A Girl Walks Into a Wedding Read online

  ‘The redhead or the brunette?’ Lisa asks.

  ‘The redhead. She keeps looking over here.’

  Lisa waves at her.

  ‘You know her?’ you ask.

  ‘Never set eyes on her in my life. But I have until tomorrow morning to make up for that tragedy.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do it. I’ve never had a one-night stand.’

  ‘What?’ Lisa looks genuinely shocked. ‘Never?’

  You shake your head.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing. There’s something incredibly liberating about it. You don’t have to worry about tomorrow or the next day, or whether they like you, or whether they’ll call back. And the sex is usually awesome.’

  ‘It’s not that I’ve never wanted to have one, I’ve just never had the opportunity.’

  ‘Well, if you can’t get laid on a weekend like this, then you should go home, buy stretch pants and get five cats. Who here takes your fancy?’

  You look around. There’s a raucous group of men in a corner, but they’re not a very likely-looking bunch – one is in a French maid’s outfit, with one of those tacky ball-and-chains attached to his ankle.

  ‘What about him?’ Lisa asks, nodding towards a man sitting alone at a table. He’s older, with the casual confidence of someone who’s at home in his own skin. He’s wearing dark jeans and a linen shirt. His head is clean-shaven, but in that sexy, intentional way, not in a sad, balding Uncle-Vinnie way. And he has light, grey-flecked stubble covering his chin. You’re not sure if it’s the bald head or the rugged features, but there’s something Bruce Willis about him.

  ‘He’s okay,’ you shrug.

  ‘I don’t play for that team, but if I did, I’d do him,’ Lisa says.

  ‘Okay, so he’s hot and he’s alone, but how do you know he’s not a serial killer, or even worse, a lawyer?’

  ‘You don’t have to settle down with the man and have his babies! Hell, you don’t even have to have sex with him, but what’s the harm in saying “Hi”? Watch and learn,’ Lisa says, getting up.

  ‘Wait, I thought this was a girls’ night out,’ you say, grabbing her arm.

  ‘Last time I looked, she was very much a girl,’ Lisa says, nodding towards the redhead.

  ‘No, Lisa, come back, I hate you!’ you call after her, but she’s already halfway across the bar. Your face burns as she strikes up a conversation with the older guy. He glances at you, then back at Lisa, then he laughs out loud. He’s even more handsome when he laughs. He has one of those sexy dimples in the middle of his chin, and deep lines running from his nose to his mouth. It’s too mortifying to watch any more, so you focus on your martini.

  When you finally build up the courage to glance his way again, he’s no longer at his table and Lisa is chatting to the redhead. You’re flooded with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Maybe he’s married, or maybe he just didn’t like the look of you.

  You flash back to your hideous bridesmaid’s dress. What was Jane thinking? Wedding hysteria is the only explanation. Just your luck that when she goes into a flat spin, the first thing to go is her sense of style. But there’s something else niggling at you. Tom. Her fiancé. You like him – he’s a sweet, easy-going guy, which makes him good at his job as a vet – but you’re not entirely sure he’s right for her. He’s a bit … well, predictable.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you were drinking to forget or drinking to remember, but hopefully this will do the trick.’ The Bruce Willis lookalike appears next to you, holding a fresh martini in one hand (no olives) and a whisky in the other. He’s even better-looking close up. You’d first thought he was more handsome when he smiled, but now, as he stands there with his jaw set, it’s his serious face that does it for you.

  ‘I think I’m drinking to forget,’ you say. ‘You?’

  ‘A little bit of both. Mind if I join you?’

  You nod, not sure if you want to thank Lisa or thump her.

  ‘Guy problems?’ he asks.

  ‘Sort of, but he’s not my guy. I’m not sure about my best friend’s fiancé.’

  ‘Good thing you’re not the one marrying him then.’

  He’s got a point.

  ‘So what did my friend say to get you to come over here?’ you ask.

  ‘She said you only had twenty-four hours left to live, and chatting to me was your dying wish.’

