A Fortnight at The Commodore: Part 1

The year? We’ll find out at some point.

“Good evening, and welcome to the Commodore,” the doorman greeted, holding out a welcoming arm while tipping his hat at the approaching pair.

Performing the move by muscle memory, Radko Lisjak scanned the hotel visitors. Despite the early autumn night, they matched him in long coats for the chilly, light rain. Still, the black-haired man’s ever-watchful dark brown eyes couldn’t miss the curves partially covered by the woman’s mink coat.

“Evening,” the blond-haired man in a black tuxedo responded, politely but brusquely, while glancing with annoyance at the sky as the rain increased.

“At least we had a lovely day. Hopefully, you were able to get out and enjoy our fine city,” Radko remarked. Picking up the man’s accent, he assumed correctly that he wasn’t a local.

“It’s such a quaint, adorable little city,” the buxom blonde commented, halting inside the doorway after escaping the rain. “Tell me, is it true that the hotel is haunted?”

“Helena, please. That’s nonsense,” the blond-haired man stated, managing to stop his eyes from rolling at his date’s question.

“Please, Konstantin, I’m curious,” Helena replied, flashing her eyelashes playfully. “Indulge me for a sec?”

“We do have several urban legends about multiple sightings over the decades, ma’am,” Radko began, noting Konstantin’s nod. He also fought to keep his eyes away from the deep cleavage of the woman’s plunging neckline in her sparkling silver dress. “Constructed in 1899, the Commodore featured the work of the finest craftsmen around. Unfortunately, an eight-story building posed a risk to some of the workers. Two deaths occurred during its construction. Tragically, those deaths sparked the first rumored hauntings. People claimed for several years that they heard workers banging, sawing, and hammering away.”

“Oh, dear,” Helena gasped.

“Likely from the building settling. It happens often,” Konstantin suggested. “Superstitious people often attribute distant sounds to nameless faces.”

"Could be, sir. However, two of our most well-known ghosts have names and faces attached to their sightings," Radko explained. "The first is Desmond Condor, the action-adventure author. Mr. Condor moved into the 4th Floor shortly after being discharged at the end of World War II. An infamous alcoholic, he resided in the hotel until he died in 1959. Guests on that floor often hear his typewriter pecking away at night, or his shouted curses. Don't let his string of expletives or shattering glass concern you. Mr. Condor is all bark, no bite."

“Amazing! I’ve heard of him. Several of his novels were turned into films during the 1950s and 1960s,” Helena recalled, placing her hand over her heaving bosom. “Have you ever heard or seen him?”

"Sightings of Mr. Condor are sporadic, but yes, most of the employees have heard his rants or typewriter. In fact, in my first year here, while working as a porter, Mr. Condor chewed me out for banging a suitcase against a door too loudly. Scared the bejesus out of me," the storytelling doorman chuckled.

“See? I told you that we should’ve stayed here, rather than at the Grand Fountain,” Helena admonished, causing the reserved man to appear slightly uncomfortable suddenly.

“I had my reasons.”

“No need to second-guess your choice, sir. The Grand Fountain is a fine establishment. Its post-World War II design and drapings have a fair share of admirers. Of course, its rooms are larger and more modern than ours. However, the Commodore has history on its side, along with a marvelous ballroom. That’s why it’s the first choice for weddings, charity events, and election night victories. And as your lovely friend noted, we have the ghosts,” Radko said, politely disrespecting the competition in his own way.

Seemingly finished with this discussion, Konstantin attempted to usher his date further into the lobby. Yet, Helena seemed to want a reason to stay.

“Our most frequently sighted spirit is a former employee,” Radko teased, successfully drawing Helena back into the tourist spiel. “Elroy Yarnold was one of the hotel’s first employees. Starting as a porter, he rose to elevator operator until the hotel switched to automated versions. After that, he finished his career as a doorman. Fifty-seven years, Elroy manned these halls and the lobby until he died from a heart attack while on the job, not too far from where we’re standing.”

“How awful!”

