Royally Wed by Pamela DuMond

Author:Pamela DuMond [DuMond, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pamela DuMond Media

Ever since I passed out and conked my noggin, I’d been experiencing these weird ass dreams about Nicholas. First there was the ‘naked walking down the wedding aisle’ nightmare. That was actually pretty normal, and I could chalk it up to a first cousin of the ‘unclothed and exposed in school’ dream.

I didn’t know if they were real memories (as they were somewhat hazy), if they were actual dreams, or a bit of both. All I knew was that every time I lay my head down, I was pretty much guaranteed that Nicholas and I would be doing something naughty and usually in public.

I drifted into a light sleep under the flower power psychedelic bedspread when suddenly, I blinked my eyes open, and found myself back on the plane flying from America to Fredonia. I sat in a first class passenger seat, the tray table next to me open and filled with saucers of honey-roasted peanuts and itty-bitty pretzels.

“Of course, you can have as many bags of peanuts as you want, Ms. Trabbicio,” the flight attendant said, and placed a large Tupperware container of them on the tray. “You’re flying first class now. For you, we even have those super yum Friedricksburgh Farm mint sugar cookies. Would you like some freshly made hot chocolate with that?”

“I’ll make Lucy’s hot chocolate,” Nicholas said, wearing nothing but a tie in the Royal Fredonia colors and matching boxer shorts.

I took in his defined shoulder and chest muscles, and inhaled sharply as I drew my hand over his six pack, rock hard abs and journeyed down to his festive underwear that suddenly tented in my honor.

“And to sweeten the deal,” he said, “I’m putting extra fresh, homemade whipped cream on top.”

And just like that, a huge cup of steaming cocoa materialized on the tray next to me with a swirl of whipped cream about eight inches high that looked suspiciously phallic. “That looks super yum,” I said.

“You’d better believe it’s super yum, my American Princess-to-be.” He leaned down, his jet-black hair brushing against my forehead. His sexy day-old stubble scratched and tickled my cheek. He squeezed my knee and whispered in my ear, “Come on, Lucy. Humor me. It will be so much fun. I’m dying to initiate you into The Mile High Club. Who better to introduce you to the joys of carnal relations at 5280 feet? I am, after all, your fiancé.”

“Is this your fantasy that involves the first class bathroom on this plane?” I asked. “Because I’ve already visited that room for the usual reasons. The lighting is awfully harsh and I can see every pore on my face. The sink is itty bitty and I’m not sure I want those sharp, germ-ridden hot and cold water spigots etched into my ample backside.”

“Point taken,” he said. “Let’s improvise!” He leaned down, kissed me fiercely, and then peeled off my proper pant suit in the middle of British Airways First Class.

“No! I didn’t wear my fancy underwear, Nick. Just my every day cotton briefs.

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