Birthday Bride (5 page)

He
was still in me, and I didn’t know what the next step should be.  Does he just
pull out? Do we go again? We never got under the covers–do we need to strip off
the bedspread? My thoughts went to CSI, cheap motels, and ultraviolet lights.  So
that’s how it happened.

“What
now?” I asked softly near Mark’s ear, meaning my above thoughts.  Which
apparently he couldn’t read, as I got my answer.

“My
turn to be on top,” he said, quite pleased with himself, and flipped us over.  He
proceeded to take my body to pleasures never before known.

*****

I
pawed through my overnight bag, searching in vain for a piece of clothing
Glennys missed.  “If she wasn’t dead before, she is now,” I fumed.  “Look at
this! She cut my clothes!”

Mark
smiled at me, clearly amused at the situation.  I was not.  “It’s just clothes,
Abby.  You probably have a closet full back at home.”

I
glared at him.  “It’s the point, Mark.” I threw a slashed t-shirt at his face,
and he smoothly caught it.  “I have the jeans I wore yesterday, and the t-shirt
I was sleeping in.  I guess she missed cutting the jeans because they were
hanging in the bathroom, drying out from the margarita she spilled on me.  Oh,
she probably did that on purpose, too.  Why, that little–”

Mark
cut me off before I said something I would regret.  When we parted from the
kiss, I was calmer.  I could handle this form of stress relief.  “How did she
even do it?” I wondered out loud, putting the sliced remains in the trash can.

My
husband produced a knife that I hadn’t seen on his belt.  “She probably
borrowed Carlos’ Ka-Bar.  We all carry them.”

“But
why?”

“Think
of the military as grown-up Boy Scouts,” he offered.  “Be prepared!”

I
pushed him onto the bed, and launched myself on top of him.  “I meant ruining
my wardrobe, but thanks for the lesson.” He grabbed me about the waist, and
shifted so we were more comfortable.

“Oh
no, I shall have to take my wife shopping.  Heaven forbid she buy something
pretty, and not another pair of jeans and t-shirt,” Mark teased.

“Hey!
I dress up for work every day.  So what if I want to be more comfortable on the
weekends? And we were coming to Vegas for Jackie, not to meet guys.  And
besides, you liked me enough to marry me.” I challenged him in my voice and in
a glare.

He
rolled us over, and forced my legs apart with his, settling himself down
strategically.  “It wasn’t your skirt Friday night that I liked–work clothes, I
take it? I liked the glimpse of the bare cheek.” He smiled to offset his cheeky
statement.

“Oh,
you!” He eased his way into me.  “Oh….” I lost the train of our conversation,
and proceeded to join my husband in love making.

After
our second shower of the morning, we dressed, and gathered up our belongings
and headed toward the suite door.

“Can
we also see if there’s a Victoria’s Secret in the canal shops?” I asked,
referring to the shopping center that was part of the hotel.  At his
questioning look, I blushed.  “She destroyed my underwear, too.”

A
gleam entered Mark eyes.  “So what are you wearing?”  His husky voice turned me
on.  I had always thought it would be creepy if someone asked me that–it wasn’t. 
At all! No wonder phone sex was so popular.

I
waggled my eyebrows.  “Nothing, I’m going commando.” I squealed as he dropped
our bags and reached for the button at my waistband to check.  I backed up, hit
the arm of the couch, and fell back onto the cushions.  “We still have a few
hours before checkout, right?”

“Uh-huh,”
he affirmed distractedly, tugging his jeans down before jumping me on the couch. 
Yeah, I was liking this married thing.

I
had surprised myself by getting a dress at one of the canal stores.  It was a
fun, flirty dress, not something I would wear to the office.  Not something I
would normally wear for a five hour drive either, but something to wear on a
first date.  Being our first “real” time together outside of the hotel room,
our drive
was
our first date.  I was looking forward to learning about
what my husband’s interests were–outside of the bedroom.

