THAT MAN 4 (The Wedding Story-Part 1) (12 page)

“Good evening, Ms. McCoy.
That
man you’re looking at is Blake Burns, one of this country’s most dangerous sex addicts. Your mission, Jen, should you chose to accept it, is to capture Mr. Burns and make him come in his pants. As always, should you be caught in the act, my secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Jen.”

Jen’s laughter mixed with the sound of a loud explosion. The DVD had faded to black, but Jen was still laughing.

“Are you kidding me, Blake?” she managed.

“Mission accepted?” I asked matter-of-factly.

“Accepted.” Her voice was an octave lower and as sexy as sin.

“Excellent, Agent McCoy. You will need a special weapon to take him down.”
After getting him up.
“Open the bottom drawer.”

My cock already flexing, I waited impatiently as she did as I asked.

“Blake, a dildo?”

It was the biggest one I could find in the Gloria’s Secret catalogue and even had one of those rabbit attachments.

“Suck on it.”

Silence.

My cock rose another few inches. It was almost at full mast and as hard as rock.

“Lick it all over. Make it really wet. And don’t forget to kiss those cute little bunny ears. For. Me.”

While the line stayed quiet, I wished I’d Skyped with her. But as my father said, some things were best left to the imagination. Let me tell you, my mind’s eye was getting a workout. A wild one.

“Now what, Blake?” Her voice was breathy.

With my boner straining against my fly, I shifted a little on the bed. “I want you to pull up that pretty little skirt of yours and bend over my desk. Click on your weapon and aim for your clit. Keep the phone on speaker nearby. I want to hear you loud and clear.”

The buzz of the dildo sounded in my ear, but it was soon washed out by her loud whimpers. I’d preset the vibration mode to extreme pulsation.

“Good job, baby. Now for phase two of your mission. Stick your weapon up your pussy.”

“Okay,” she breathed. I could hear her panting and imagine the glorious sheen on her face as well as her adorable ass up in the air.

“Oh my God” were the next words I heard. I could no longer keep my throbbing cock in my pants. With a hiss, I zipped down my fly and out popped my whopper. Holding the phone to my ear, I began to stroke it with my free hand to the beat of her desperate whimpers. I squeezed my eyes shut as my balls tightened, and the madness between my thighs intensified with each long, hard stroke. Close to the edge, I picked up my pace, stroking fast and furiously. My breathing grew ragged.

“Blake, I can’t take this anymore,” she moaned into the phone.

“Stay with me, baby. You’re almost there.” My hand galloped along my massive shaft as I imagined her soaked, throbbing pussy. My head arched back as my pulsing cock raced to climax. Oh sweet Jesus. Filling and swelling. On the next harsh breath, I exploded with an epic release that could make the Guinness Book of Records.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath as a sweet cry of ecstasy sounded on the other end. I slowly peeled open my eyes and caught my breath.

“Tiger, are you there?”

Silence. Shit. Maybe she’d passed out. I imagined her collapsed over my desk.

“Tiger?”

“Blake.” Her voice was just a tiny whisper. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah, fucking amazing. You okay?”

“Yes. How did I do?”

“Baby, you can be on my team any day.” I glanced down at my glistening semi-erection.
Mission accomplished.

“I miss you, baby.”

“The same.” I crawled out of the bed, leaving my khakis behind though taking my phone with me. “I’ve got to wash up (oh boy, did I) and go out for dinner with my New York manager. I’ll call you later. Where are you going to be?”

“I have my rape support group after work.”

“Be careful. You know I don’t like that neighborhood at night.” I’d become as protective of her as I was possessive.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And then I’ll be home dealing with wedding stuff.”

At the word wedding, a chill skittered down my spine.

“Baby, if Kat harasses you, let me know. And don’t believe a word she says. There’s only you. Only you.”

Jennifer

I
missed Blake terribly. He’d been away for over a week. Yes, he sexted and Skyped me, and we’d even had outrageous phone sex, but this didn’t make up for not having him around. I missed falling asleep in his arms, and waking up on his chest, his heartbeat singing in my ears. And I missed seeing him at the office, sneaking kisses whenever we could. The touch and taste of his lips. Those kissable lips that had kissed me everywhere.

I was lonely. And a little on edge. Having Blake around made me feel safe and protected. The Springer incident had messed with my head. While we lived in a secure doorman building, an unexpected sound outside our apartment caused my heartbeat to accelerate, thinking someone might be trying to break in. And sometimes, I thought I was being followed, though when I glanced over my shoulder, no one was ever there. Other girls in my rape support group shared these insecurities. Dr. Williams, our group leader who had been a rape victim herself, said they were common.

Both Libby and Chaz were on the road—Chaz for trunk shows in major cities across the country and Libby for focus groups. Libby’s findings along with ratings and quantitative survey research would determine which Conquest Media Broadcasting shows of the new Fall season would stay on the schedule and which would be cancelled. I was thrilled my innovative block of women’s erotic romance programming—MY SIN-TV—had tested through the roof. To my utter delight, Blake had told me there was talk of expanding the block and even creating a spin-off 24/7 women’s erotica channel.

The only good thing about having Blake away was that I could focus on the wedding, especially at night. Every day after work, I came home to a boatload of gifts—so many that one of the building attendants had to pile them up on a dolly and cart them up to our apartment. Thank goodness, Blake had a spare bedroom. There was no place else to store all the boxes. It was almost filled to the hilt. The gifts came from all over the world, including a complete set of the eggcups from a Duchess in England who unfortunately couldn’t attend the wedding. I’d become a master of writing thank you notes to people I didn’t know.

