A Very Dirty Wedding (19 page)

"Thanks," she says, laughing.  "I think that's the best compliment you've given me, Caulter Sterling."

"Don't ever say I didn't say nice things about you," I say.  She's running her hand up and down the length of my cock, and I groan.  When she guides me to her pussy, I tense as I feel her warm wetness against my bare cock, even though it's the best thing I've ever felt.  "Wait."

"I'm on birth control," she says.  "I have been for years.  Are you clean?"

"I was tested right before...
you
, actually."  I don't tell her why, that a month before her I'd slept with this psychotic chick from an all-girls school half an hour away who'd also, as it turned out, had slept with half of the lacrosse team.

She arches her hips up slightly so that the tip of my cock is just inside her.  "So do it.  Fuck me.  I want to feel you come inside me."

"Shit, Kate," I groan, not moving.  I don't screw chicks without using rubbers.  I may not be a stand-up guy, but at least I'm
safe
.  "You're killing me.  You're supposed to be the responsible one."

"You're rubbing off on me," she whispers, her hands sliding around to my ass cheeks.  "What can I say?  I want to do something crazy."

She pulls at me, but I brace, only allowing myself to go inside her another inch.  Another agonizing inch inside her warm, wet cunt.  I can't be expected to make a responsible decision, not with my cock inside her pussy.  She squeezes her muscles tight around me and that's it.  I ram my cock inside her, up to the hilt, in one deep thrust, feeling the exquisite bliss of her muscles stretch to fit me.

Katherine arches as I slip inside her, her head falling back, hair falling down on the pillowcase and around her shoulders.  One hand under her back, I pull her against me as I fuck her, my rhythm slow, even though she's wet and willing.

She urges me on, little moans under her breath and then whispers, over and over, "Yes, yes."

"Look at me, Kate."  She jerks her head up, and her eyes meet mine before she kissed me hungrily.  Every part of her is hungry; her pussy is practically milking me now, even before she comes.  I know she's ready, on the verge so quickly, but I tell myself to slow down and wait.

"No, no, don't stop," she whispers, her voice almost a whine.  She wraps her legs around me, pinning me with my cock deep inside her, but I stop moving.  I grab her wrists, and push them above her head, then lower my mouth close to hers again.  "Please don't stop."

"Don't try to take control, Kate," I whisper.  "It doesn't suit you."  She whimpers, but lies still, and I kiss her, my cock throbbing inside her.  When she tightens her muscles around me again, I laugh.  "You are always trying to take control."

"Fuck..." she whispers, and I wait for her to say
you
, but she doesn't.  She says, " Fuck me."

I can't wait any longer.  I thrust deeply inside her, feeling the gush of wetness from her pussy.  "Is that what you wanted?"  I ask.

"Yes," she whispers, her fingers lacing tightly with mine, palms pressed against my palms as I drive into her over and over.  "Yes."

"You want my bare cock inside you..."

"Yes," she says.  "Oh God, yes."

"You want to feel me come inside your bare pussy."  Her muscles are tensing around my cock, squeezing it.  It's all I can do not to come inside her right this second, with how tight she is, how warm she feels.

"Caulter, I'm so close."  She punctuates her words with one final squeeze, and I'm groaning and letting go, flooding her with my hot seed.  When she comes, she arches up to meet her lips to mine, and I mute her moans with my mouth as I drive into her, feeling her orgasm rip through her body.  Her pussy spasms around my cock, her muscles milking me for every last drop of my cum.

Afterward, the only sound in the room is our ragged breath as we come down from our orgasms, and when she finally opens her eyes to look at me, my face inches from hers, her smile is broad.  "That was good."

"That's all you have to say?" I ask.  "It was
good
?  What a letdown."

"It was definitely
not
a letdown," she says, wrapping her legs around me.  "Do you want to go again?"

"I've created a monster," I say, kissing her forehead, then her cheekbone, and the side of her face.  "You're not going to be able to stop."

"So don't make me stop," she whispers.  "Keep fucking me."

"You know this can't last."  I feel the obligation to warn her, but as soon as I speak the words, I think I'm trying to warn myself.  She's getting under my skin, and I'm afraid she's changing me.  I
know
she's changing me.