  ‘I’m going to kill her!’ You shoot an evil glance across to where Lisa is now nose-to-nose with her redhead.

  ‘If you live long enough.’

  ‘So what shall we drink to, other than me not actually dying in the next twenty-four hours of anything other than embarrassment?’

  ‘Actually, my divorce came through today,’ he says.

  ‘Um … congratulations, or commiserations, whichever is required.’

  He clinks glasses with you and smiles. ‘Marriage isn’t for the faint-hearted. I’m a pilot, I wasn’t around very much, so she left me. By the time I saw the writing on the wall, it was too late to do anything about it. He’s a lot younger than me, I’m coming to terms with it, that’s where the whisky comes in.’

  ‘Well, you’re a good-looking man, and a pilot. You’ll be dating again before you know it.’

  ‘I haven’t been on a date in twenty years. I may be a bit rusty. What have I missed?’

  ‘Not much actually, it’s still as archaic as it was back then. The good guys are few and far between, and the ones you want to call back rarely do.’

  ‘Oh come on, a girl as pretty as you must have them dangling from her fingertips.’

  For some reason, instead of being put off by this cheesy line, your tummy twists in that deliciously knotty way. Or it could be the effects of the second martini. ‘But seriously,’ he continues, ‘you may need to give me a couple of dating pointers. For example, how do I know if a girl likes me?’

  You study him carefully. ‘Well, you have to keep your eye open for some of the more subtle hints. For starters, she might play with her hair,’ you say, twiddling a strand of hair between your fingers.

  ‘And what if I like her back, how do I let her know?’

  ‘Try touching her arm casually in the course of the conversation. And you have quite a sexy smile, so you should definitely use that.’

  Without missing a beat, he puts his hand on your arm. ‘I’ll be sure to give that a try.’

  ‘Practice makes perfect.’

  ‘What about taking things to the next level with someone I think is really sexy? How would I do that?’

  ‘You could ask her out to dinner, seduce her with your charm, and then later, if you’re lucky, you might be able to lure her up to your room – if you happened to be staying in this hotel, for example.’ You can’t believe these words are coming out of your mouth. What’s got into you?

  He swirls the ice in his drink, then slays you with another Bruce Willis smile before saying, ‘I’m starving – how about we get a bite to eat?’

  Your heart skips a beat. Of course he’s too old for you in the long term, but he’s super-hot, charming and a pilot, so would you consider it in the short term? Lisa was right: this is your chance to have a wild one-night stand.

  And why not? You’ve only been on one date with Steve, it’s not like you’re committed to him. And after that disastrous dress fitting, you could not only do with a confidence boost and a mood lifter, but a little cardio workout too.

  So that’s it then: you’re going to shag this bloke, whether he likes it or not.

  You look around for Lisa, who seems to have disappeared. You notice that there’s no sign of the redhead either. You send her a text: ‘Don’t wait up.’

  She texts back: ‘U neither. And BTW make sure u Shag Hard with a Vengeance.’

  To go to dinner with the pilot, go to page 185.

  To go straight to his hotel room for your first ever one-night stand, go to page 196.

  You go to dinner with the pilot

  ‘So how do you feel about Fren
ch food?’ the pilot asks you.

  ‘I’m a fan,’ you say, ‘except for snails. But I didn’t know there was a French restaurant in this village.’

  ‘There isn’t. But there are plenty to choose from in Paris.’

  You cock your head at him.

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I only really need to be back here by Saturday evening for a family dinner. So I could have you back by then, if that works for you?’

  ‘Wait. You’re suggesting we go to France?’

  ‘Oui!’

  ‘Just for dinner?’

  ‘Well, since today is a pretty momentous occasion, and I’m a pilot with access to a private jet all weekend, and this is my first date in twenty years, I thought maybe we should make it a little more memorable than the Slug and Lettuce, or whatever the local is called. What do you say?’

  ‘But surely you’re not allowed to fly after drinking?’ you ask, nodding at the whisky he’s nursing.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly fly, I have a guest to entertain. And it just so happens my co-pilot is on standby the whole weekend. Wait, what about your passport?’

