A Better Man 1

A BETTER MAN

To get what he truly wants, Sam will have to be a better man

[Please read the Standard Disclaimer on Alextasy's bio page.]

~

THE BEST MAN

~

Sam pauses before the door of the bridal suite, checking up and down the white marble hall to make sure nobody sees him. Guests are piling into the sanctuary upstairs, and he's not ready for anyone to know about their secret. If he has his way, before his big brother's wedding day is done there won't be a need for secrets any longer.

He taps on the ornate oak door. Too many seconds pass before the maid of honor opens it a few inches. He can't hide the sneer. She's certainly no maiden, and from what he's heard, there is nothing honorable about her.

"Need help with something?" Tracy says.

The buxom redhead rakes her eyes up and down his physique. Sam has little time and zero interest in playing her games.

"I have a private message for Allison from Mark," he says. "Can you give us a few minutes? Alone?"

She smirks. "I don't know any rules against letting the best man see the bride."

A sudden streak of white at his feet snags his attention. Sam acts fast, scooping up the little fur ball with a single hand before it can escape. He brings the white bunny to his chest and scratches between her floppy, gray ears.

"Where do you think you're running off to, Miss Fuzzybutt?"

Tracy says, "She probably believes she's the one getting married. Looking forward to finally getting laid by the hot stud-bunny of her dreams." Her green eyes come up toward Sam. "I know how she feels."

He's seen that flirty look before. It does nothing for him. The depraved things he's heard about her make him reluctant to even breathe the same air.

He hands the bunny back to Tracy and feeds Allison's pet a tiny sprig of broccoli from the pocket of his tux coat. He keeps her favorite treats handy, which pleases Allison, which gets him special treats. He tells Fuzzybutt, "Good thing you're a girl. I think you're safe."

The color rises in Tracy's cheeks. He has witnessed her hot-headed nature. For a moment, he expects her to lash out. Just as quick, her anger dissolves into a mischievous smile.

"What makes you think I'm not into girls?"

The confession doesn't faze him. After the stories he's heard, he would believe anything.

Right now, Sam needs to get out of the hall before he's spotted.

"Can I talk to Allison? It's urgent."

She flashes him a twisted smile. "Sure, Scampi."

His jaw tightens at the mention of that despised nickname from his youth. He glares at her. She's obviously trying to rile him up, but he has only a few minutes. This isn't the time or place for an argument.

She opens the door halfway and holds it behind herself, leaving a narrow space where Sam can squeeze by sideways, close enough for her hefty tits to brush against his tux. She wiggles her brows.

Sam shakes his head. She never gives up.

Tracy steps out into the wide hallway but places her hand against the door to stop him from closing it.

"Make it a quickie," she says. "I'll need some time to fix her hair and makeup."

"Yeah, I'll try to keep that in mind." Sam is irritated that the big-mouthed skank apparently knows their secret.

She's holding the bunny cuddled between her breasts. Sam scratches under its furry chin and fires a parting shot.

"Don't let her French kiss you, Fuzz. No telling what kind of diseases you might pick up from this slut."

Tracy's eyes blaze at him, and her face turns red again. Before she can respond, Sam forces the door closed and clicks the lock.

His architect's mind briefly kicks in, admiring the simplicity of the room. Unlike the rest of the grandiose cathedral, the bridal parlor was designed with neutral colors and minimal decoration to ensure the room doesn't outshine the woman of the moment. He picks up on the familiar, seductive scent of her perfume before he catches her image coming at him from multiple angles, reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that line the dressing area in the back. It's a room full of Allisons.

She steps from behind an embroidered divider panel. He is speechless. The gown transforms her petite form into that of an enchanted creature clothed in a pristine white flower. Sparkling diamonds and sequins cover her like dewdrops in the morning sun.

His voice is nearly a whisper.

"You are a goddess."

His heart aches. This is all wrong.

Why isn't she dressed like this for me?

Allison rushes to him, and they hold each other. She is sobbing into his chest.

"I wasn't sure I would see you again before...it's over." She sniffles. "After the other night, I didn't know..."

At their last tryst, his temper had gotten away from him. He'd said hurtful things.

Sam kisses the top of her hair. "I can't stay away from you."

Allison says, "I don't know how I'm gonna handle being around you, knowing you're right there and we can't..."

With his hands on her shoulders, he steps back and looks into her eyes. He doesn't want to go down this road—not right now—but he has to say it.

