint strum, a drum's teasing rhythm, and the sweet melody of a violin blending into a coherent symphony.

The crowd was moving in fluid waves, their bodies undulating to the rhythm of the music. Zachary and Blair were in their own world on the dance floor, holding each other as they swayed.

“Vincent.” I pulled his arm to get his attention. “Dance with me.”

He peered at the dozens of young and old couples on the dance floor, swaying to the first dance. “Sure, let's do it.” Vincent outstretched his hand, and I took it, falling into his body as we joined the throngs of people in love on the white illuminated squares.

The world dissolved around us as Vincent's arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. His body was a pillar of strength against the sway of the crowd. I could feel every muscle in his body tensing and relaxing with our movement. His heart beat steadily against my ear, pumping a rhythm that echoed in my chest. The music weaved its magic around us, drawing us into its enchanting spell.

My eyes moved to Vincent's face, and I frowned at his scrunched brow. “What's wrong, baby?”

“Hm?” The distraction pooled his orbs. “Oh, nothing. I just hope I get to talk to Zachary tonight.”

“Of course you will.” I chuckled. “The party just started.”

“Did you ever watch Father of The Bride ? The remake with Steve Martin.”

“Oh God, I can't wait to hear where this is going. I've seen the movie, but go on.” I rolled my eyes.

“Well, let me indulge you.” Vincent pressed our foreheads together. “Remember the movie's ending after Steve Martin throws his daughter a gigantic wedding, destroying his house, mind you. He didn't even get to say goodbye to that spoiled brat before she took off for her honeymoon.”

I craned my head. “So, is Zachary your daughter in this analogy?” I pressed my hand against Vincent's broad chest, basking in his gentle heartbeat.

Vincent smiled, pecking my lips. “I just want a chance to congratulate my best friend. I don't have much family. Zachary and I have been through a lot.”

“Aw, babe.” I trailed my red fingernails down his perfect five o'clock shadow. “You'll get to say goodbye to Zachary. Just as I'm going to say goodbye to Blair before she leaves. I'm not worried.”

“People change once they get married.” Vincent shrugged. “They get caught up in married life and all that shit.”

I gave a faint smile. After two years and multiple hints of getting engaged to Vincent, still nothing. I knew he was the one for me, and he always told me I was his soulmate, but call me old fashioned. I wanted that promise. I wanted to be Mrs. Vincent Press one day, but I wasn't sure if Vincent needed that label. Lately, it was hard to pinpoint what he wanted. He seemed so…distracted.

“But that won't be us,” said Vincent, his deep tone cutting through my daze. “I know we'll stay the same when it's our time.”

I met his smile with mine. His hand brushed against my palm, absorbing his warmth and comfort amid a fake smile. It was almost mechanical because I was sick of the innuendos and ready for the real thing.

“My favorite couple!” Blair shouted into our ears.

Our heads shot in Blair's direction, wearing her off-white gown dazzled with pearls and black beads. And then there was Zachary. A male vision in a classic black tuxedo, made for every human on earth to ogle over.

“Blair!” I squealed, detaching myself from Vincent and rushing toward her. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek updo, adorned with delicate silver hairpins that glittered under the dim lights. She was the embodiment of grace and beauty. “Congratulations,” I said, pulling Blair into a tight hug. Her petite figure disappeared into my arms as we swayed from side to side. The laughter and the chatter from the guests around us became a mere background noise; it was just us—Blair, Vincent, Zachary, and me—in our happy bubble.

“You promise you're not mad, right?” Blair broke our embrace, staring into my eyes.

“Mad? What are you talking about?” I frowned.

“About not being Maid of Honor. You know you're my best friend.” The concern swimming in Blair's eyes nearly broke my heart.

“Stop. You're being ridiculous.” I hugged Blair again to drive home the point.

“Yeah, none of that crap matters,” said Zachary, stuffing his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels.

“Speak for yourself.” Vincent held up a hand. “I've been waiting my whole life to be someone's best man, and you blew up my spot.”

Zachary grinned at Vincent, his smile toothy and playful. “You know I couldn't trust you with a speech, Vince,” he said, smacking him on the shoulder.

Vincent lurched before catching himself and fixing his tie. “You have a point.”

The party continued as we chatted, danced, and toasted Zachary and Blair's new life together. Each time I looked at them, something twinged inside me at the thought of the life Vincent and I could have.

When the night ended, as we watched Zachary and Blair drive away toward their honeymoon destination, Vincent leaned over to me, whispering, “Do you remember what I said earlier? About how people change once they get married?”

I turned to him, meeting his gaze, which locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart pound. “Yes,” I answered softly.

“I hope you'll change for me.”

My stomach did a small, uneasy flip. What the hell did that mean?

“I hope you'll take my last name.” Vincent smiled, but I wasn't impressed.

“You know, you talk a lot about getting married without popping the question.” I smirked.

“Oh, Wendy. You know it's going to happen. And when it does, you'll be caught so off guard that I, your prince charming, will catch you.”

“Yeah. We'll see about that.” I gave my tenth eye roll of the night.

