Hopelessly Devoted (4 page)

“It’s Greased Lightning,” I whispered in awe as I moved toward the car. It looked like it had just come off the set of the
Grease
movie, complete with silver and red flames running over the pristine white paint. I skimmed my fingers over the metal of the hood. “This is the same car Danny drove in the race. He took Sandy to the drive-in and gave her his ring.” I grinned, and I swear my face split in two. My cheeks ached.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you know the model.” Paul chuckled, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He turned me, making me focus my attention on him instead of on the incredible machine, and pushed me against it so my ass hit the metal. “It’s all ours until tomorrow when we fly out for our honeymoon, Mr. Jennings-Connor,” Paul said as he licked a stripe up the side of my throat to end at my ear.

“Mmm, don’t we have to... be somewhere?” Paul’s tongue was doing a number on my brain, so much so that I almost forgot we had to get back to the city to attend our reception. It wouldn’t be the same if the grooms didn’t show.

“Hmm, you’re right. But we have a little time yet, and it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t show you something first. Come on, get in.”

The something Paul wanted to show me was how quickly he could make me come by fucking me over the hood while parked at a private and secluded beach not far from the manor. Turns out, pretty damn fast. Just the idea of sitting in the car had me hard, but when Paul bent me over and pressed my cheek into the cool metal of the hood, at the same time working his cock inside me, he had me coming in seconds and him filling my ass a moment later. His large body covered mine as we caught our breath. Paul ran his hands down my sides, as we silently looked over the glistening water before us, his cheek pressed to mine.

“I love you, my husband,” Paul whispered, without moving his face from where it rested on mine. “After the reception, I promise to make love to you slowly. It will be neither hard nor fast, and I will worship your body till you are boneless in my arms, resting like a prince.” He kissed my cheek before snuggling against me again.

“You know I don’t mind hard and fast. That, just now, was pretty damn fine, but I’ll be willing to forego the reception so you can keep your promise.”

“Nice try, babe.”

“Thanks. It was worth a shot.”

We stayed glued together for some time, happy to watch the play of lights over the water before us and were even content with the awkward position, until the mess demanded to be cleaned.

Somebody
had thought ahead and stashed a packet of wet wipes in the glove compartment, so I used them to clean the car, making sure she gleamed once again, before picking my pants up.

Paul laughed as he kissed my cheek. “Always putting somebody else first, babe. Even an inanimate object.”

I mock-glared at him.

“Do your pants up and get in. There’s a party going on and you’re not going to want to miss it.”

Paul refused to tell me what was going on, but it soon became clear the Plaza reception wasn’t happening.

Paul drove us from the private beach to his parents’ retreat in East Hampton with a stupid grin on his face, and as we made our way up the long drive, the sound of fifties music became clearer.

I looked at Paul and raised an eyebrow, but instead of an explanation, I received instructions. He parked the car and led me to the gardener’s cottage that sat to the left of the main building, while rambling off a to-do list.

“Now, when you get inside, go to the second bedroom. Your clothes are on the hanger behind the door.” Paul pulled his phone from his pocket and took a quick look at a text before putting it away. “Everyone’s ready. Don’t question it, babe. Just get changed, and I’ll meet you out here in ten minutes. Okay?”

I stared at him, uncomprehending. All I could think about was the Plaza. I was prepared for the Plaza. I knew what was going to happen
at the Plaza.
Now I knew nothing. I didn’t know what to expect, and it was freaking me out a little.

Paul caressed my shoulders, obviously sensing my panic. “Breathe, babe. I’m right here.” I stared mutely at him. “Do you trust me?” I think I nodded. Whatever I did had Paul smiling again. “Would a blowjob help?”

I shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Paul laughed, then kissed me softly. “Go get changed. I promise you’ll like it.”

“No Plaza?”

“No Plaza.”

I grinned. “Okay, but you owe me a blowjob.”

My Danny Zuko costume was waiting for me, and I think I stared at it for longer than I should have. I realized then what Paul meant when he said the ceremony was for everyone else.

This was for us.

I quickly shed my tuxedo, changed into Danny, and when I opened the door, Kenickie was waiting for me, cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

The sight of him nearly knocked me on my ass. “Is that blowjob still on offer?”

Paul chuckled and tucked the cigarette behind his ear. “Later, I promise.”

Kissing me quickly, he grabbed my hand and led me out of the cottage and into the main house. There was no one around as we walked through the main hall, our boots making dull thumps on the marble tile, the music becoming louder as we headed toward the rear of the building.

Just as I went to open one of the back doors that led out to the terrace and gardens, the music stopped. Paul turned me to face him.

“Are you breathing?” he asked.

I took a deep breath to make sure. “Yes, surprisingly.”

Paul’s grin was wide. “I wanted to make this special for you. I knew you were anxious about the Plaza and all the guests, and I nearly told you it wasn’t happening a dozen times. But I didn’t want to miss the look on your face when you see what’s outside.” Paul took my hands in his and kissed each knuckle, making my lungs seize. Even though he’d married me and declared his everlasting love and devotion in front of half of New York’s VIPs, I still had trouble believing the most gorgeous man on the planet was mine. “I love you, Mr. Jason Jennings-Connor,” he continued. “Let’s party.”

Paul opened a set of French doors and led me onto the terrace, his arm tight around my waist. Just as well because I would’ve fallen over if it wasn’t for his comforting and grounding grip. As we stepped out, the music started again, and
You’re The One That I Want
came blaring through the speakers.