"Any time you can get free, I'll be here."

"I'll be married. I can't cheat on your brother." Her eyes are forlorn.

"You can do anything you want. Nothing has to change. No one will know."

"No, Sam," she says. "In a few minutes, I will promise Mark that I'm his. Please don't start this argument again. I can't deal with—"

Pressing a fingertip to her glossy pink lips hushes her. With the back of his fingers, he strokes the tinge of blush on her cheeks. Allison closes her eyes and leans into his touch.

She can be so naive sometimes. The purity of that gown, along with her Scandinavian arctic hair and flawless makeup draws out the glow of her natural innocence. Sam's attention is drawn to the delicate porcelain half-domes barely hidden by the lacy décolletage. In ways, she is still the fourteen-year-old he fell in love with back in middle school a dozen years ago.

Yet, the innocent appearance hides a raw lust that simmers behind those sky-blue eyes. He knows what pleasure is in those pretty pink lips. The recent memory of her lithe body riding him and the feel of her shuddering, breathless contractions are still fresh.

"I want you," he says.

"Please, Sam. We shouldn't."

Her long lashes flutter when he cups a satin-covered breast. He circles the tip with his thumb to revive the shape of her peak.

His voice is deep and husky. "You're not his. Not yet."

"Hurry." She kicks off her low heels while her dainty fingers work frantically at his zipper.

Sam slips the tux jacket off his shoulders and casts it over a nearby chair. She has his belt loose, so when he pushes the suspenders aside, the trousers fall. Underneath is nothing but him.

Allison hikes up the front of her gown and the crinoline petticoat. Sam's eyes bulge, and his libido cranks into overdrive at the sight of her unclothed sex, framed by a virginal white garter belt and glittery white stockings, with no shoes on her dainty feet.

Those delicates are also reminders that his hopes are lost. Allison will soon belong to someone else, someone who isn't worthy of a woman like her. A single thought burns through the anger in his soul. He doesn't yet know how, but he is determined that after the ceremony, before his depraved brother can get his grimy hands on his new wife, Sam will be the man who consummates their marriage.

Allison gives him a coy look, swaying her hips side-to-side as she slides her finger along the crease between her legs.

"You like?" She bats her glittery lashes.

They both know he can't control himself around her. She toys with his lust, using her wiles and her body to get what she needs from him. But he doesn't care, because what she needs from him the most is that he will take what he wants from her.

He curls his hand behind her neck to pinch her nape and pull her to him. She whines, but the sound is quickly muffled when Sam ravishes her mouth. She hooks one dancer's leg high on his waist to pull his erection against her bare belly.

With a single handful of her petite derrière, he lifts her easily. Allison hooks her other leg around him and locks her ankles. He feels the cool touch of her garish diamond ring on the head of his penis as she closes her elegant fingers around him and uses her thumb to spread the bead of his arousal before guiding the needful part of him to herself. He pushes, and the crown eases in. She always seems to be ready for him. She has told him she gets that way whenever he comes near.

Sam cocks his hips and lunges upward. Allison shrieks.

Two raps sound on the door. His head jerks around.

Allison says, "It's okay." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "Tracy's keeping watch."

"That doesn't mean the skank has a right to listen to us."

"Just fuck me, goddammit!"

Allison swings her arms around his neck, and he carries her to a nearby wall and leans his body against her tiny frame. He thrusts hard and fast, and she buries her face into his pleated shirt, muttering expletives.

When he drags the strap off her shoulder, Allison begs him, "No!". Then she yelps as the tape on the inside of the gown rips away from her small breast. He embraces the soft flesh, squeezes, then pinches her tiny, brown teat to make her whimper. He gives it a twist, which provokes a lusty groan from her.

Sam slows his fierce thrusting. His motions become smooth and deep, and he swivels his hips to touch her everywhere inside. She has told him that his brother never fucks her slowly like this.

He leans his head next to her ear. "He doesn't deserve you."

She whines. "Please, Sam...don't. Just fuck me, okay?"

"He doesn't satisfy you like I can, does he?"

Her breathy voice is quiet. "No."

"He doesn't make love with you the way I do."

She snorts, half-laughing. "Definitely not."

Sam has heard the mad rush of her sex with Mark. Sometimes, when he's close by, he can tell she's faking it when his big brother uses her. He knows the sounds she makes when it's real.

She shudders when he kisses the side of her neck and whispers. "He doesn't love you like I do."

