Birthday Bride (2 page)

Damn
it.  I should have picked that wedgie.

The
waiter let go of my arm to try to keep me from wiggling off.  I brought my left
arm down alongside my body and a sharp jab in his junk did the trick.  He
pushed me off onto the floor.  A hand barely made it to slide between my head
and the very hard, and much stickier than I wanted to think about, floor.  Military
Man helped me up, and stuck his body between mine and the hunched over waiter. 
I took advantage of the soldier in front of me, adjusted my undies, and
smoothed my skirt back down.  Yeah, I was ready for the floor to swallow me up
still.

“Abby
was supposed to get a Birthday spanking,” Glennys said, pouting. 

Oh
really? Maybe next time she could fill me in on that plan? And possibly choose
someone less icky!

“She
said no,” my soldier said firmly, glaring at the waiter until he limped away,
with a glare over at Glennys for instigating the whole situation, just for good
measure. 

“You
okay?” My soldier’s gaze ran up and down my body, and heat pooled in various
parts of my anatomy as he did so.

“Other
than my pride, I’m fine.” My head was pounding from adrenaline and margaritas,
and I gladly sunk into the vacated seat.  I put my head down on my arms against
the table and ignored the chatter and moving chairs around me.  What was
Glennys thinking? Just because she wanted to be spanked, and even spanked
publicly (there was a club she had mentioned once), didn’t mean that others
liked public humiliation.  Yeah, I didn’t mind the concept of a birthday spanking. 
I had been the recipient of one several times growing up.  But in public, with
strangers watching me? That might titillate Glennys, but not me.  When I got
spanked in real life and not my daydreams–and for me it was a
when
, not
if
– it would be in private.  Like, in a bedroom.  And after I was married.  “The
only person touching my butt will be my husband.”

“Good
to know,” I heard rumble next to me. 

Oh
my God.  Military man was still here… and eavesdropping on me talking to
myself! I lifted my head up, and gave him a weak smile.  “I’m not normally like
this.”

He
put his arm around my shoulders and gave a squeeze, then rested it along the
back of my chair.  “You’re fine either way for me.  I’m Mark.  Mark Friedman.  You’re
Abby?”

I
nodded, and looked around the table.  Mark’s buddies had all joined us, roughly
pairing up with each of the bridesmaids.  Glennys was perched in one lucky man’s
lap.

“Where
you from, Soldier,” She asked, flirting wildly with him.

“We’re
all stationed at Camp Pendleton.  It’s on the California coast, between San
Diego and LA.” Glennys’ Marine didn’t take his eyes off of her, but did address
the table. 

I
was surprised they were acknowledging our existence.  They seemed more apt to
head up to a hotel room. 

Shit. 
Glennys and I were sharing a room.  I might go upstairs later to a towel on the
door, for lack of a sock.

“Oooh,
we’re all working at Palomar College! That’s just a quick jump down the
freeway!” Glennys squealed, almost a bit too innocently.  I narrowed my eyes at
her.

Jackie
introduced the members of her bridal party, and the boys took turns introducing
themselves.  I work in admissions, and see hundreds of names a day, and my
memory for names resets almost as instantly as I see or hear them.  Mark’s name
I would remember, especially since his hand occasionally brushed my shoulder.  Swoon!
Glennys’ man was Carlos.  The rest, I would recognize for their chiseled
features and military bearings, but the names were a blur.

An
hour later, the pounding in my head had been replaced by the pounding of my
heart.  I felt like a teenager! Mark had given up on the “accidental” touching
of my shoulder, and had fully put his arm around me.  It’s not like I
encouraged him by snuggling up next to him or anything.  Ahem….

Everyone
else was just as cozy, so I wasn’t surprised when Glennys told me they were
leaving.  She asked me and Mark to join them, which caused my eyebrows to shoot
up (but curiously, not Mark’s), then told us the location, which caused both of
ours to shoot up (mine even higher).

They
were going to get married.