"If we're careful..." she says, her voice trailing off.  She thinks I'm talking about the fact that we'll get caught, but I'm not.  I don't tell her what I'm thinking.  Instead, I kiss her soft lips. 

“We'll be careful,” I tell her.  I remind myself that I need to be careful.  With her heart and mine.

***

I'm definitely not careful.  When Rose leaves for the evening and with our parents gone, we have the house to ourselves.

From downstairs, I text Kate.

Dinner in the dining room in ten minutes.

My phone buzzes with her message.

You cooked dinner?

I punch out a response.

I didn't say that.

She sends me back a text consisting of question marks, but I don't answer.  Not even ten minutes later, she's standing in the doorway of the dining room, looking at me with her eyebrow arched.  "I'm surprised you didn't burn yourself, cooking in that."

I'm wearing a red and white checked apron.

And nothing else.

"There was no actual cooking involved," I say.

"You lured me down here under false pretenses?" she asks.

"There is food involved," I say, but I don't elaborate.  Instead, I take out a blindfold and slip it over her head, covering her eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asks softly, but she's not complaining.  That's obvious in her voice, breathy and yearning.

Slowly, I remove her clothing – slipping the straps of her sundress over her shoulders and watching it catch on her hips before it falls in a pile onto the floor.  She's naked underneath the dress, her nipples hard, and when I trace my finger slowly over her skin, she shivers.

"Cold?" I ask, my mouth near her ear.

"If I say yes, does that mean you'll warm me up?" she asks.

I don't answer.  Instead, I touch the tip of my tongue lightly to her nipple, watching her lips fall open as I whirl my tongue in circles over her skin.

When I stop, she lets out a tiny whimper, barely audible.  I lead her to the dining room table, where I slide my hands under her thighs and deposit her bare ass right on table in front of her father's chair.

"Am I where I think I am?" she whispers.

"If you're wondering whether your ass is currently on the place where your father eats dinner, then yes, you're right where you think you are."

"Caulter," she whispers.  "We can't actually do this here –"

I cut her off before she says anything else by covering her mouth with mine, kissing the question right off of her lips.  "Lay down," I order, and she does it, despite her initial protest.

And there she is, her exquisite naked body spread out on the table like a banquet.  And it's all for me.

I tease her mercilessly, lightly drizzling honey across her nipples and licking them until she's writhing beneath me, her thighs pressed together as she squirms.

I pour vodka down her navel and drink it from her as she moans my name softly under her breath.

I trace my fingers over every inch of her, taking my time to explore the map of her body.

Finally, I take an ice cube in my mouth, spreading her legs to display her pussy.  Her wetness glistens, signaling her obvious readiness for me, but when I touch my mouth to her, pushing the ice cube against her entrance, she squeals.  "Caulter!"

Her surprised scream turns into a low moan as I eat her wet pussy, the ice cube turning into water as it melts.

Water that's flavored like Kate's pussy.

That's the kind of water I could drink every day and never be satisfied.

I eat her until the ice cube disappears, licking every last drop from her as she grabs my hair and pulls my face tighter against her.  Her legs are draped over my shoulders, and she squeezes my head between her thighs as she starts to lose control.

"Are you close, Princess?" I ask.

"Yes, shit," she gasps.

So I pull away from her, leaving her on the edge.  And she squirms.  She makes a frustrated groan, and she starts to pull up the blindfold to look at me, but I stop her.  "The blindfold stays on, Kate," I say, removing my apron and tossing it aside.

I don't give her what she wants just yet, despite the fact that I'm so hard I think I might explode right now.  Instead, I tease her with the head of my cock, pressing it against her entrance, then rubbing her clit as she tries to push her palms against the top of the table for support.

"Touch your tits, Princess," I tell her.  "I want to see you play with them the way I do."

"Caulter," she says softly.  But she massages them, her fingers stroking her nipples, and I know she's so close.

"You're not going to come," I tell her as I slide the head of my cock inside her wet pussy and then stop.  Fuck, she feels good.  She's wet and tight and I want to stay inside her forever.

"But I'm so close," she whines.  "Please, Caulter."

