Claimed by Her Web Master (Web Master #3) (13 page)

A
s soon as
I could walk without crutches, Quentin and I flew to Las Vegas and got married.

Quentin booked us a luxurious suite, and we got married at the top of the observation deck of the Eiffel tower at the Paris Hotel. The replica might have been half the size of the real one in France, but our joy couldn’t have been greater if it had been twice as tall. And Quentin promised that as soon as our baby was old enough to travel, he’d take us overseas to see the original.

The first thing we did when we got to Las Vegas was visit the courthouse to get our marriage license. I’d found a rather shapeless white dress back in Seattle, and Quentin already had a tux in his closet so we were set as far as clothes. Shelby was out of the country so she wasn’t able to attend, but she sent a huge bouquet of flowers. For attendants, we brought Kate to be my maid of honor, and one of Quentin’s musician friends, Tom, flew in from LA to serve double duty as both best man and play the violin.

Other than those two, we didn’t tell anyone what we were doing. My mother would be horrified, but for Quentin and I eloping was the perfect way for us to cement our relationship and begin our new life together. As Tom worked the strings with his bow, I looked out over the Las Vegas skyline and said the words, “I do.” I was filled with such happiness I thought I might burst.

My eyes locked with Quentin’s as he said them too. “I do.” My handsome husband sure knew how to fill out a suit, and he’d been awfully complimentary about my dress, even though I felt like a balloon from a Thanksgiving Day Parade in my white sack.

Not exactly how I’d envisioned my wedding as a little girl, but
, I thought, rubbing my palm over my protruding belly,
I wouldn’t have it any other way.

In fact, I never thought I’d be getting married again, and I certainly wouldn’t have expected to be having a baby. Life was funny. You never quite knew what was in store for you. I certainly would never have predicted this the first time I logged onto that fetish site, or when I first sent a message to the mysterious “MC.”

As strange as mine and Quentin’s relationship had been from the beginning—falling in love online—not even knowing the man behind the voice, it had provided for a connection between our souls. I had to admit that once I saw him, I was insanely attracted to his physical presence as well, but it comforted me to know that it was really his essence I’d been drawn to from the beginning. And I believed he felt the same way about me.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant said.

Quentin bent to kiss me and our lips touched in a magical moment I would never forget. He held me close—as close as he could, seeing as there was a big baby bump between us.

Afterward, Kate and Tom joined Quentin and I for a catered dinner in a private dining room. Everything was beautiful. Kate had acted as our wedding planner, and she’d seen to it there were hints of our time in Hawaii by filling the room with orchids and other island flowers. During the ceremony I noticed she had tears in her eyes, then she dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

We sent my mother and father some pictures taken by Kate on her phone. When we called them to talk with them, my mother blasted us for not inviting them, and I could hear my dad in the background saying, “Chill out, Bunny. At least they’re married. Isn’t that what you wanted?” I knew my mother would complain, but in the end I think my dad was right—she’d be glad that we’d gotten married once the baby was born. Now she could brag about her Oscar-winning son-in-law, and that might turn out to be the most important part of all to her. If Bunny wanted to throw us a party in Fort Worth sometime and show off her grandbaby and new son-in-law we would accommodate her. I’d have to go home and pack up my house at some point, and put it up for sale.

Quentin and I planned to move to a neighborhood in the Seattle suburbs. The cabin was fine for us now, but it was so far away from everything, which wasn’t going to be as ideal once the baby arrived. We wanted to be closer to the store, the pediatrician, a park …

How quickly we both were ready to change our lives for the little person inside me we hadn’t even met yet.

After the ceremony Tom invited Kate to go to one of the new Vegas clubs with him. Her eyes lit up as she said yes.

I gave her my bouquet. “No need to toss this. I’m just going to give it to you. Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome.” She clutched the bundle of yellow orchids. “I know you two will be super happy together.” We embraced, the men shook hands, and then they left, leaving me alone with my husband.

It was going to take a while to get used to that word—husband.

We meandered back to our suite, me carrying my shoes—the heels had started giving me blisters after only a few minutes of wear, and Quentin slowed his pace so he could walk beside me as I waddled along. When we finally got to our room, Quentin reached for me like he was going to try to pick me up, but I stopped him.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“Carrying my bride over the threshold. It’s a tradition. You got a problem with that?”

“I most certainly do.” I planted my hands on my hips and stared at him defiantly. “I’m way too heavy for that.”

“Fuck that. Unless you’re carrying a hundred-pound baby in there, which I don’t think you are, you’re just insulting my manhood.” Before I could protest further, he scooped me into his arms, swiped the key card, and whisked me into the room like I was as light as a feather. “Acting like I can’t pick you up because you’ve gained a few pounds,” he muttered under his breath then tossed me on the bed like a sack of potatoes.

“Hey!” I fussed.

He chuckled. “Just getting you back,” he teased as he began to remove his tie. “But that’s just the beginning of how I’m gonna manhandle you, wife.”