"Don't feel bad for him. Elroy loved this hotel so much that his spirit decided to stay and carry on his duties. He's usually seen roaming the hallways upstairs, but once or twice a year, he surfaces on the ground floor. A kind man, Elroy usually appears when a guest is lost. Many people have told how he appears out of nowhere to lead them to the proper location gently," Radko recounted, appraising the gorgeous woman's honey blonde hair, blue eyes, and large breasts.

“Yes, I’ve heard that most of these guests are inebriated and the sightings take place quite late at night,” Konstantin pointed out, inadvertently revealing that he’d looked into the Commodore and its history.

“Once again, you might have a point, sir,” the doorman replied, following the rule to never disagree with a potential guest.

“Hold on, Konny,” Helena said, raising a hand. Her use of the nickname caused the proud man to stew slightly. “I want to hear about your most famous ghost. Is it true that she’s the murdered lover of Rock Saxon?”

“I see you’ve heard of Lady Scarlet,” Radko replied, grinning. “Sorry, that’s not her real name. Actually, her name has been lost to the past. She’s gained that name as our version of a Lady in Red phantom.”

Konstantin muttered, “How unoriginal,” until a glare from the captivated blonde shut him up.

“You are correct. She was allegedly the lover of actor Rock Saxon. A native of nearby Anchor Rock, which is where his stage name originated, he occasionally stayed at the Commodore during his heyday in the Golden Age of Hollywood,” the doorman continued weaving his tale. “Legend has it that Rock and Lady Scarlet had a torrid fling, which only came to an end when a jealous ex-girlfriend appeared. Although the police, hotel management, and studio publicists hid the actress’s name during their cover-up, rumors swirled from the start that she had been one of Rock’s former leading ladies.”

“Oh, my! Did she really shoot Lady Scarlet?”

“Five shots, ma’am. Five shots at the hated other woman before firing and missing the sixth shot at Mr. Saxon. One assumes that her erasure from history is what keeps her angry spirit trapped on the top floor. Within weeks of her death, a woman matching her description began appearing in the suites while guests were in the throes of passion,” Radko added with a twinkle in his eye.

“Is that why you didn’t book a room here, darling? Afraid of a ghostly voyeur?” Helena teased.

“I’m going to inquire with the concierge about Ms. St. Fleur,” Konstantin grumbled, walking the short distance to the concierge's desk.

“Party-pooper,” Helena giggled before turning serious. “And the Bolier Beast?”

“Ah, I see you’re very well-informed, Miss…”

“Wist. Helena Wist,” the honey blonde introduced herself, offering her hand.

“Not many know about the hotel staff’s personal poltergeist. The Boiler Room Beast is considered our most violent non-paying guest. An utter mystery how and why it came to be; all we know is that it’s why employees are required to travel in pairs in the basement after dark. Multiple injuries in the first half-century had been blamed on the Beast.”

“Dreadful,” Helena commented, shuddering.

"There is no need to fret. The Beast has never left the basement in all its years," Radko reassured. Tipping his hat, he wished the beautiful blonde a fantastic night before walking over to help several departing guests with directions.

“Finished acting like a schoolgirl?” Konstantin queried, moving away from the concierge desk as Helena drew near.

“Is that a request for later?” Helena purred, biting her lip.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” the blond-haired man muttered. “Come on, we’re the last to arrive.”

Crossing the large, opulent lobby, they caught the attention of a slim man with balding, thinning light brown hair. Despite his well-tailored suit, the man had the air of a servant to Konstantin, so the businessman stopped as he approached.

“Mr. Brask?” Receiving a nod, he continued. “I’m Martin Diener, the general manager of the Commodore. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The two men shook hands while Konstantin introduced Helena.

“I just left Ms. St. Fleur. She inquired about your arrival,” Diener revealed.

“I’m surprised that Sistine didn’t reserve your ballroom for this gathering,” Konstantin noted, his eye flickering to the majestic room.

“The Ashmore-Nesnow wedding reserved the ballroom more than a year ago. However, Ms. St. Fleur preferred a more intimate setting,” Diener explained.

“A wedding? Oh! We should crash it if your friend’s thing gets boring,” Helena suggested, sounding like a blonde bimbo to the hotel general manager.