I rub her clit in circles as I thrust all the way inside her.  And then I stop.  I stop because I want to torment her, to bring her to the edge and not let her go all the way.  But I also stop because if I move, I'm going to come inside her right now.  And I want to savor this.

"Do not come," I warn her, stroking her clit as I begin to fuck her now.  Her pussy tightens around me, and it's all I can do to keep from flooding her with my cum.  "Wait until I tell you."

"Then…stop…doing…what…you're…doing," she says.  So I thrust harder, over and over until she's calling out my name like it's a mantra.

Caulter.

Caulter.

Caulter.

Then she does it.  She arches her back, letting out a loud cry, and she comes without waiting for me.  Her muscles squeeze my cock mercilessly, and I close my eyes as she comes, willing myself not to do it.

"Fuck," I scream, pulling out of her just in time to paint her body with my cum as I explode.

Afterward, I look at her naked body, spread out on the table and splattered with my cum like she's a piece of modern art.

She pulls the blindfold from her eyes, her mouth slightly open, her breath still short from her orgasm.  "So…"

"So…" I say.

"So we're not having actual dinner, then?" she asks.  "Because I'm kind of hungry."

I pick up my discarded apron from the floor and throw it at her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Katherine

My father and Ella are back at the lake house full-time now.  The Senate broke for the summer three days ago.  Three days ago, the house was turned into a flurry of activity in preparation for the wedding, the house flooded with people: the wedding planner, caterers, stylist, managers, decorators, baker, and my father’s entourage of political advisers.

I’d have expected the wedding to disrupt my father's campaign, but it all seems to fit in nicely.  It helps, I suppose, that Ella runs her wedding planning with the same kind of military precision with which my father attacks his re-election campaign.

Caulter and I are no longer
just
fucking.  I mean, we've been fucking.  But now we're fucking like rabbits.  We've been screwing all the time.

When my father and Ella were still in DC, Caulter made good on his promise to take me in the dining room one night after Rose was gone, spreading me out on the table and burying his face between my legs.

We've had sex outside on the dock in the evening, beside the lake.

In the boathouse.

In the car on the way to get ice cream, and then again when we got back, after Caulter said he couldn’t watch the way I licked the ice cream cone and not want to put his cock in my mouth.

In our rooms -- so many times, in our rooms.

We're having
more
sex, but it's no longer
just
sex.  Something happened the night of the engagement party, I think -- Caulter became less irritating.  He's growing on me.  Which is weird.

It's also upsetting.  It was one thing when we were sneaking around when our parents were gone, but it's different now that they're back.  And that they're getting married.  Soon we really are going to be step-siblings, and then what's going to happen?

There's also the other thing I keep thinking about -- and it's all Caulter's fault for planting the thought in my head, the possibility that I really might be able to go to UCLA.  Now I keep wondering what would happen if I did.  

It's all Caulter's fault for making me feel happy.  That's the thing about being happy - it makes you want more of that feeling.  And happiness is dangerous, because it never lasts.  Life has taught me that much.

I look in the mirror, straightening the stray tendril of hair that refuses to stay in the slick high ponytail. 
I look like a fucking PTA mom,
I think, in my pastel colored suit and nude pumps. 
Or an Easter egg.

We’re about to go downstairs for an interview, all part of my father’s re-election campaign but not really.  It’s a national news station that doesn’t care all that much about the incumbent from New Hampshire who’s predicted to win by a landslide vote; what they really care about is the wedding.  And the family drama.

They’re going to want to know all about how Caulter and I are getting along.  Luckily, we’ve been prepped.  We have stock phrases to use.  None of those stock phrases involve
we're fucking like rabbits
, or
his cock makes me so wet I practically drip when I’m near him
.

“Hey.”  The door from the balcony slides open, and his voice makes me jump.

“Shit, Caulter,” I whisper.  “Stop scaring me like that.”

“You look like an Easter egg,” he says.

“I do, don’t I?  That’s
exactly
what I was thinking.  Is this orange or pink?” I ask, smoothing the skirt.  I think it’s a linen fabric of some kind -- I think I should be playing canasta in Florida in this dress.

