My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Who can do the most? Winner takes home this brand-new Buick!

“Like this, Abi. Did you forget how?” I can’t decide if she’s teasing me about my lack of sex or that I’m stupid. I decide it must be the latter since she thinks I’m on my honeymoon getting sexed up non-stop. “Or are you just worn out from showboating with that backbend?”

“Come back to me, Abigail. I need you,” Lorenzo groans, and any competition, real or imagined, with Emily floats away when I meet his eyes.

I push forward into my shoulders, and my clit rubs along his length, drawing a hiss from Lorenzo. A surge of power rushes through me. I’m in control of his pleasure, his pain, his everything right now, and he has to lie there and take it from me as he begs for more. I’m not usually dominant in bed. I prefer a more equal sporting event if I’m honest, but this excites me.

I glide down his body, enjoying the way the head of his cock bumps over my clit and down my slit. I’m giving him pleasure as I take some of my own. Amalya might’ve said this was a give or take position, but I’m finding it to be quite give and take.

I find a rhythm and pace that I can maintain, and the flow up and down Lorenzo’s length is driving us both mad. My breath is panting, my brow sweaty, and my eyes are locked on his as we reach higher and higher.

Around us, the intrusive sound of grunts tells me we’re not the only ones, but I focus solely on Lorenzo now.

He groans deeply, and then, despite the rules of the pose, his hands slap down on my ass, stilling me fiercely. In his grip, I can’t move an inch, can only feel the pulsing throb of his cock against my clit. I raise my brows and he shakes his head slowly. “Not here. Not our first time.”

Sweet. Sexy. Man.

Oh, shit . . . he said first time! Did Emily hear that? That’ll ruin everything. I pale and look over, half expecting to see her evil smile of ‘gotcha’ at discovering our charade, but I find her shuddering on top of Doug, who seems pretty pulled together and clear-eyed.

Did she? Did he? Oh, my God. Seriously?

Wait, don’t answer that, universe. I do not want to know.

As if the universe is actually granting wishes, Amalya calmly advises, “Last but not least, please find your way into any comfortable position that has you and your partner connected. This could be spooning, on your backs holding hands, on top of one another, et cetera. The connection is the important thing.”

Lorenzo and I lie on our sides facing one another with our hands and legs interwoven between us. Eyes locked on one another, I try to read what lurks in his. Hunger and lust are easy to see. But could there be more? Do I even want more? I certainly don’t have time for it beyond this week. Hell, I don’t even have time for more this week!

But I let that go and simply stare into his eyes as Amalya leads us through a guided meditation of connection and hope for our future as couples. It’s lovely, though I couldn’t tell you a thing she says because I’m too caught up in what Lorenzo’s eyes might be saying.Chapter 12LorenzoAfter that sexy version of yoga, Abigail and I get lunch. I’m hungry for her, not food. But it’s the only thing that allows us to escape from Emily and Doug without agreeing to another double date.

“I think she actually rubbed one off on Doug,” Abigail whispers conspiratorially as though she didn’t nearly do the same thing to me.

“Ah, to each their own.” I shrug, unconcerned with anyone else’s proclivities. “I am relieved they had a moment to themselves and left us alone.”

“Barely.” Abigail shudders as though she’s still picturing Emily and Doug having a bit of exhibitionistic playtime.

I take her hand in mine across the table and pull her attention back to us. She laughs a tinkly sound of disbelief. “This is so crazy,” she confesses.

“What is?”

“You. Me. Us. This whole scheme. I knew it’d all come back to bite me in the ass. I just didn’t know how. I certainly never would’ve imagined this in a million years.”

“Scheme?”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m to blame for the whole Violet and Ross fiasco.”

“Fiasco? You mean their happy marriage and new child? Blame doesn’t seem the correct word.” I get it, my English is good, but sometimes, a usage confuses even me.

For example, I heard a comedian once joking that if you’re ‘the shit’, that’s a good thing. But if you’re just ‘shit’, that means you’re an awful human being. Nuances are tricky things.

But blame? That has a negative connotation that doesn’t fit with the smiles I see on my cousin’s face each time I spend the day with her.