Allison doesn't say anything.

He leans back, forcing her to face him.

"Why?" He knows the answer. He's heard it a thousand times. He doesn't understand why he tortures himself.

"I've told you, Sam. I love him, and I know he loves me."

Though Sam tries to control himself, he winces.

She says, "I can't explain it to you—I just do. I know sometimes he's a jerk and a self-centered ass. I know what you think about—you know—the way he is..."

From the first time he learned about his older brother's bizarre fetish, he has never understood.

Allison gazes up into his eyes. "As crazy as it sounds, that proves to me how much he wants me. I think he needs me, and I want to be with him. You have to accept it."

Sam won't ever be satisfied with that.

"C'mon, Sam," she says. "One last time. Fuck me hard enough that I'll never forget the way you feel."

He takes a half step away from the wall and leans her back, still pinioned on his erection. She gives him a perplexed look, then smiles as he bends forward, bringing his mouth to her chest. She clasps his head to her breast, moaning and shivering as he licks and kisses and nips at her small, brown nipple. They are super-sensitive, more than any other women he's known. A few times when he was mistreating them, he's pretty sure she orgasmed.

With surreptitious care, he moves his lips to the soft skin just above her nipple and sucks there. When it finally dawns on her what he's doing, she tries to shove him away, shouting, "No! Stop!" But it's too late.

Two bangs on the door.

Tracy's voice comes from outside, even louder than she usually is.

"So good to meet you, Mrs. Sanderson! And this is your lovely niece? So glad you could come...No, I'm sorry, Allison isn't receiving at the moment. She's spending a few precious moments alone, gathering herself...Yes, I'll be sure to tell her. Thank you so much!"

Allison looks down at the blue mark at the top of her breast while silently listening to the exchange outside. She doesn't notice Sam lowering the strap on the other side until the tape tears free, and she yelps again.

Before she can stop him, Sam clamps his teeth onto her other tit, biting hard. She pushes at his head, but that makes him tighten his grip. She stops resisting, and he smiles to himself as she gives in. Between his mouth, his fingers, and his cock, he stirs the fires of her lust the way he knows will make her crazy. Soon, the shudders roll through her as her pussy constricts around his shaft. She screams through clenched teeth and covers her mouth with her hand. Sam is pleased with the tickling sensation from her feminine nectar dripping down over his ball sac. The scent of her makes his mouth water.

Allison gyrates her hips like a needy slut. This is the way he likes her best, crazed with lust.

"Fuck me, goddammit." Her voice has dropped an octave. "You know you're not gonna stop until you get what you came for. So just hurry up and do it, you sonofabitch."

He strokes his fingers through the carefully fashioned hair on the side of her head. "Is that what

you

want?"

She lowers her eyes. "Yes," she whispers. Then she looks up. "Please, Sam?"

The glistening in her eyes rips at his heart. He knows what she wants, and why. He has never understood. He would never do this for his kinky brother, even if the asshole were stupid enough to ask him. But he cannot deny Allison.

He takes her in his arms, pulling her tight against him, and sandwiches her between his torso and the wall again. She has said his raw hunger excites her more than anything. She shrieks when he drives into her, causing two more knocks on the door. She bites down onto her forearm as Sam uses her, barreling toward his own pleasure.

Another shuddering climax paralyzes Allison. Sam tries to hold off. He would fuck her like this forever if he thought that could stop time, but his body has its own needs. He squeezes her with all his might and roars as he lunges up, relishing the bittersweet joy as he gushes deep into Allison's belly. She tenses, whimpering. "Yes, yes, oh, Sam..."

For a long while, he holds her against himself, keeping his eyes squeezed shut so she can't see his tears.

Two raps on the door.

Allison unlocks her legs, and he eases her to the floor. She squats and takes his softening shaft into her mouth once, then withdraws slowly. Her eyes are closed, as if she's memorizing the taste and the feel of him. Sam wonders what his brother will think when they share their first wedded kiss.

When she stands again, Sam is satisfied with his work. Her makeup and her gown are a mess. Tracy will have a challenge hiding the hickey on the upper curve of her left breast. The gown will cover the red teeth marks around the right nipple. He'd love to see the look on Mark's face when she strips for him tonight.

They share a long, passionate kiss. Sam's thoughts are consumed with how he might get her alone after the ceremony. He'd love to suck a purple circle on her inner thigh.