“That would be rude,” Konstantin stated. However, the hotel toady misunderstood his reason.

“While we’re usually quite strict about that type of behavior, I’m sure Mr. Ashmore and Mr. Nesnow would be honored to have the great Konstantin Brask at their children’s celebration.”

“Wonderful! We’ll keep that in mind,” the bubbly blonde replied.

“Now, we shouldn’t keep Sistine waiting any longer,” Konstantin reminded the eye candy on his arm.

“Yes, let me show you to the tea room. It’s right this way,” Diener responded, falling back into his servient role while gesturing with his arm.

“A tea room? You didn’t tell me that we’re going to a tea party, Konny?”

---

“What can I help you with, Mr. Horch?” Barclay Monroe inquired, smiling at a local Edgewater citizen who often stayed at the hotel for discretion about his dalliances. “A ride already to the club? Or perhaps tickets to the play down at the Odyssey?”

“C’mon, Barclay, I’ve told you to call me Hardy. Mr. Horch is my father or grandfather,” the young playboy directed good-naturedly. “We’re still waiting for our dinner. We just ordered.”

“Sorry, Hardy. One can’t be too sure of Mr. Diener’s whereabouts,” the charming concierge pointed out.

“That damn brown-noser? I think he finally gave up trying to kiss my ass last winter. So you should be safe,” the wild oats sowing scion suggested, running his hand through his dark blond hair.

“What’s wrong, Hardy?” Barclay asked, recalling the move as a sign of the young man’s nervousness. “Is there an issue with your dinner? Room accommodations? Your date selection?”

“No, no, she’s great. Everything’s great, to be honest,” the young playboy assured, wiping the sweat forming on his brow. “If anything, she’s too great.”

“Ah, I see,” the concierge said. This wasn’t by any means the first time the womanizing bachelor felt a strong attraction to a woman who worried him. So he waited for what usually came next.

“I-I’d like to get her a gift. Can you help again?”

“Of course! That’s my role here at the Commodore, sir,” the hotel employee declared brightly.

“C’mon, Barclay, we both know you do stuff for me beyond your normal job duties,” Hardy replied, looking less nervous as he cracked a smile. “You’ve saved my ass many times.”

“Which is a role I don’t mind. Now, what range of gifts are we discussing? I take it that she’s not a one-nighter or weekender,” Barclay speculated.

“Yeah, yeah, Janessa is at least a seven-dayer, maybe twice that,” the young playboy estimated. His relationships rarely lasted more than a month. Too many fish in the sea to taste only one for long, he often proclaimed.

“Janessa? I believe you introduced the young woman as Jocelyn on the way in,” the concierge pointed out.

“What? Jocelyn? Oh, gawd! Did I fuck up tonight already?” Hardy exclaimed. Turning around from the concierge desk, he peered around the lobby and toward the two wide sets of glass doors.

“Rest assured, Hardy, your date did not slip out while we were talking.”

“Whew!”

Relieved, the young playboy collapsed the upper half of his body across the desk. Barclay nodded while raising a reassuring hand to several concerned or disgusted guests who passed by. Showing the patience of a saint, the concierge waited until the frequent guest raised his head.

“I take it that Jocelyn means a lot,” Barclay inquired politely. The generous heir to the Housley Appliance fortune often displayed these dramatic moments over his potential conquests.

“Kinda. Ben Kolb said that she’s a magician with her mouth,” Hardy revealed, smirking already at the possibilities.

Letting a sigh out slowly and silently, Barclay wondered if the man’s wanderlust for women would ever fade. It depends on how many children appear from his loins, the concierge thought before speaking.

“Now, think hard. Did you call her by the wrong name since being seated for dinner?”

“I don’t know! I don’t think so. Probably not.”

“Hmmm, this does factor into the gift range. A fortnighter might be required to be on the safe side,” Barclay speculated.

“No, no! We’d better go with the more-than-a-monther. I’m not missing out on her skills. Dud Radmer and Ben Kolb would never let me live it down,” Hardy vowed, finally standing straight again. “Uh, but maybe don’t overspend. Just in case.”

“Understood. Perhaps it would be wise to shift to a gift that complements your lady friend’s hair color. Green often goes splendidly with strawberry blonde hair.”