“You bet we fucking will.” Vincent popped his eyebrows, licking his lips. And then his phone chimed in his pocket. He took it out, read the screen for half a second, and lost almost all the color in his face. This wasn't the first time this had happened. Over the last year, Vincent's phone plagued his moods, and while he blamed sudden work messages as the cause, I never believed him. How stressful and soul-consuming could corporate America be? To suck a lively soul, like Vincent's, out of his body? Something didn't add up, but he wouldn't serve me the full story.

“Vincent.” I snapped my fingers while he stared at the screen, keeping me from seeing anything. “Vincent, come on. Talk to me.”

“I'm right here, babe.” Vincent swallowed and shoved the phone in his pocket. “I'm telling you. Playing poker was a lot less stressful than this fucking straight white-collar job. You see what it does to me.” He motioned to the color returning to his face.

“Whatever you say, Vin. I just want you to be okay.” I leaned up, kissing his rough cheek.

“But I am okay. With you, I'm always okay,” Vincent replied, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. His lips twitched into a reassuring smile, but his eyes betrayed him. “Come on. Let's get out of here and go home. What do you say?”

I followed him out the double doors and into the blustery New York City streets. I sometimes forgot how harshly the wind slapped my face when it snaked between the skyscrapers at night. Vincent hailed a taxi and slid into the backseat, pulling me close as the driver wove through the city's maze. I kept my eyes on his face, searching for any sign of what his cryptic text message might have held. The only light came from the streaks of neon signs and street lamps that danced across our bodies.

His grip tightened around me as his gaze from the window grew distant, lost in his thoughts. I longed to bring him back, to pull him away from whatever business problem was consuming him.

“Look at me.” I stroked his cheek. He turned to me, his sharp features softened by my touch. His eyes bore into mine intensely, a tumultuous mix of emotions swirling within them—love, fear, frustration.

“You can't keep shutting me out, Vincent,” I told him. My voice held a note of desperation that I hadn't intended for it to carry. He sighed and kissed my forehead, a soft whisper against my skin.

“I know,” he admitted in a low voice. “I'm sorry.”

My heart fluttered at his apology; he rarely admitted to being wrong about anything. But as we pulled up to our apartment complex, I knew this wasn't over. The worry lines on his face deepened when he thought I wasn't looking.

As the cab pulled away and we crossed the lobby together, arm in arm, I saw our reflection on the polished white-veined marble floor. We looked content on the surface—a happy couple returning from an evening wedding party—but an undercurrent of tension tightened in the pit of my stomach.

As we ascended to our penthouse suite and closed the door behind us, Vincent's facade began to crumble. He ran a hand through his hair and undid his tie with a muttered curse.

I stood at the entrance, watching him as he paced back and forth, his mind clearly elsewhere. I wanted to reach out and hold him, but I knew whatever was troubling him would be bigger this time than us.

I watched him sink onto the plush leather couch, his head falling into his hands with a heavy sigh. It tore me apart to see him like this, but I knew that no amount of comfort could alleviate the weight he was carrying.

“Fucking rich dipshits, I tell you. They have no life on a Saturday night. The markets don't open until Monday morning. What do they want me to do about it? What other contract between them and their brokers can I review and approve tonight?” Vincent dragged his hand through his hair for the hundredth time, giving him a wild werewolf vibe, with the moon's white light illuminating his frame.

“I'm sorry they bother you so much, baby.” The click of my heels filled the apartment's blank space as I sauntered to the couch. I hiked up my dress and threw one leg, followed by the next, over Vincent's lap.

His gaze locked onto mine as his hands came to rest on my thighs. I shivered, not from the cool touch of his hands but from the intensity of his stare. He could make me feel like the only woman in the world, even when he was burdened with secrets tearing him apart.

I unbuttoned his shirt with nimble fingers, revealing a toned chest that rose and fell with each labored breath. His eyes never wavered from mine as his fingers dug into my thighs gently. “This has to stop, Vincent,” I muttered, tracing a path down his bare chest with my fingertips.

“And it will. I promise.” His fingers traced absent circles on my thigh, his touch becoming more desperate with each passing second.

Leaning into him, I planted a defiant kiss on his lips, brushing away his fears. “We'll face it together, Vincent. As long as we're together, everything will be okay.” I pressed my lips against his mouth. And I saw hope in his eyes for the first time tonight.

He grabbed my hair, twisting it roughly around his hand, pulling my head back, and exposing my neck. Vincent traced a line with his velvet tongue from my jaw down to my collarbone, sending a flood of heat to my sex. He tugged harder on my hair, causing me to gasp, but in a good, pulsing way.

“That's a good girl.” His warm breath tickled my ear.

Good girl? This was new, sending my pulse into a frenzy as the skin on my chest glowed crimson.

“Want to try something different tonight?” Vincent's dark tone sent shivers down my spine, and all I could give was a simple nod. “That's it.” He snaked a finger under my dress, pulling my black lace thong to the side, dipping a finger into my warm, dripping center. “Be a good little slut, go into the bedroom, take off all your clothes, and wait on your knees on the floor in front of the bed,” he growled.

My stomach tightened from his words. This was an entirely different side of Vincent, one I had never seen before. But the way he commanded me sent a thrill racing to my pussy. His words sent my nerves into overdrive, exposed, and, for once, I was completely his.