Vegas Hangover: A Husband and a baby

MIRANDA

"So, do you accept my proposal?" he asked, his voice rough.

I felt my skin break out in goosebumps and my breath hitch. I could feel his breath on my neck, which only added to the shivers. His hands rested possessively on my waist, pinning me exactly where he wanted me: against the wall. His body pressed into mine, and I felt his erection against my stomach.

The bastard was turned on, and the wetness in my panties showed just how turned on I was, too. Images of what had happened in a certain hotel room flashed through my mind - his strong, defined body, and especially what he could do with that damn mouth. If I hadn't been pressed against the wall, I would have fallen backward from the sudden loss of balance.

I looked into those greenish eyes, dilated with an obvious and unfortunately mutual desire, and lost my train of thought. My refusal of that absurd, damn plan died on the tip of my tongue.

All that came out was a whispered "Yes."

Marlon just smiled, and when he kissed me, I felt like I was making a pact with a crossroads demon. I knew I would regret it, and that he would hurt me, but when he grabbed my hair, pulling a gasp from my lips, he took advantage of the opening and deepened the kiss with his tongue. Thinking about what would happen in the future suddenly became trivial.

I didn't fight or deny it when I was lifted off the floor by those strong arms and carried straight to the bedroom. I didn't complain when our clothes were stripped off with impressive speed and we were left exactly as we came into the world: naked.

And dear God, I might burn in hell, but my boss was the incarnation of sin...

Well, at least we were married...

(......)

72 HOURS BEFORE EVERYTHING.

"I am free, I am free," I hummed mentally as I twirled the keys on my index finger. I pressed the button and the silver car chirped. I opened the driver's door right away, and as soon as I closed it, I took off my high heels and opened my glove box, where I kept my flip-flops.

A tremendous sense of satisfaction washed over me as I swapped those toe-crushers for something more comfortable.

Honestly, if I didn't need the job so badly, I wouldn't even wear them. I hate high heels, but as a secretary at a renowned company that demanded elegance, wearing them didn't kill me. What kept me going was knowing that at the end of the month, I would get my paycheck, and that was all that mattered. I started the car and visualized a scene of "Total Freedom" as soon as I got home.

That bra would be gone in five seconds flat the moment I stepped foot inside my house. There is no greater joy for a woman than coming home and taking off her bra, especially the kind where the demonic underwire pops out. Honestly, keeping a straight face while a damn piece of metal stabbed my boob during a super important meeting about the new boss taking over the company was incredibly stressful. I couldn't even focus on the damn meeting; my only thoughts were, "Do not stick your hand under your clothes," and "Do not touch your boobs in front of the shareholders."

Ugh. I huffed as soon as I heard my cell phone ring. I answered on the third ring and immediately put it on speakerphone without even looking at who was calling.

"Miranda here, who is this?"

"Hi sweetie, are you at work?" Ramone's aunt Ivone's voice came through, high-pitched and shrill as always. I immediately suppressed an agonizing groan, mentally kicking myself for not checking the caller ID before answering. I counted to three and waited. Because she was half-deaf, Ivone assumed everyone else was too, which meant whenever she spoke to someone, whether on the phone or right next to them, her volume went up to eleven.

Every time (which was almost always) she visited her nephew Ramone, whom she had raised since he - my fiance - was just six months old, our neighbor Mr. Silva's dog would start howling. And it howled the entire time she spoke, meaning until she finally left, leaving behind a headache and an annoyed neighbor.

Anyway, I was glad I had put her on speaker. Can you imagine if I had answered the phone pressed against my ear? It would be a guaranteed accident!

"No, I'm just leaving," I muttered.

"Oh! But it's 5:20 PM, it's so early! Ramone said you usually get home from work around seven or eight! But it doesn't matter, I'm glad you're free. I wanted to ask you a few little questions. So, have you guys decided where the honeymoon will be? And what color napkins are you choosing for the tables? I picked peach, but that sinner friend of yours said beige was your preference. Is that true? I'm sure peach is better, it matches the sunset!"

What the hell does the sunset have to do with my wedding inside a church?

"Yes, I prefer beige," I said.

"Tsk, tsk." I heard her click her tongue in disapproval, just like she always did when she didn't like something - which was basically anything related to me. And as always, she started in. "Oh, but beige is so dull. My nephew just loves the sunset! Why not choose something that reminds him of it? Don't you want him to be happy on such a special day for him? After all, he's getting married."

It's a special day for me too, or did you forget that I'm the one he's marrying, you old bat? - I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue.

"Which leads me to ask, why on earth did you accept that lesbian sinner as the maid of honor for my baby boy? Are you crazy? Welcoming a sinner..."

Before I could lose my temper over her insulting my best friend, I picked up the phone from where it was and said:

"Ah! I can't hear you, what did you say?"

"Because..."

"What? Oh, I can't hear you! I'll call you later." I hung up and tossed the phone onto the backseat.

I ignored the phone, which wouldn't stop ringing. As soon as I got home, I turned off the car, grabbed my phone, and powered it off entirely, hoping the old lady would find someone else to torment. I shoved it in my purse and got out of the car, walking briskly, desperate to reach the privacy of my home as quickly as possible.

I opened the front door and closed it without making a sound. I took off my blazer and was just getting ready to free myself from the damn bra when I heard the distinct sounds of wild sex coming from my bedroom.

My body froze, but then quickly relaxed. Of course, those moans had to be coming from Ramone's p**n. Lately, he had become addicted to watching it, ever since I made the purity agreement to wait until marriage.

Did he grumble about it? Yes. Was he against it? Yes, but it's my body, and he had to accept it, albeit reluctantly. The result? Lots of lube and a subscription to a dirty channel - one he thought I had no idea about, but I knew.

A mischievous smile tugged at my lips. I pulled my bra off from under my blouse and walked forward, making as little noise as possible. After all, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to mess with him. I could already imagine his embarrassed face at being caught red-handed.

The sound became even clearer as I approached the bedroom. My door was slightly ajar, and the first thing I noticed through the crack was: the TV mounted on my bedroom wall was turned off.

Second, lying on the floor by my door was a woman's shirt. An extremely familiar shirt.

"Ahhh, you're so hot... so tight..." Ramone said.

"Ramon..." the woman moaned.

I didn't need to open the door to confirm who the woman was. All I did was pivot on my heel and walk straight to my home office. Fueled by the sheer power of hatred, I went to the desk, opened the third drawer, removed the false bottom, and pulled out my little friend: a RUGER LCP. I checked to make sure all six bullets were loaded.

I quickly threw my hair up into a bun and marched back toward the bedroom, pausing only to grab an ugly vase that Ivone had gifted me six months ago, covered in engravings of naked women.

Today, I was going to test the old theory of whether a bad vase actually breaks or not.

I strode forward and threw the door open abruptly, the thud of the wood slamming against the wall echoing through the room. Ramone reached his climax right along with Amanda, who cried out his name. And in the exact moment that Amanda, my younger sister, laid eyes on me, the vase I was holding slipped from my hands. Luckily - for the bastard - the damn thing missed his head, smashed into the wall, bounced onto the bed, and rolled onto the floor.

My sister screamed, her adorable blue eyes wide with panic. She quickly kicked my fiance, scrambled out of her compromising position - on all fours - and rolled to the other side of the bed, trying in vain to cover herself. Ramone, still somewhat dazed, looked at the vase and then turned toward the door, where he saw me raising my gun and aiming it right at him.

"Hi, honey."