E-mails from Enid besieged my inbox, and quite truthfully, I didn’t have the time to open and respond to all of them during my busy work day. Everyday, she updated me on the RSVP list. The pearl encrusted invitations had finally gone out—yes, packed inside giant iridescent seashells, twelve hundred in all. The betrothal of Blake Adam Burns to Jennifer Leigh McCoy was now official.

We were already at six hundred twenty guests. The list was growing exponentially and that meant yet more gifts. More thank you notes. I seriously couldn’t believe how many people the Bernsteins knew. Well-known television producers, directors, and stars were coming to the black tie affair from all over the world. And many politicians too. I perused the latest list. Oh my God. Even George Clooney and his new wife were coming. And so were Brangelina and the Clintons. I only hoped my mother could take a photo with Hilary.

Surveying the “C’s” on the latest RSVP list, I spotted Libby Clearfield’s name and wrinkled my brows. I’d invited both her and a guest—her longtime boyfriend Everett—but the response was not for “plus-one.” Libby, my maid of honor, was intending to attend my wedding solo. I immediately speed-dialed her cell phone, having no idea where or what time zone she was in. She picked up on the second ring.

“Hi, Jen. I just got home. A quick break until I do my Midwest groups. What’s up?” Her voice, so unlike her, sounded weary.

I got straight to the point. “Why aren’t you coming to my wedding with Everett?”

Silence. A long, tense silence. Finally, my bestie broke it. Her voice was small and shaky.

“Jen, I think I need to break up with him.”

I reflected on her word choice…
need.

“What do you mean?” Jen and Ev had been together forever, and despite the more than five thousand miles that separated them—she in LA and he in London on a Fulbright—neither had strayed from the other to the best of my knowledge. A moment of doubt hit me like a lightning bolt.

“Oh my God. Did Everett cheat on you?”

“Hardly,” she said, her voice now tearful. In a heartbeat, she began to cry, sobs beating into my ear. Something so, so out of character for my sassy best friend. My heart was melting.

“Lib, do you want to come over and talk?”

“I don’t want to intrude on you and Blake.” As close as we were, she was uncomfortable spending time in our condo. And because of the Springer shit that’d happened back in our little rented cottage, I was unable to go back there. Too many bad memories that ended in nightmares.

“Listen, Lib. Blake is out of town. Get your red curls over here, NOW.”

She was on her way.

*

Libby looked tired. Her eyes were bloodshot—either from crying or the lack of sleep or both. The glut of focus groups, incessant travel, and whatever she was going through emotionally had taken a toll on her. Dressed casually in jeans and a USC sweatshirt, my curvy full-figured friend plopped down on one of Blake’s oversized Italian leather armchairs while I went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of white wine and a pair of goblets.

I curled up on the matching leather couch catty-corner to her and filled the glasses.

She took a couple of slugs and her freckled face brightened. “Wow, this is good stuff.”

“Blake belongs to a wine club.” I took a sip. “But to be honest, I kind of miss our Two Buck Chuck.”

Libby smiled. “I’m still drinking it, but it’s not the same without you.”

I smiled back and then turned serious, ready for some answers. “Lib, what’s going on with you and Everett? Why isn’t he coming to the wedding?”

She exhaled. “It’s complicated. I still love him, but it’s not going to work out.”

I knitted my brows. “What do you mean?”

“He wants to stay in Europe. He’s been offered some associate professor position at a university in France. He’s been pressuring me to quit my job and join him.” She paused and took another sip of the wine. “Jen, I can’t. My life is here.”

“How long has this been going on?”

She ran her free hand through her flaming red mane. “A while.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“With all that’s going on with your job and the wedding, I just didn’t want to bog you down with my mess of a life. We’ve been fighting a lot. In fact, we just had one tonight.”

That explained the tears. Suddenly, I felt bad. Libby had always been there for me, but somehow I hadn’t reciprocated. At least, recently. I mentally kicked myself.

“You should have told me. But I’m glad you’re telling me now.”

Setting her depleted glass on the coffee table, she reached for the bottle and took a glog straight from it. So Libby. So us. I grabbed the bottle from her and did the same.

“Maybe it would be good if Everett came to the wedding and you could talk things through.” Poor Libby hadn’t seen him for almost a year. Her joke that her vagina was going to shrivel if she didn’t get laid was no joking matter.

Snatching the bottle from me, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. The wedding will give him the wrong idea. And it would be very hard on me. I’m going to break up with him. I just don’t know when, where, or how. I need to do it face to face. I owe him that.”

Her hazel eyes grew watery. An unsettling thought entered my mind. “Lib, are you okay with me getting married?” I wondered if maybe she was jealous or threatened. Or just plain sad.

She set the bottle down. “Oh, Jen, of course I am. I’m so thrilled for you and Blake.”

A bright smile lit my face. Despite initially not caring for my fiancé boss because she thought he was an arrogant, self-centered, egotistical jerk, which he sometimes still could be, my best friend had warmed up to him. Especially after he’d saved me from the monstrous Don Springer. A man who would slay for his woman scored big points in Libby’s book.

“I’m so happy you’re going to be my maid of honor,” I said, the warmth of her words spreading through me.

Libby’s lips flexed with a genuine smile. “Me too. I just wish I could be there for you more. This time of year is so busy for me. The focus groups won’t let up until right before your wedding.” She twirled a long, springy curl. “How’s it going with Enid and the bitch?”

I caught her up on the dress situation and the latest developments. Her freckles practically jumped off her face.

“Oh my God! It sounds hideous. There’s no way I’m letting her turn me into some sleazy sea siren. Chaz is going to design my dress too.”

“With your red hair, you’d make the perfect Ariel.”

“No fucking way.” She playfully threw a pillow at me.

“And listen to this, at each place setting, there’s going to be a snow globe with a live tropical fish inside. The take-home party favor.”

Libby made fish lips and held up the bottle. “To my best friend’s wedding!”