Husband
or not, I wasn’t letting Mark follow me around the lingerie shop.  It’s not
that I was embarrassed.  I could just tell, without looking at him, or without
being in the situation, that he would be visualizing me in and out every piece clothing
in the store.  That wouldn’t bode well for us actually checking out of the
hotel.  I had left Mark outside the store with our luggage while I bought my
unmentionables, and quickly changed into the dress in the changing rooms there.

I
left the store to find Mark still on the bench outside where I left him.  It
always humored me that there were seats outside Victoria’s Secret.  I guess I wasn’t
the only one not wanting the significant other to tag  along.  I gave a little
twirl to show off my new outfit, and gave Mark what I hoped was a sexy grin.

“Ooh,
twirl again.  Faster.”

I
made a face at him, but obliged.  My arms down at my side, however, so he didn’t
get the flash he was hoping for, even from his seated position.  He made a face
back at me, but got up. 

“Come
on, brat,” he said, giving me a swat on my butt before resting his hand on the
small of my back as we walked back into the hotel proper.  A nearby couple
chuckled at my
eep!
of exclamation and I was mortified.  And rather
turned on.

At
checkout, the clerk handed us a manila envelope along with our receipt.  “What’s
this?” I asked, but answered my own question by seeing Glennys’ handwriting on
the front.

“Package
left for you,” the clerk answered, redundantly at that point.

I
undid the seal, and pulled out the stack of papers a few inches, enough to see
the title of the top page.  “Application for dissolution of marriage”, it read. 
I jammed them back in, and grabbed the crook of Mark’s arm in a death grip.  “Shall
we go?” I asked him, but it wasn’t really a question.

He
wordlessly–and wisely–led the way into the parking garage to his late model GMC
Jimmy.  He tossed the suitcases in the way back, and I more gently put my
shopping bag back there.  Like a true gentleman, Mark unlocked and opened my
door for me, and was ready to give me a push up into the seat.  I think he was
just looking for an excuse to goose me again.  I glared him away, and seated
myself in the surprisingly comfortable seat, smoothing my dress down as Mark
closed the door.

While
Mark rounded the truck, I pulled the paperwork out of the envelope.  Glennys
had put a post-it on the top, with a simple “I’m sorry,” scribbled on it.  Applications
for both divorce and annulment were there.  My husband climbed in the driver’s
side, and looked down at the papers.

“Do
you want to talk?” he asked his voice gentle.

“Not
right now.  Can we just go home?” I answered, my voice giving away my miserable
feelings.  He squeezed my hand and we hit the road.

While
Mark and I had figured out that Glennys and Carlos had planned this out,
Glennys’ involvement still hadn’t fully sunk in until I saw her apology.  Setting
Mark and I up to meet at the bachelorette weekend was one thing.  That, I was
okay with.  My husband was a nice guy, quite handsome, and a pretty good match
for me.  I was still hopeful, possibly optimistically so, that our marriage
wasn’t intentional.

It
was possible that Glennys and Carlos had meant to get married themselves.  I
could see that they wanted to come to Vegas to tie the knot.  Maybe the alcohol
caused them to sober up, so to speak, and have second thoughts.  That didn’t
excuse them from putting Mark and my names down instead on the paperwork.  Realistically,
that was illegal.  I loved my friend, and know she had good intentions (road to
Hell, and all that), so I would never even think of filing charges against her. 
It wasn’t a small deal, and nothing to shrug off, but in our case it wasn’t
something to fracture our friendship over.

That
thought stopped me.  Getting me married without my permission wasn’t something
to break a friendship over?  Friendships had been lost for much less than that. 
I had lost a friend in fourth grade over a
Polly Pocket
toy set, for
crying out loud! Ten year olds were old enough to know better than to have such
a small thing be contentious.  So why was I so willing to forgive Glennys?

Did
that mean I didn’t want to fill out the papers she had left?  That I didn’t
want to divorce or annul my marriage to Mark? 

A
part of me did not want to file for divorce.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say I
loved Mark.  I had only known him for two days, after all.