I had no idea that word could turn me on, but the way he said it made butterflies flutter in my stomach, and this time it had nothing to do with the baby. It was my insatiable lust for him.

As I watched him undress, my mouth watered more with each article of clothing he removed until he stood there before me in only his underwear. The angular planes of his abdomen, the bulge of his biceps, the smoothness of his skin, all made me want to devour him inch by delectable inch.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered, and I hoisted myself out of bed. Reaching behind my neck I started to try to get out of my dress.

“Come here and let me help you with that,” he beckoned.

I crossed the room and stood with my back to him. With one hand he moved my hair to the side and kissed the nape of my neck.

“I love you, Sophie Andrews.” This was the first time I’d heard anyone say my new name, and it sounded wonderful. He unzipped my dress, and I stepped out of it. He unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. I stepped out of my panties so that I stood there naked. I felt awkward standing there completely nude and so pregnant. I knew it shouldn’t have bothered me, but as self-conscious as I was, Quentin always made me feel cherished and adored.

“You are beautiful. You know that?” It was as if he read my mind. “I have something for you,” he said. “Just a minute.” He retrieved something from his suitcase and brought it to me. It was gift—a box wrapped in white with a yellow bow.

“But Quentin, I thought we said we weren’t going to give each other wedding gifts. We agreed that each other and the baby were the only gifts we needed.”

“You’re right. We did, but this is something different. We did the vanilla marriage thing earlier, and I believe in that. But I also believe in our Dominant and submissive relationship, and I didn’t want to leave that out. While I’m thrilled you are my wife, I need you to be my submissive as well.”

I slid the ribbon aside and ripped open the wrapping paper. Inside the box lay a simple gold bracelet with a heart charm on one end that was accentuated by a tiny lock.

“Quentin, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

“It’s similar to a collar in that it is a symbol of your submission and my ownership of you. I know how private you are, so it is something you can keep to yourself or tell people about if you like. That part is up to you.”

“I love it!” It only took a second for him to fasten the bracelet around my wrist.

I leaned up to kiss him, and what began as a simple thank-you quickly turned into a raging desire to be taken, to be owned by this man who was now my husband as well as my Master.

It was he who pulled away first, directing me. “Go get on that bed on all fours. So I can take my bride hard and show her what it really means to belong to me.”

Excitement rippled through me as I walked over to the bed and got into the position he required.

Quentin had backed off the more hardcore BDSM elements like the cane and predicament bondage since I’d grown more pregnant. Instead, he mostly used his hand on me, which I liked. It was more intimate and in some ways I felt like his hand spankings had brought us closer together.

These days my body was more sensitive in every way—my breasts were sore and aching all the time, my pussy stayed engorged, so it didn’t take much to send me over the edge. I even got the feeling Quentin was especially drawn to my pregnant state.

As I anticipated what he would do to me this time, the first thing I felt was his tongue, lapping at my sex from behind. He knew how to use his mouth in so many ways. It was always different, and it was always exquisite. He would make it flat and wide to lave my lips—wet them, providing lubrication for him. Then he’d use the tip, making it a point, using it like a finger, running it over my clit and driving me wild with desire.

The hardest part for me was refraining from grinding my pussy in his face. Oh, how I wanted to. But I knew better than that. That would get me a slap, and not the good kind. Quentin expected his sub to hold still and take whatever he dished out, no matter how difficult it was.

Now that he’d gotten me sufficiently worked up, he backed up and inserted a single finger in my pussy. Enough to make me want more, to make me want him to move it inside me, to fill me, take me deeper.

I couldn’t help myself, I wiggled my ass back against him.

“Such a slut,” he reprimanded, slapping my left cheek then my right. “I always knew you were a fucking slut. That’s why I married you.” He reached around and pinched my nipple until I shrieked.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I just want you so much.”

“You do? Tell me how much.”

“Sir, I need you inside me. Please.”

“Beg, and make it good.”

“Sir, the whole time we were taking our vows, I was looking at you, thinking how much I loved you, how happy I was to belong to you. I imagined you unzipping your pants, taking out your cock, lifting my dress, and fucking me right there in the middle of our wedding. I wanted it so badly.”

“Damn, girl. Those hormones of yours have got you hotter than the desert asphalt.”

“They do, Sir. So I need you to please fuck me. Fill me, take me, make me yours.”

“With pleasure,” he grunted and sheathed his cock inside my slick channel for the first of what would be many times on our wedding night.

“
P
ush
!” The nurse barked at my wife.

I hated seeing Sophie in pain like this, and having that bitch yelling at her wasn’t helping. It took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to yell at her and see how she liked it.

But I couldn’t risk getting kicked out of the delivery room. I needed to be here for my family, no matter how difficult it was.

There was nothing sexy about the pain of childbirth. In fact, it was so unpleasant a part of me wanted to escape to the nearest bar and get drunk. Who the fuck screwed that up for men? That’s what we used to do, back in the day.

The birthing room used to be “women only.” The men stayed outside, drinking and pacing. Then when everything came out all right they passed around cigars. After what I’d seen in this room today, that sounded like a pretty good tradition.