“Wait, she’s a blonde?” Hardy questioned, turning around again to stare at the hallway that led to the dining room while scratching his head.

“Strawberry blonde, as in a redhead.”

“Oh, right! My bad,” the oblivious man chuckled. “Uh, how long do you think this will take?”

“An hour. Forty-five minutes, if we’re lucky,” Barclay estimated. “You should order dessert.”

“Good call! That will buy us some time,” the playboy agreed, nodding excitedly. Wandering away a few feet, Hardy appeared lost in his thoughts. “Hey, a play sounds classy. Do you think Janessa will like the idea?”

“I don’t know what Jocelyn prefers, sir. However, you would come off as classy or sophisticated.”

“Shit! I fucked up her name again. I'd better think of a nickname for her,” Hardy told himself. He started muttering over nicknames about his date’s lips, mouth, and tongue.

“I think Red should suffice.”

“Awesome idea!” Hardy cheered, fist-bumping the concierge. “You’re a lifesaver. Wait, when does the play usually start?

“Saturdays usually feature a double. The first showing is at 6:30, with another around three hours later. You should be fine for the latter,” Barclay reassured. “Would you care to know the play’s name?”

“Nah!” Hardy replied, walking away before returning again. “Actually, you'd better tell me so I can act literate. Oh, also, do they have private seats, like balconies? You know, just in case she wants to thank me during the play.”

“I’ll see if any are available,” Barclay noted before telling the playboy the play’s title and a brief rundown of the plot.

“Sounds boring, but whatever.”

First, the concierge picked up his work phone and dialed the Odyssey Theater ticket office. Unable to get a balcony booth, he grabbed the next best thing for the horny playboy: a pair of side seats next to a column. Next, he pulled out his personal phone.

“Roscoe? It’s Clay. Yeah, I need an item, and I need it fast. How quickly can you meet me next door? That long? Good. Yeah, the usual spot.”

Hanging up, the unflappable concierge nearly jumped when a voice out of nowhere asked, “What’s Horch’s weekly problem?”

“Jesus, Radko. Don’t do that. I thought you were Diener for a moment.”

“Sorry. It sounds like you’re buying something again,” the doorman noted.

“I am. Hardy thinks his date is the one for the next week or two,” Barclay relayed.

“I don’t know. She looked familiar. I’ve been trying to place her since they entered.”

“Why am I not surprised? He mentioned she has skills with her tongue.”

“Oh, hell, no!” Radko nearly shouted. “She’s the redhead that Jang accused of being an escort last spring.”

“Jang thinks every attractive woman is an escort. She also needs to mind her business,” the concierge said, referring to the ultra-professional front desk clerk.

“Speaking of attractive, did you catch that blonde who came in a short time ago? Talk about a rack,” Radko praised, holding his hands out in front of his chest.

“I was more interested in that necklace. It’s worth at least 10 Gs,” Barclay noted.

“Shit, always money with you. How did you not stare at her tits? What I’d give to get in that,” the doorman declared, winking lewdly.

“You’d probably give your life. The man she’s with: Konstantin Brask. He’s a Scandinavian shipping magnate. Rather ruthless in business,” Barclay revealed. “I hope you didn’t offend him.”

“Fuck. I don’t think so,” Radko mumbled, the blood draining from his face. Suddenly, he swung around, scanning the lobby and the doors. “I could’ve sworn that somebody just went by.”

“I didn’t see anyone. Still, you'd better not let Diener catch you slacking off while ogling guests and visitors.”

“I know I felt a presence behind me. More than one, I think,” Radko insisted.

“You’ve been telling too many ghost stories,” the concierge joked, watching as a nervous, young man rose from one of the plush seats that wrapped around a lobby column.

Barclay's eyes briefly flickered to where he thought he saw a flash of movement from behind the column. Returning his attention to the blond-haired young man, likely a college student, he watched him enter the ballroom with trepidation. He rechecked the column but didn't spot anyone.

Now you're the one seeing things. Poor kid is probably working up the courage to ask a pretty little thing to dance.