While
I had heard that countless couples got married on a whim in Vegas… whatever
happened to ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?’ I was the prude that
wanted to be married before receiving a spanking or having sex.  Glennys always
told “morning after” stories.  I wasn’t going to say it out loud, but why would
she need to get married? I never could understand the naughty librarians’
mindset.

“I’ll
drive,” Mark said firmly, catching Carlos as the man stumbled getting to his
feet.  Nerves, or beer?

Glennys
giggled.  Yep, it was the alcohol.  Would they even give them a marriage
license while drunk?

As
we found out half an hour later, drunkenness didn’t so much matter when it came
to filling out the paperwork.  Good Lord, you could sober up by the time you
actually made it to a wedding chapel.  By now, it was 11pm, and it had been a
long day.  Glennys had the only vehicle large enough to seat us all, but didn’t
like driving, so I had driven the entire 5 hours from California.  Add in
several margaritas, and the attempted spanking, and I wasn’t paying attention
anymore.  I signed on the dotted line as Glennys’ witness, and Mark did the
same for Carlos.

They
got married by an Elvii.  There were three Elvis impersonators working the
chapel at once, and with their swapping in and out and our constant rearranging
of the bridal party’s positions, at the end of the night I left thinking I
might have been the one getting married.

*****

Loud
banging on the hotel room door woke me the next morning.  Blurry-eyed, I
crawled out of bed, wishing I hadn’t had that third margarita.  I paused as I
stumbled by the couch–why was Jackie sleeping there? Granted, it looked more
like she collapsed, since her stilettos were still on, as well as the rest of
her clothes.  But everyone knew that Glennys got married the night before, and
her bed was empty.  The bride could have slept there.

The
banging sounded again.  “I’m coming, keep your pants on!” I hollered.  Oh, crap. 
I looked down.  I wasn’t wearing pants.  Oh well.  I just wouldn’t open the
door all the way.

I
tugged my t-shirt down more to cover my upper thighs, and angled my body to
hide most of it behind the door, and opened it with the security latch in
place.

“What?”
I snapped, then looked at my visitor.  Mark.  Dagnabit.  This was the story of
my life.  Meet a cute guy, hit it off, then be rude to him, and scare him away. 
“What do you need?” I asked, more politely.  No need to sweeten the coffee,
sugar dripped from my mouth.

“
Open
up,” he demanded.

I
glanced down at my bare legs.  “No.  Come back in five minutes.”

“Now,”
he barked, his tone brokered no argument. 

I
could see how he would excel in the military.  Still, I had the power of a
just-woken woman in her nightshirt.  “Why?” If we kept this up, I would get the
‘who,’ ‘how,’ and ‘when’ answered as well!

He
shoved a piece of paper through the opening.  “You and I got married last
night, not Glennys and Carlos.”

The
‘how’ didn’t matter at this point.  I nodded, slammed the door and unlocked it. 
I opened the door an inch and walked away quickly, tugging my t-shirt down
again.  “Be with you in just a second.”

The
couch was now empty, and the door to the bedroom closed.  I could hear the
water running in the shower.  Great.  Jackie was locked in the bedroom with my
clothes.  She had left the throw blanket in a pile on the couch.  I sat down,
curling up under the blanket for propriety.

Not
that propriety would matter, since Mark was my husband. 

Shit! 

“Wait,
go back.” Now that I was covered, what he said was sinking in.  “What do you
mean, we’re married?” I’m afraid to admit that I squeaked the last, but under
the circumstances, I’m sure it was understandable.

He
sat down next to me on the couch, his leg alongside mine.  I tried to ignore
how nice and warm it was.  Like my bed had been, before he woke me.  He could
come back to bed with me, a little voice inside my head said, and keep me nice
and warm.  And it wouldn’t be wrong, because he was my husband.

Mark
set two pieces of paper, somewhat worse for wear, on our laps.  Sure enough,
our names and signatures were on the marriage license and certificate.

“But...
how?”

“Have
you been a witness to a marriage before?” He asked gently.