“Quentin, I can’t …” Sophie pleaded. She’d opted for a “natural” delivery with no drugs, and this was clearly a bad choice. A brave and adorable decision—just like my wife, but I was already rehearsing my argument that next time she get the damned epidural. The agony she was putting herself through was utter bullshit.

I wiped her forehead with a wet washrag. “Yes, you can, Sophie. You can do it. You’re doing a great job. Almost there.” Maybe I would rather be in here with her than getting drunk somewhere with a bunch of guys. I wanted to be here for her. Yeah, seeing her in agony sucked, but at least I was here to support her, cheer her on. And I could tell it meant the world to her.

“Push!” the nurse barked again. I’m sure she didn’t mean to sound like a Nazi, but that woman really needed to dial it back. Yelling at the patient wasn’t exactly helpful.

“She’s doing her best,” I snapped, and the bitch gave me a look that told me she, too, missed the days when men weren’t allowed in the delivery room.

“One more,” the nurse told Sophie, completely ignoring me.

The people all the way at the other end of the hospital probably heard the grunt Sophie made. But with that cry she pushed out our baby.

All of a sudden the doctor, who had been remarkably quiet through most of the process, turned to me. Holding the tiniest person I’d ever seen, he said, “Would you like to cut the umbilical cord?”

“Yes,” I replied, and he presented me with a pair of scissors. I snipped the rubbery tube, and there was a rousing cheer from the attendants, which seemed bizarre because Sophie had done all the work. Strange that a pinch of my fingers drew more applause than twelve hours of labor.

Women really did get a raw deal most of the time.

It was ironic that I was thinking about sexism when I heard the doctor ask Sophie, “Would you like to meet your daughter?”

Sophie had wanted to wait to find out the sex of the baby, and I’d gone along with her desire for it to be a surprise. But, at the same time, I’d forgotten all about it because I’d been convinced we were having a boy.

“It’s a girl?” I asked and moved to the bassinet where the nurse worked on the red, screeching infant.

I’d been so convinced it would be a boy that it took me a few minutes to assimilate this new development. It was a girl …

“Is she all right?” my wife asked, her wet hair plastered to her head. She’d never looked more beautiful. They were both beautiful, in fact. My heart swelled with pride.

“Yes, she’s fine,” the pediatric nurse said. “You can hold her for a few minutes, and then we’ll take her and get her cleaned up.”

The nurse laid our daughter on Sophie’s chest, and Sophie gazed at her. There was so much love in that one look. It was like the look she gave me. Only different. That little girl and I—we were the luckiest people on the planet.

Then suddenly the world stopped, and he was there, standing next to me—Sam.

I looked up to see if anyone else noticed him there, but everyone else seemed frozen. This moment was for me and Sam.

“What do you think of your new baby sister?”

“Pretty cool,” he said, and his voice was deeper than I remembered.

He was older. So much older. He looked like a young man—old enough to be asking me for the keys to the car.

And he would have been, my boy.

“I think you’d really like her.”

Sam nodded. “I do too. I’m happy for you, Dad.”

“I miss you,” I whispered to the air.

“I’m okay, Dad. You can let go of me now. They need you now. More than I do.”

“Quentin, honey, are you okay?” Sophie asked, beckoning to me.

I sniffed and came toward her. She reached out a hand, and I took it. “I’m fine,” I lied, and even though I’d promised to be honest with Sophie, this wasn’t the time. This moment was about her and our daughter. I would tell her about Sam later.

I glanced over to where he’d been standing, but he was gone …

So instead I stared down at the tiny, red-faced person wrapped in the hospital-issued white with pink and blue stripes blanket. Her eyes were closed, but I could already tell she had her mother’s rosebud mouth. “She’s beautiful. You did a fantastic job.” I bent and kissed both my girls on the head.

“You helped.”

I chuckled. “C’mon, I only did the fun part.”

She laughed, “But still—you did it well.”

“Do you know what you want to name her?” I asked. Sophie and I had agreed that if it was a boy I could name him, and if it was a girl she could name her. We’d been talking about names for months and there were a few girls’ names I like, but I’d stick with whatever she decided, especially after what I’d seen her endure the past several hours.

“Well … since it’s the holidays, and since she was conceived the weekend you won your Oscar—the name Holly seems to fit. Do you think she looks like a Holly?”

“She does. Good thing we didn’t have to name her Oscar,” I teased and Sophie pretended to punch my arm.

I smiled. Holly—short for Hollywood, but not so obvious that we were naming her for the location of her conception, especially with a December birthday. It would be like a secret joke between Sophie and me. “I think it’s brilliant, and she looks like a Holly. Almost as pretty as her momma.”

“I don’t feel so pretty, but thanks.”

We fussed over Holly for a few more minutes before the nurse came back and whisked her away, eliciting a frown from Sophie.

“They’ll bring her back soon. Don’t worry,” I assured her. The child was less than an hour old, and already my bride was fretting over her. Yes, Sophie was going to make a wonderful mother.