  ‘It’s at my hotel. I never leave home without it – I may or may not have been a secret agent in a previous life.’

  ‘Well, then it’s entirely up to you. Donkey burger at the local or Alain Ducasse for anything except snails?’

  A million thoughts whip through your head. You could be back in time for the wedding, and you really do only live once …

  ‘Let’s do it!’ you say.

  ‘Fantastic. The name’s Jack, by the way.’ He touches your cheek, then calls to the barman for the bill.

  Paris. In a jet. With a pilot. ‘Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker,’ you whisper under your breath.

  ‘That’s quite some bathtub,’ you say, standing in the door of the suite’s immaculate bathroom, looking at an enormous and elegant tub that’s just begging for champagne, bubbles and an hour-long soak.

  ‘Do you think there’s room for two?’ Jack says from behind you, lodging his chin on your shoulder.

  ‘I think we’d be wrong not to try and see.’

  ‘I’ll get the champagne,’ Jack says as you turn on the taps, running your fingers through the water to get the temperature right, your heart starting to race with anticipation. You light the candles strategically placed around the bathroom, then decant the contents of a bottle of bubbles into the water, as steam and scent fills the room.

  You and Jack arrived in Paris just in time to enjoy a spectacular and snail-free late dinner at Le Cinq, the hotel’s Michelin-starred restaurant, and despite the five courses and vintage wine, you’re not even slightly drowsy. You gaze out of the sash window, which frames a view of the skyline and the Champs-Élysées, elegant fairy lights glittering in the trees lining the boulevard.

  You can barely believe you’re here. You can’t wait to tell Lisa about your adventure, starting with the flight in the Learjet – who knew such a relatively small plane could be so luxurious? Perhaps tomorrow you’ll have time to explore the arrondissement’s upscale boutiques, and buy her a present to thank her for introducing you to Jack. It’s turning into the best one-night stand ever – beyond even Lisa’s wildest dreams.

  Jack returns and hands you a glass of champagne. ‘To Paris,’ he says.

  You clink your glass against his and you both take a sip, then he places his glass down on the edge of the bath, and steps towards you, taking your head in his hands as he kisses you with the kind of passion usually reserved for classic books and black and white movies.

  You push his jacket off his shoulders and undo the buttons of his shirt. He tugs your dress up over your head, and you both slip wordlessly out of your shoes.

  You feel momentarily shy standing almost naked in front of him, so you cover your chest with your arms. Sensing your shyness, Jack turns and dims the light so the room is bathed in the flickering caress of candlelight. As he does so, you slip out of your knickers and step carefully into the bath, sinking into the oil-slick-ened water, feeling it envelop your naked body.

  You shift forward in the bath and turn off the taps as Jack climbs in behind you. With a contented sigh, you lean back against him, his legs on either side of your body, relishing the strength of his chest against your back.

  He takes a large, soft sponge and lathers it up. Then, starting at your shoulder, he runs it slowly down your one arm, and then the other. Returning to your neckline, he sponges his way up your neck to your ear, and then back down again, stopping to soap the sponge once again before running it down your chest, then first over one breast, and then the other. The scrape of the sponge pauses for the briefest moment before it passes your nipple, which hardens to a nub the second he wipes the silken lather over it.

  Jack’s hand sinks into the heated water as the sponge travels down your belly again, while he caresses your earlobe with his other hand. Then slowly, slowly he runs the sponge over your pussy, and you drop your head back onto his shoulder and close your eyes, pleasure mounting as his cock hardens. You can feel it pressing into the base of your spine where your bodies meet, just a skin of warm water between you.

  You let out a little groan as Jack rubs the sponge between your legs once, then again slightly harder, before returning it to your collarbone, and starting his journey once more. First each arm, and then your breasts again, this time running his hand over one breast, his fingertips teasing the nipple, while he strokes the sponge over the other.

  He kisses your neck as he drops the sponge back down into the water, his other hand still entertaining your nipple, and you feel the sponge back between your legs. He runs it up and down your slit, increasing the pressure on every pass. You tilt your pelvis towards the sponge, trying to increase the pressure against your clit, and you take small bites at the side of Jack’s neck and his earlobe, urging him on with small moans, your breath quickening.