I
shook my head.  “This was the first time I was in a wedding.  I’ve been to a
bunch, but just as someone in the pews.  You?”

He
also had only sat in on weddings, not participated.  “You thought it was ‘witness’
paperwork too, huh?”

I
did a wry grin.  “It was late, and I was exhausted.  I looked for my name so I
could be sure I was signing in the right place, but that was it.  I just wanted
to get them married so I could come back and crash.  It had been a very long
day.”

“Happy
birthday, again,” Mark smiled, and nudged me with his shoulder.  “At least it’ll
be easy to remember our anniversary.”

“Or
it’ll be doubly bad when you forget,” I joked right back.  My head flopped back
onto the couch.  What was I thinking? Laughing about how we would be years from
now on our anniversary? This wasn’t a real marriage, it was a joke! Neither of
us meant to be married.  “What do we do now? Can we get divorced as quickly as
we got married? I presume we have grounds for an annulment, since neither of us
intended to get married.  Would that be better or easier to get?”

“We
could not,” Mark suggested.  “No, hear me out,” he started when I opened my
mouth to interrupt.

“No.”
Wow, that was quickly becoming my favorite word.  “A minute ago you were
banging on the door, pissed at being married.  Now you’re trying to change your
mind?”

He
glanced down at my thankfully-blanket covered legs.

“Seriously?
You’re that much of a dog?” The irritated look on his face should have stopped
me.  It wasn’t wise, but I continued on.  “A turn of a lady’s ankle is enough
for you to propose marriage? The bare hint of what may be above turns you on?”
I flipped the blanket above my knees.  “Oh no, now you’ve seen calves.  I’m
surprised you haven’t burst into flames yet.”

Mark
shifted on the couch, suddenly facing me, and captured my mouth in a
toe-curling kiss.  When we parted for air, I blinked, open mouthed.

“May
I continue?”

I
nodded, not able to say anything.

“This
is a first marriage for both of us, obviously.”

Drat,
I was hoping he wanted to continue the kissing, not the talking. 

“There
are certain... advantages to staying married.”

“No,
that’s illegal!” He lifted a confused eyebrow.  “I saw a story on the news,
just the other day.  A couple of soldiers were court-martialed and thrown in
jail for getting married for the housing benefits increase.  You’re a soldier. 
We got married.  I can do the math.  I’m not doing it.”

He
kissed me again, thoroughly.  When he finally pulled away, he said, “That was
the kind of benefit I was thinking of.”

“So
I was right the first time?” He narrowed his eyes, but let me keep talking.  “You
just want easy access to the sex.”

“Okay,
first of all–well, stop.  I’m sorry to be blunt, but are you a virgin?”

I
wasn’t sure if I was more shocked he asked the question, or more embarrassed by
the answer.  I’m not sure how it happened, but me trying to get off the couch
and across the room turned into a wrestling match that ended with me under Mark
on the couch.  The blanket had fallen to the floor in the scuffle, and my
husband’s denim-clad thigh was pressed between my bare legs, the warmth and
closeness a new sensation to my upper thighs and privates.

“Well
that answers that,” he said lightly.  “Now will you listen?”

I
tried squirming, and Mark ran a hand up under my shirt, resting it on my ribs,
his thumb barely touching the underside of a breast.  If I squirmed more, that
thumb would be on new ground.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to move or not–my body
was saying one thing, my brain another!

My
mouth listened to my brain.  “Yes,” it whispered.

The
thumb started stroking gently.  Oh goodness, the thumb was meant as a reward,
not a punishment.  My back arched, my body giving him more access, which also
had the pleasurable side-effect of rubbing my clit against the rough denim.  Forget
talking.  I reached up and pulled Mark’s head close for a deep kiss.  I might
just like this married business.

It
was his turn to blink when we separated.  He smiled, and my heart melted.  Oh
my.

“
So
I’m thinking, there are plenty of people with arranged marriages that don’t
meet their spouse until the wedding day.  What’s one more couple?”