Brightly colored lights lit up the large grassed area, and tall potted trees framed two parallel sides, marking the way down to the private beach in the distance. The effect made the expansive grounds feel more intimate, yet still open. The night was clear and warm. The moon hung just above the horizon, and it sparkled off the water like diamonds. In the middle of the lawn was a parquet dance floor and partly hidden off to the side was a DJ and a small wet bar. Tables and chairs were placed strategically around the perimeter, and servers weaved in amongst the guests with platters of food and champagne flutes. It wasn’t the serving trays that distinguished the waiters, but more so their attire. They were the only ones dressed in black-tie. Seeing it all laid out before me confirmed my suspicions that a wedding planner had been discreetly engaged.

Paul squeezed my waist in a reminder to breathe. Apart from the servers, everyone was in costume. I don’t mean
any
kind of costume, I mean fifties style,
Grease
costumes. Pink ladies, T-birds, teen angels, and Eugenes were everywhere.

“Holy. Shit,” I whispered. Paul squeezed my side again. “You did this for me?”

“Have you not worked out how much I love you yet?”

“I think if I don’t know now, I’m an idiot.”

Paul laughed and kissed the side of my head. “Tell me what you don’t see.”

I scanned the crowd, who were looking at Paul and me, waiting for us to do something. Some were drinking from their champagne flutes while talking softly, and I think I saw Mrs. Connor—who made a mean-looking Rizzo—dab her eye with a tissue when she saw us emerge from the house.

It dawned on me what was missing. “Where are the Dannys and Kenickies?”

“There aren’t any. There is only one Danny and Kenickie, babe. Right here.” He kissed my temple again, and I melted at his side.

“I freaking love you.”

Before I could tear up, the music changed, and Paul led me down the steps to the dance floor. We weren’t announced, like many other couples are when making their grand entrance. We simply walked down the steps, arms around each other’s waist, as
Hopelessly Devoted
came through the speakers. My new husband guided me to the dance floor, took me in his arms, and we swayed to the music together. Paul sang to me, his face buried in my hair as his warm breath ghosted over my skin. I was only vaguely aware of the guests dancing around us, joining us in what I then realized was our wedding waltz.

The music stopped, and before the DJ moved on to another song, Paul raised his hand and made a circling motion in the air to repeat the track. He did that three times while not moving his face from its position buried in my neck, his arms wrapped tight around me as we danced slowly to the music.

After the fourth time, I tapped Paul’s shoulder. “Umm, Paul. I think we should greet our guests now?”

“Screw them, I’m staying here. This is our time,” he said into my neck.

“I think your mom wants a dance. We’ll have more time later.”

Paul reluctantly raised his head and kissed me sensuously, heedless of the well-wishers standing around waiting to congratulate us all over again.

I danced with Sophia, then Mrs. Connor, who was still sniffling into a tissue, albeit mindful of her makeup. I danced with Paul Senior and even though it raised a few eyebrows, he took it in his stead. I didn’t care. I shook hands and air-kissed with the best of them. I was having such a good time, I forgot about my anxiety and found I could hold a conversation with businessmen and socialites alike. I guess it helped that they all looked like they’d stepped off the set of
Grease
.

The music was mixed; some more popular songs were intertwined with the
Grease
soundtrack and other hits from the fifties. Every time a
Grease
song came on, the dance floor was filled to the point that some people didn’t bother trying to make it onto the wooden platform; they just danced where they were.

Delicate canapés and champagne were never-ending, the waiters making sure no one’s glass was empty. Yet the waiters were so discreet and fluid I hardly noticed them.

There weren’t as many guests at the party as had filled the manor for the ceremony, and Paul explained that
we—
I use that term loosely since I was psyching myself up for all the glitz and glamour of the Plaza—decided on something low-key, just for family and close friends. That still equated to about two hundred people. But at least there were no paparazzi.

Paul and I cut the cake, which was a traditional three-tiered affair but with the Grease car on top with Danny and Kenickie sitting in the front seat, their arms around each other’s shoulders. I was pleased when Paul told me the model was ceramic and not made of some fancy edible marzipan. It would take pride of place on our mantel.

We danced, ate, mingled, drank, sang, and danced some more. It was the perfect night. It wasn’t until late, when the party started to die down and Paul and I were the only ones on the dance floor, swaying to our song that I asked him about our honeymoon destination. Up until then it had been a secret, with Paul and the rest of his tight-lipped family refusing to tell me.

“Where did Danny’s love interest come from?” Paul asked, lifting his head from my shoulder and staring into my eyes. His were a little mischievous for my liking.

“Kenickie is from the same town as Danny.”

“Not Kenickie. Sandy.”

“Oh. I don’t see Sandy anymore. My Sandy has a cocky smirk, a penis, and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. But
she
was from Sydney.” It took me another second to realize what Paul had just told me.

“Oh my god! We’re going to Australia!”

R.J. JONES started as a reader and eventually made the progression to reviewing. It wasn’t until two men popped into her thoughts, insisting on telling her their story that she started to write.

It started with one scene. A hot and dirty one in the shower...

R.J.’s initial thought was if she could write their scene then they’d shut up and allow her to concentrate on other aspects of her day. Not so. That shower scene ended up being 3000 words long and three hours of work. And still, they didn’t shut up. They told her their entire story and she didn’t sleep for days. Sometimes she couldn’t keep up with what they were telling her and she had to keep a notebook by her bed.

Whilst she was writing their story a side character decided he needed his story told too. Then other characters followed suit.

You see the problem? If she ever wants to sleep again then she needs to write.

R.J. is a wife and a mother to two boys. She is surrounded by males. Even her dog is a boy.

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