Two more sharp knocks. "Hey, kids! Almost show-time."

Allison says, "Just a minute, Trace!" as she fetches a napkin with some sort of cleanser on it. While he pulls his clothes back on, she dabs at the makeup stains on his shirt.

Sam gives her a peck on the lips. "We're not done."

"Sam!" She is obviously frustrated. "We can't keep going like this. It's over. No more."

But he ignores her and goes to the door to let her maid of honor back in.

"Thanks, Tracy. I owe you," he says.

She flashes flirty eyes. "Do I get to pick the form of payment?"

"Will I need a hazmat suit?"

In an instant, the color in her face almost matches her hair. She aims a green laser-beam stare at him, and her jaw twitches.

Sam regrets his quick mouth. "I'm sorry, Tracy. I didn't mean—"

"You think I'm a slut, don't you, Scampi?"

The painful nickname makes him wince. She's trying to goad him, but he doesn't want to repeat his slip, not in front of Allison. Why would she ask such a stupid question? Everybody knows what she is.

Before he can reply, Tracy drags him out into the empty hall and closes the door none-too-gently.

Then she pounces.

"What's the matter? Are you intimidated by a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it? Or are you just a pansy-ass like your brother? You're both so fucking pathetic that the only woman who makes you feel like a real man is a deceitful whore who can't make up her damned—"

Sam doesn't realize what he's done until he feels the sting on his palm and sees Tracy recoil slowly, rubbing her cheek.

"Tracy..." He is shocked at himself. His gut twists with shame. He has never struck a woman in anger. "I...I'm sorry. Please, I—"

She opens the door. "Get out of here."

Her words are surprisingly calm. He is unnerved by her strange smile.

"Don't hate me."

"It's okay. I asked for it," she says. He lets out his breath, and she nods down the hall. "Go on. You need to get out of here so I can clean up your mess. We'll talk later."

Sam walks out and hears the lock click behind him. This day was fucked up before it ever started. Now, he's made it even worse. One way or another, he will have to make up with Tracy. He can guess what that might entail.

Right now, though, he has a mission. Sam searches the church for an unlocked room where he can fuck Allison immediately after the ceremony. His last hope is that his brother will finally reach the limits of his perversion when he finds his fresh bride is already used. The marriage will be annulled, and she will be free to marry Sam.

As he meanders through the cavernous halls, checking each door, he knows he should be impressed by the giant slabs of marble and the carved hardwood embellishments. As an architect, Sam is well aware of what all that lavish handiwork costs. The old cathedral was overhauled after the damage from the last category-four that blasted into Galveston Bay. He's saddened by the arrogance of the church, re-building what God has destroyed as though daring Him to do it again. Sam has to wonder how much those funds would have accomplished for people who needed them rather than appeasing the vanity of the snobbish churchgoers.

His search for a suitable fuck-chamber is futile. The whole building is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. He will have to find someplace at the reception hall for their tryst. His hotel room is too far away to take her there without someone missing her.

Or maybe he might just steal the bride, force Allison into his rented Audi, and whisk her away for a few days of their own honeymoon. He chuckles to himself. How would Mark feel about that?

~

THE WEDDING TOAST

~

The wedding goes off without a hitch. Well, mostly. The bridal party's entrance is over five minutes late. Whispers become a worried buzz. Mark fidgets nervously, looking to anyone who might tell him what's going on. Sam shrugs along with everybody else, suppressing his glee.

Finally, the wind quintet sounds the joyous notes of a children's song. The first to come in is the flower girl. Allison's niece is charming. Sam decides that's what Allison probably looked like when she was four. She is pulling Allison's fluffy lop-ear on the end of a white, rhinestone-studded leash. Last night at the rehearsal, Fuzzybutt hopped straight down the aisle like a pro. Today, with all the people around, she's curious.

The little girl tugs at the leash and fusses at her. "C'mon Fuzzbutt! A'sson gotta get married!" A ruffle of laughter floats through the crowd.

The bridesmaids skip and dance to the altar to a playful Queen rock'n'roll tune on the pipe organ. Tracy is more subdued than the others. Her smile seems forced as she moves in measured steps as if she were the bride. She doesn't look at Sam until she arrives at the bottom of the steps. It's just a glance, no more than a heartbeat. He would swear her smile brightens, then she looks away and her face goes blank as she takes her place, holding Fuzzybutt's leash and the flower girl's hand.