her everything she needed to know.
She grasped desperately at Michael’s arms, first the one that still held her hair, then the one that was working inside her—holy shit, that felt good!
Avery spread her legs farther and rocked back and forth as Michael began to finger-fuck her. Desperately hungry, she clawed at the front of his tuxedo, cursing buttons and clasps as she fucked herself onto him. He gave her two fingers; when he brought his thumb into the mix, working her clit while her hips worked, her eyes rolled back and she all but tore his tuxedo pants open.
Michael’s hard cock popped free; she went lunging for it, and his hand tightened in her hair.
“Say please.”
“Pretty please,” Avery responded, with not a hint of a smile on her face. This was serious business. “Pretty please, Mr. Vance. Pretty please, may I suck your big cock, sir?”
“My God, you’re a filthy …” His epithet stalled in his mouth, because he’d loosened his grip on her hair and she’d lunged smoothly forward, her red-painted lips gliding down his full shaft before he even knew what was happening. With his left hand now free, Michael reached down to caress Avery’s nipples; she squirmed and rocked on his fingers as she slurped, both hands circling the base and caressing his balls.
There was a loud knock at the door.
Avery’s wet mouth came free. “Go away!” she called. “I’m still getting ready!”
“We can’t find—” It was her father’s voice.
Her mother hissed furiously, almost inaudible, “Don’t tell her that!”
“But we can’t find the groom,” said her father, his stage whisper as inexpert as only a sixty-year-old man having kittens can produce. “Where’s Michael?”
“He’ll be here!” cried Mom. “Let’s leave her alone!”
Long before that last statement, Avery’s mouth had returned to her paramour’s cock, gliding quickly up and down as she looked up at his brightening eyes. He worked a third finger into her, the tightness of her sex making him need to press harder to keep his thumb firm on her clit. She could not suppress the deep, throaty moan that made her lips tremble around Michael’s cock.
“Careful. They’re all waiting. They’re downstairs in the garden. They can hear every moan.”
Avery shivered all over, mounting quickly toward orgasm. She pumped onto his hand, thinking desperately, They can. They can hear when I moan. They can hear it. Oh, God …
Then she came, her hips going crazy as she shook all over, her moans stifled by Michael’s cock deep in her mouth—so deep she would have choked if, expert that she was, she hadn’t taken a breath before climaxing.
As the last of her orgasm pulsed through her body, Avery slipped her wet mouth off Michael’s big shaft and, stroking it with her hand, looked up at him. “Fuck me, Mr. Vance?”
“Spread wider,” he told her, and she did, relinquishing her grip on his cock and reaching down to steady her thighs as she held them wide open for him. Michael positioned himself, guiding his rod to her sex, plucking the slim, white lace thong out of the way, and looked deep into her eyes as he nuzzled his cock head up and down in her slit.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” She could not stop saying it; her cunt was so sensitive from the explosive orgasm she’d just had that the gentle touch of his cock head against her opening was enough to make her shudder all over.
Michael grinned. He did not intend to stay gentle for long.
Avery’s back arched; she lunged to embrace him as he penetrated her, but Michael’s hand rested in the center of her chest, holding her at bay while he entered her fully. Her mouth opened wide and she shuddered in soundless moans, unable to find the breath to cry out as he fucked her. He held her, one hand on her chest, the other languidly grasping one knee, helping hold her open, exposing her sex as his hips began to work.
“I’m going to come again,” she said softly, her voice all but ravished by pleasure. Michael withdrew his hand from her chest and put it on her clit, fingers splayed where her pubic hair had been. His thumb worked her clit in small circles, teasing gently at first and then harder, harder, rubbing fiercely as he pumped his cock into her, seizing her eyes with his own, looking deep into her as she trembled all over and came hard—and then Michael let go, fucking deep inside her and coming while she breathed a deep sigh and accepted him.
“Ready for marriage?” he asked as he withdrew.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Still got plans for that four-poster bed?”
Michael grinned and zipped up. He helped Avery to her feet and the two began working furiously to right her corset and her dress. It was not quite perfection, but after a touch-up of her lipstick, she looked rather like a bride who’d been crying.
“Just stick to the story,” said Michael. “You’re crying from happiness—not because you’ve been deep-throating cock.” “You’re a savage,” said Avery.
Michael cinched up her corset, bent her over and smoothed down her dress.
At the door, Daddy pounded desperately, in hysterics. “Av, we can’t find Michael! He’s nowhere to be found! Have you seen him?”
Michael winked, said, “Think eighties teen comedy,” and his lean, six-foot-four frame went smoothly out the window. She heard him climbing the drainpipe and scrambling onto the roof. She thought, Well, that’s it, I’ll be marrying a corpse.
But there was no crash or thump, no great cry of a groom with a broken back—just the thunder of footsteps on the roof, and the climb down the far side; for fuck’s sake, that man sure had feet.
If anyone missed the thumping sound of Michael leaping off the rear deck onto the gazebo, they were clueless—but then, this was her family.
When she opened the door to embrace her hysterical father, Avery really was crying—with a great explanation.
“I don’t have anything borrowed!” she cried.
“Jesus Christ!” cursed her father, and she clutched him tightly, then winked at her mom—who, from the suspicious look on her face, knew exactly what she’d been doing in there.
Outside, she heard cheers and people crying out Michael’s name. “Oh, thank God,” said her father. “He’s shown up.”
“Look at that,” said her mother. “He hadn’t sped away in that goddamned jalopy of his, after all.”
“Yeah, he was busy,” said Avery, taking pleasure in her shamelessness; it still eluded her father, but Mom rolled her eyes—a mother knows.
Outside, Pachelbel’s “Canon” was playing; tradition, right?
Avery kissed her father on the cheek. “Come on, Dad. Walk me down the aisle.”
“With pleasure,” he said, relaxing with a sigh.
She wiggled, straightening her dress. She felt suddenly lucky. She