“I’ll need to leave in half an hour, if anyone asks. It shouldn’t take long,” Barclay informed him. “Also, if you want to risk your neck tonight, stick with the Ashmore bride. She looks fun.”

The doorman merely nodded distractedly as he returned to his post.

---

Avoiding the connecting skyway from the hotel to the parking garage, Barclay entered from the ground level after exiting the Commodore via the front doors. Taking the elevator up to the fourth floor, he walked up an increasingly rising ramp until he reached a location about three-quarters of the way to the fifth level. While ascending, he dropped the air of dignity to revert to the old street hustler from his younger days.

He headed for a large delivery truck, walking around it to reach the fenced opening that overlooked the next street over. A sports utility vehicle that had backed into the final parking spot of the row sat next to the truck with its rear hatch open.

“Perfect timing, Clay. The shop just opened,” a man with slick hair greeted the concierge. Although he was dressed nicely, his clothes couldn’t hide the man’s natural seediness. Clay watched him flip open two large cases. “Whatcha in the mood for this fine evening? Ice, something shiny, or fake, yet believable.”

“You know I don’t want anything fake, Roscoe.” Glancing inside both cases at the assortment on display, he pointed to the case on the right. “Is that all you have of this kind?”

“Ooh! Going with a different flavor tonight. Nice! Hold on. I got another case of stuff I just picked up from my fence,” the seller said, closing and pushing the case filled with gold items forward. In its place, a much smaller case appeared. “Surprised that you don’t want diamonds as usual or a fancy watch.”

“My client has a redhead on his arm tonight. I think emeralds would go tastefully with her hair,” Barclay explained, looking at the selection.

“I got a nice charm bracelet there with emeralds,” Roscoe pointed out, jabbing his finger toward the left upper corner.

“No, bracelets are for fortnighters,” Clay replied, causing the seller to shrug his shoulders in confusion.

One-night stands or weekend flings brought earrings for Hardy’s women. Anklets were for seven-dayers, while fortnighters received bracelets. With the possible name mix-up, Jocelyn would be gifted a necklace.

“This one,” the concierge announced, picking up a necklace with an emerald pendant. “How much?”

“For you, my friend, a mere fifteen hundred bucks.”

“Don’t test me. I’m not paying that much for a stolen necklace,” Clay responded icily. “Wait, this isn’t hot from around here, is it?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Take it easy, Monroe. It’s not nice to toss around loaded words like that,” Roscoe warned. “I have feelings, ya know.”

“You also have a poor reputation, Rattigan,” Clay shot back. Suddenly, he paused upon hearing a bang from nearby. A possible hissed curse followed faintly. “No, bullshit. I need to get back.”

“Look, I hear you got a fancy wedding inside tonight. If I wanted to sell you something warm from nearby, I’d get somebody to walk through the reception, lifting what you selected.”

“Don’t even joke about that. You know the Commodore is off-limits to your family,” the concierge reminded, sternly.

“I know, I know. I think my guy said this batch came from the West Coast, the Northwest. So probably from Seattle or Portland.” Roscoe Rattigan met Barclay’s gaze. “Alright, I was just pointing out that Ungerman’s security is piss poor inside there. I bet a pickpocket could have a field day with the bling at that wedding.”

“Ungerman hovers enough, thank you very much.”

“I hear you. Since you’re a dependable, repeat customer, I’ll give it to you for a grand. Deal?”

“Deal,” Clay replied, counting out ten hundreds.

---

“What’s wrong?” Martin Diener demanded, slipping into the ballroom.

After several wedding guests stormed out of the reception and left the hotel entirely, the hotel's general manager became alarmed. Hurrying inside, he grabbed the arm of the events coordinator for the Commodore, pulling her aside for him to whisper harshly.

“I knew it. I told you not to cater sushi. All we need is a food poisoning scandal.”

“Relax,” Chelsea Glasel stressed. “The food is fine. We have plenty, and there haven’t been any complaints.”

“Then why are people leaving in a huff?” Diener questioned.

“The best man gave his speech. Let’s just say that he got a little spicy and revealed details best left unsaid,” the chestnut-brown-haired wedding planner recounted.