Two
days?  Was that really it?  It seemed like so much longer.  Heck, at the time
my un-birthday spanking felt longer.  My sensual spanking didn’t feel longer,
but I know I wished it had been.  I wiggled in my seat, reliving the memory of
Mark’s hand coming in contact with my bare bottom, setting the skin on fire.  I
liked that.  I really liked the spanking.  I almost wished that we didn’t have
sex on the couch before we left the room, but that he had spanked me instead.

That
thought also derailed my current train of thought, and I turned to look out the
side window at the passing desert so Mark couldn’t see the tears spring to my
eyes.  I liked spanking that much?  So much that I wanted a spanking instead of
sex?  Not forever of course, the love making I had done with Mark was wonderful
and made me look forward to being married for real so I could do it every day. 
The spanking was also wonderful.  It heightened the sex, made it more intense. 
The spanking itself had turned me on, and as evidenced by the time in front of
the air conditioner, could bring me to orgasm with barely a touch by Mark.

Would
my “real” husband spank me?  Would I even have the guts to ask my husband to
spank me?  I had never mentioned my interests to anyone before.  It only came
up with Mark because he... well... spanked me and apologized for the light
birthday spanking.  He could tell that I enjoyed it, and that I wasn’t just
saying it.  Both of us enjoyed it enough in the past day that if we had met
under “normal” circumstances, it probably would have come up at some point.  And
yeah, after dating a bit, hearing that my boyfriend was fine–more than fine,
really–giving spanking a try would set him more solidly in the “The One”
category.  Ostensibly, I wouldn’t choose a spouse that wouldn’t spank me, shared
interests and all that. 

But,
I already had Mark.  He was willing–more than willing–to spank me.  Without me
even asking, he took it easy and didn’t hurt me.  The spanking wasn’t
humiliation or punishment.  It was foreplay, I guess.

Mark
interrupted my thoughts by squeezing my hand.  “What are you thinking?  Are you
about ready to talk?”

Yeah,
like I really wanted to tell him I wanted to be spanked again.  Even though I
had just thought about being open with him, I was still chicken to tell my
feelings.  The thought of being over his strong, muscular thighs set my body to
tingle, though, and I squirmed in my seat.

“You
okay?  You need a rest area?  You don’t seem able to sit still.”

I
could feel my cheeks flush.  “It’s the thong,” I lied.  “I’m not used to
wearing them.”  While that was true, it wasn’t the reason for the squirming.

The
steering wheel jerked as Mark turned to look at me.  “You’re wearing a thong?” 
His eyes seared my skin, almost willing my dress off so he could see.  “Right.” 
He cleared his throat.

“You
wanted to talk,” I reminded him, hoping to change the subject away from my
panties.

“Yeah. 
Um, yeah.”

I
almost took pity on the man, and gave him an out.  I decided against it, and
dove right in to where my thoughts had been.  Why not?  What’s the worst that
could happen, he get upset and divorce me?  Best case scenario was that I got
spanked.  Oh, shucks. 

“I
was thinking I wanted you to spank me again.”

This
time when Mark jerked the wheel it was to catch an off-ramp at the last minute. 
He turned right at the stop sign at the end of the ramp, and started driving
down a rather desolate road.

I
let him drive in quiet for a few minutes, but when he turned off the paved
street onto a gravel road, I broke into his thoughts.  We were still
technically in sight of the highway, so I could make a run for it if need be.  I
asked, somewhat joking, “Is this when I find out you’re really a madman taking
me into the desert where no one can hear me scream to kill me?” 

He
took his focused eyes off of the road, and raked them down my body.  “No, this
is where I take you into the desert so no one can hear me spank you, then make
you scream with pleasure.”

Happy
shivers ran down my spine, gathering in my nether region.  Honesty was getting
me a spanking, so why not say what was on my mind?  “Okay, that just turned me
on and made me wet.”

“
Oh
yeah?” This time Mark didn’t take his eyes off the road, which I was a bit glad
of as we bumped over potholes.  Good thing we were in his Jimmy.  Mark reached
his right hand over, squeezed my thigh, and ran it up my inner thigh under my
dress.  “Yep, you’re wet,” he said, pressing his fingers against the thin satin
thong.