She cuts me off. “I don’t want one.”
She doesn’t want one of what? “Huh?”
Her eyes search my face. “I thought maybe we could try it without a condom.”
We found out early on that Reagan couldn’t take birth control pills, so we have religiously used condoms since we got together. I’ve never been inside her without one.
My heart thuds. “Are you sure?” I ask.
I lay my forehead against hers and breathe. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” she says quietly.
I lift her dress over her head, and stare down at those perfect breasts once I have her bra off. I hoist her up and she wraps her legs around my waist. I lay her gently on the bed.
“I’m not going to break, Pete,” she says.
“I’m not worried about you breaking,” I say. “I’m worried I’ll forget what this day feels like if I go too fast.”
She cups my face and kisses me. She spreads her legs and I settle between them, sliding inside her in one solid thrust. She’s wet from where she just came on my face, and so, so slick.
I know what this means, and she does too. It means she could get pregnant. It means so much.
I hook her legs over my arms, because I know she likes it deep and rough, but I can’t last for shit like this, not without a condom. A drop of sweat slips down my nose. Or is that a tear? I’m not sure which. Either way, she brushes it away.
She cries out, and the way gets even slicker. “Now, Pete,” she urges. “Now. Please.”
I come inside my wife for the first time ever. I press deep, spilling all I have inside me into her. She holds me close while I fill her up, until I let my weight fall on top of her.
“I’m all wet.” She looks down between us. “Like, wetter than normal.”
“You bring out the best in me, princess,” I say. I laugh and she does, too, which pushes me out of her. “Let’s take a quick shower.”
I take her into the bathroom and wash her quickly, and she gets out and gets dressed while I shower, and then she fixes her hair and makeup while I get dressed. Tonight is going to be about the reality show, so we all need to look our parts. I wear ripped jeans and a white tank top with the Reed logo on it. My brothers will be dressed similarly. Friday will be her Friday self.
I take Reagan’s hand and we walk out of our room as husband and wife.
Sam is standing beside a cab with his suitcase. My heart falls. “You’re not leaving already, are you?” I ask.
He hugs me quickly and kisses Reagan. “I have to get back. Love you guys,” he says. He gets in the cab, and waves at us all the way down the drive.
I’m wearing tall heels and a short dress, and Paul can’t seem to take his eyes off my legs. “If you bend over like that one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he taunts. The crowd loves our banter. He finishes up the tat he’s working on and I take the microphone from the stand.
“Hello, North Carolina!” I yell. The crowd, which is held back by guards and partitions, goes wild. “I hope you guys can indulge me, because I have a little thing I want to do with Paul.”
Paul grins. “My thing is not little,” he calls out. The crowd titters.
“Well, Carolina,” I say. I have their attention. That’s good. “My husband just happens to have his ex’s name tattooed on his lower belly.”
“So, today, I think I should cover that shit up. What do you think?” I hold the microphone out and the crowd goes crazy. I look at my husband. “What do you say, big guy? Do you trust me?”
I do tats in the shop all the time, now, and I do admit that I have an eye for it. It’s art. Just the permanent kind.
“You want to cover up my tattoo?” Paul says loudly.
“Yes.” I look at the crowd. “Her name is much too close to your dick.”
He walks toward me and I lift the edge of his shirt so the crowd can see it.
They start to chant. “Cover it up! Cover it up!”
The crew pushes a table to the front of the stage, where I’ve already set all my equipment up.
“How long have you been planning this?” Paul mutters to me.
“About five minutes,” I say with cheek. Truly, I’ve been planning it ever since I saw that stupid brand on his belly.
“Are you going to put frogs or something on me? Or skulls?”
He kisses me. “I do.” He pulls his shirt over his head and I pop the top button on his jeans. The crowd screams and yells. He lies down and exposes the area, and I clean it up and shave him down.
“Want me to go a little lower?” I ask the crowd, holding my razor near his balls.
He grabs my wrist. “You can do that later, if you want.”
I put on my gear and get my colors together. I had already made the transfer. Logan helped me with it yesterday, so I put it on Paul’s skin. He looks down like he wants to see it, but I push his chin back up so that he’s lying flat.
He looks up and rolls his eyes. “Do your worst,” he says.
I spent a lot of time drawing this. It’s my name in gothic letters. Well, my Friday name. The one I gave myself. Paul is the only one who knows my real name.