  You squeal as you feel a rush of water against your skin, as a dozen or so strategically placed spa jets come to life. One is angled so that the strong stream of water strikes your pussy. You place your feet on either side of the taps, so the jet hits your clit directly. Jack abandons the sponge, and you feel his fingers slipping inside you as the jet of water pulses against you. First just the one finger, and then, when you can barely stand it any more, you feel him filling you up.

  Your skin is soft and oily against his as you buck your hips into his hand and the strong jet of water, until your pussy clenches with an orgasm that has your fingers grasping at the sides of the tub, every muscle taut for a split second before you peak. And then you relax back into his body with a gasp, your eyes closed, the bubbled water sloshing over your chest and spilling out of the tub onto the black-and-white chequered floor.

  The jets subside as you gather your senses, and you hear the water start to drain as Jack pulls out the plug with his toe. You lean forward as he stands, the water sheeting off his muscular thighs. You can’t take your eyes off his body as he steps out the bath and wraps a white towel around his waist.

  Then he reaches for another towel. You stand, your legs still shaking, and he takes your hand to steady you as you climb out of the tub. Standing in the middle of the bathmat in the flickering candlelight, Jack runs the towel down your body, drying you bit by bit. First he pats the towel around your shoulders, drying each arm, and then he runs the towel across your breasts, drying each one slowly and with great care.

  Then he drops to his knees in front of you and slowly towels your belly and then each of your legs, finally returning to your pussy and patting it gently dry, his erection making a large tent underneath his towel.

  Then he stands again and reaches for a George V monogrammed robe, which he wraps around you, kissing you passionately again, and you feel like putty in his hands as he leads you into the bedroom.

  The baroque-style bed is the size of a small island. You place a hand against Jack’s chest and push so that he falls backwards onto the bed, sinking deep into the luscious whi
te duvet – you’re sure the thread count of the linen must be in the millions.

  You retrieve the champagne and pour two fresh glasses, slipping a condom out of your bag at the same time. You return to the bed, and hand Jack his glass. He sips as he watches you, a small smile crossing his face as you walk towards him with a tray bearing strawberries and a silver bowl filled with cream.

  ‘Now it’s your turn,’ you say, standing at the foot of the bed, slowly letting your gown slide to the floor, and he lies back, his strong arms folded behind his head.

  You clamber onto the bed alongside him, take a strawberry by the small green stem, then dip it into the cream, scooping up a dollop on the end. Using the strawberry like a paintbrush, you run it along the soft, sensitive skin on the underside of his arm, just above his armpit, painting the number one in cream on his skin. Then you scoop up more cream with the tip of the strawberry and paint the number two on his stomach. He watches with desire in his eyes as you repeat the process to paint the number three on one nipple and four on the other. And then you pull the towel from around his hips, and slowly paint the number five just below his belly button, beneath his cock which is straining for the ceiling. You raise an eyebrow, noticing that it has a definite bend to the left.

  Then you kneel above him and get to work, slowly lapping up the cream, starting at number one, which has you licking at the smooth silken skin above his armpit, while you trail your fingers down the sensitive skin on his side, feeling goosebumps pop to the surface as he shivers with delight. Then you straddle him carefully and drop your head down to his stomach to lap up number two, before making your way over to his nipple for number three. By the time you reach number four, still taking your time, you can practically hear his heart racing.

  Jack’s breath is coming in quick pants, and you can tell the torture is almost too much for him, so it’s a good thing number five is next. You drop your head down to just below his belly button, lapping up the number five, starting at the top of the number and taking it in one long lick, then continuing from the bottom of the five down onto the tip of his cock, which is as solid as a rock. Then you look up at him as you run your tongue from the tip all the way along the hard curve of it, down and then back up again, before sinking your mouth over him and taking the whole generous heft of him in your mouth. Then with your palm wrapped around the base of his cock, you pump it as you suck it.