“Coral,” Caulter says, walking up behind me and placing his hand on my rear.  “It does make your ass look great, though.”

“Hands off,” I order.  “No hanky panky.”

“Aw, you get in a pastel suit and you start acting like a grandma,” Caulter says, looking past me to his reflection in the mirror.  “Even more than usual, I mean.”

“Ha ha.”  My eyes trace down the length of him.  “Are you supposed to be wearing a jacket?”

“Nope, just a collared shirt,” he says.  “The stylist picked it out.  Apparently I can't be too formal, you know.  I’ve been told my brand is ‘tamed rebel’.”

I cringe.  “Did she really say that?  Is this the same stylist who picked out all the new clothes after you burned mine?"

"Same one," he says.  "Not the panties, though.  That was all my doing."  He reaches for the hem of my dress, remarking more softly now, “Let me check to see if you’re wearing them.”

I swat his hand away, but he slides it between my legs.  “Stop, seriously, we’re about to go down there.  You shouldn’t even be in here.”

“We have time for a quickie,” he says

I laugh.  “Get away from me, asshole.”

He doesn't seem too put off by my rebuff, even as he pulls his hand back and smacks me lightly on the ass.  “I picked out every single pair of those panties, by the way.  The 'tamed rebel' thing is from your father's PR person or whoever she is, though."

“Mona,” I say, rolling my eyes.  “She’s a tyrant.”

“She says I'm a tamed rebel,” he says.  “It sounds exciting.  Maybe I should mention who tamed me when we’re on camera.”

I swat at him, but he ducks out of the way, heading for the balcony door.  “You’re a total rebel,” I say, watching him light a cigarette.  “Are you seriously going to do that right before the interview?”

He blows smoke off the balcony but looks at me.  “Do you want me to get through the interview?”

“Whatever,” I say.  “As long as you play along.”

“I’ll play the good little step-brother,” he says.  “But I’ll be undressing you the whole time with my eyes.”

I laugh.  “I’m sure.”

Thirty minutes later, we’re downstairs in the library, of all locations.  Which is pretty much the
exact
place I’ve fantasized about having to sit in front of a camera and answer questions about my relationship with my step-brother.  I mean, it’s just fucking
perfect
.

“What happened to the living room?” I ask, as Mona ushers me to a seat, usurping whoever’s in actually in charge of the television show.

“The background in here is more suitable for a family interview,” she says as she adjusts the collar of my jacket.

Yes, of course.
  The place where Caulter and I broke a ladder while fucking is definitely suitable for a family interview.

I glance at Caulter, and he’s hiding a smile, the shithead. 
Argh.
  Caulter is going to love everything about this, especially my discomfort.  We may be screwing, and I may not hate him with quite the fiery passion with which I used to, but that doesn’t mean he won’t take great pleasure in watching me writhe under the pressure.

Caulter likes to watch me squirm.
  The thought jumps into my head, immediately making me think about sex, and I try to push it away. 
Focus, Kate.

Mona slaps me on the thigh.  “Knees together, crossed at the ankles.  Sit up straight, lean slightly forward so the sofa doesn’t eat you.”  She barks out her orders like a drill sergeant, before motioning impatiently for Caulter.  “Caulter.  Here.”

Whoever is actually in charge of the set up on the set gently intervenes, moving my father and Ella onto the sofa adjacent to us.

When the cameras roll, it’s
three-two-one
and
smile
and
one big happy family
.  Meanwhile, my mind is nowhere near even listening to any of the questions directed at my father and Ella.

When the interviewer, a grandmotherly woman with a penchant for asking questions that make stars dissolve into tears, turns to Caulter and I, it's one softball after another.  Did we know each other at Brighton?  Did we get along?  What are our plans after the summer?

We parrot the responses we've been given, smiling and being engaging, like two robot minions doing my father’s bidding.

On the surface, it’s uneventful.  But I carefully avoid eye contact with Caulter, and choose my words like I’m stepping through a minefield.  The questions that should be so easy to answer are now laden with a deeper meaning.

Of course we get along,
I say.  What I
don’t
say is that Caulter’s face was buried between my legs this morning before I even got out of bed.  We get along
very well.