A night to remember
1230 Words
Emily nodded obediently.
Her eyes were glistening with desire and her hands were squeezing hard on the bed sheet.
“Use your words,” he whispered, his voice cold as death.
“I...” she said and stopped. She needed to fight this.
“Say it,”
“I want…I want it,” she forced it out.
“Good,” he replied with a smirk on his face.
She looked up to him with her ocean eyes as innocent as a dove, her body already pale of self-control. She wanted him and he could see it. it was written on her face and in the way her body had gone cold.
He looked down to his towel, raised his eyebrow and said, “do it.”
Emily traced his look to the towel and her heart thumped again— one thing was sure, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to seeing it.
“Come on,” he teased with that corky smirk curled up on his lips, “it doesn’t bite.”
Emily raised her head to him, but this time in disgust at his cheesy line. At the same time, it felt like everything she needed to hear. She faced the towel and tried to reach it with her right hand while her left hand squeezed hard on the bedsheet like it’d pierce it.
With each inch her hands get closer, her heart seems to double beat. Until she reached the towel and her hands felt stuck at it. ‘This is a bad idea,’ she thought.
“Any time now,” he whispered.
A short silence while her hands were still on the towel, feeling the hardness, tempted to grab it, to...
“F*ck it,” she whispered and she loosened the towel.
Her pupil dilated, and her heartbeat fastened like she had seen a ghost. There she was, staring at a nine inches long and fist thick c*ck in person —something she only thought existed in p*rn videos.
“I know you want it. But first, tell me, What would you do with it?”
Emily raised her head slowly, and while looking into his face, she didn’t wait for his approval; she just put it into her mouth. And she started with it.
He groaned, mourned, and bit his lower lips as she dealt with him like she was a professional. And about five minutes in, he stopped her and pushed her to lay on the bed.
Emily laid her back on the bed, watching him climb on the bed with his c*ck pointing at her.
He turned her around.
“Are you ready for it?” he asked.
Emily turned a bit to look at it, and before she could say anything, he went in with his hugeness. As he entered her, she squeezed her face, squinted her eyes, and her hands tightened on the bed sheet. It was the first time that she was taking in something so huge.
He brought it out and then back in again.
Shock waves traveled around her body each time he went in with his hugeness but she couldn’t ask him to stop, it was hitting all the right places.
He continued for another hour, tossing her around the bed and changing positions.
…
Emily gasped awake, her shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. She looked around the room and panic gripped her. And as fear started to mount up in her, she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping against hope that it was all a dream and that none of it actually happened. But even with her eyes shut, the memory was still replaying in her head.
Every pound, how she took it all in, nine f*cking inches...
“What the f*ck have I done?” she asked. The plan and confidence-boost-extra-shots-of-vodka all down the drain.
Just as she was opening her eyes, her phone dinged and it was a message from Abel. Almost rolling her eyes, she tossed the phone back to the bed. The last thing she needed was an episode from Abel. Besides, it was her day off and... Emily squeezed her forehead and picked up the phone again.
“Holy mother of...” It was already nine am, eight hours before the wedding and she's yet to cancel.
She jumped out of bed, got dressed as fast she could and rushed out of the room with her bag and shoes barely fitting into one hand. She followed the lonely passage to the stairs and continued until she reached the foyer. She didn't see anyone.
What that meant was that she could be alone. She could leave now and never return. She could ditch the wedding and take enough time to think of another plan. The kind of plan that would not lead to another nightstand—just the thought of the last one made her flinch.
Emliy, excited yet slolwy, reached for the fourteen-inch door handle, her fingers trembling as she tried to open the door.
And...
"Ms. Emily? She heard her name.
Emily froze, the voice hitting her like a bullet through her chest, leaving her cold turkey. 'So much for being alone' she thought as she turned around slowly to see it belonged to the pigface butler.
"Is everything okay, Ms. Emily?" He asked, "You seem to be..." He looked to her hands and back to her face before continuing, "in a hurry."
“Yes...I... I mean, no, umm. No, why do you ask?” Emily asked but felt stupid at the same time. Who wouldn't ask if they had met her like this?
The Butler kept quiet for a few seconds, like he was purposefully making her feel stupid for asking.
"Nothing," he finally said, breaking the silence. "Just that your makeup artist would be here in an hour, and of course, your gown will not take as much time, and I wanted to"
"Cancle them." Emily interjected, "Cancel everyone of them.”
“Beg your pardon, ma?” His eyebrow is raised now.
“Cancel them. The make-up artist, the gown, everything. Cancle everything"
"I am sorry, Ms. Emily, but the wedding is in..."
"Just do what I say! Okay? cancle them," Emily shouted.
The butler went quiet for a few seconds before continuing.
"He booked them himself, Ms. Emily."
"Well, tell him to cancel."
"I cannnot Ms. Emily"
"Then I'd tell him myself. Where is he?"
“I am afraid that’s not possible, Ms. Emily.”
“What do you mean that’s not possible?” Emily asked. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.
“He’s not here, Ms. Emily.”
Emily took a step closer, her eyes bleeding with interest. “Are you sure?”
“He left this morning, Ms. Emily. He had business to deal with.”
“But that's exactly what you said yesterday and guess who showed up?”
The Butler didn’t reply. Instead, he just stared at her.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I am sorry for my misinformation yesterday,” he said, “but he’s not here today, Ms. Emily. You’d see him before the wedding.”
"Before the wedding," Emily chuckled, "F*ck it."
“Where are you going, ma?”
“Home.”
“But the wedding, Ms. Emily?”
“There isn’t going to be one.” She slammed the door.
- Writer