“Isn’t the Nesnow brother the best man?”

“He was. Parker just replaced him on the stage with his best friend. Apparently, Father demanded he select his brother over his stern objections,” Chelsea revealed, confusing the bootlicker to the wealthy and influential.

“Well, if Procter Nesnow thought having his other son was best, then we shouldn’t question his judgment.”

“I think everyone in the ballroom is questioning his judgment right now. Now, go! I have this well in hand,” Chelsea ordered her boss.

Despite wanting to stay and argue, Martin wanted to check on Ms. St. Fleur’s party in the tea room. Striding toward the door with purpose in his steps, the busybody boss halted upon spotting a recently familiar face standing inside the doorway.

“Ah, Miss…Wist, is everything alright? Does Mr. Brask need anything?”

“Konny’s fine. Talking boring business with those stuffy people. I thought I’d sneak inside here for a peek at the wedding. You don’t mind, do you?” Helena asked, putting on a sad expression.

“No, no, if Mr. Brask doesn’t mind, I don’t see what it hurts,” Diener assured, bending rules he usually doesn’t bend.

“Thanks, Marty!”

A wedding between two of the wealthier families in Edgewater brought some of the finest, most elegant dresses and gowns, along with dazzling jewelry. Despite those circumstances, the sight of the busty blonde’s cleavage-bearing dress and eye-catching necklace drew attention to the rear corner of the ballroom.

Realizing this, Helena hurriedly sat at a mostly empty table. Flashing a mesmerizing smile, she introduced herself to the slim, lanky young man with short blond hair and popping blue eyes.

“Hello, I’m Helena. Are you with the bride's or the groom’s side?”

“I-I’m n-not…I mean, I-I’m with, uh, the photographer,” the young man, who Helena guessed to be eighteen or nineteen, stammered.

“Don’t worry. I’m a wedding crasher, too,” the buxom blonde whispered, leaning over toward his ear. The move caused the nervous young man’s eyes to widen upon getting an up-close and personal view of her cleavage. “And your name is?”

“La…Len…Lucky…Linus!”

“Okay, Lucky Linus, we can hang out together until the real fun begins,” Helena replied, glossing over the clearly fake name he used.

Scanning the ballroom, Helena’s eyes fell on the wedding party. At first, stunned by the burnt orange bridesmaids' dresses, she expected to find a plain or ugly bride. However, after one glance at the bride, she took a second look at the orange dresses. Telling herself they actually complemented the deep tans and hair colors of the six women, she moved back to study the bride again.

“Wow, she’s a cutie,” Helena remarked, studying the bride’s flawless face. An ivory floral clip sat in her hair while the veil rested on the side of the table. Moving her eyes downward, Helena nodded, appreciating the exposed neck and arms, as the bride wore a strapless dress. “Nice and perky, too. I’d say 34C.”

Lucky Linus, next to her, banged his knee against the table in shock at her comment. Apologizing to the older couple with poor hearing at their table, Linus watched in surprise as Helena lifted her head for a better look as the bride stood up and walked over to descend the raised platform.

“Ooh, killer tush on her, too. I bet the groom’s family must be loaded to pull her,” the busty blonde continued to comment before turning to face her new acquaintance. “What’s her name?”

“A-Arbor. Arbor Ashmore,” Lucky Linus revealed.

“Arbor. Hmmm, I bet she comes from money, too, doesn’t she?”

“Uh, yeah, they’re two of the richest families in town,” the nervous young man replied.

“Fascinating.”

---

As the elevator ascended, the gentle rocking matched the beating of Parker’s heart. Still stunned by the luck that had graced his life for the last four years, the dark-blond-haired man stopped to stare at Arbor. His new bride was perfect in every single way he could think of, while he was plain or average in the same ways. Worried this might all be an extended dream, he did the one thing he could think of to check.

“Did you just pinch yourself?” the slightly drunk brunette asked, giggling.

“Maybe,” the more sober groom admitted, blushing.

Stepping closer on the rising elevator, Arbor's smoldering blue eyes locked on her old family friend with burning hunger. Reaching up, her fingers played with several hanging strands loosened by a night of dancing from her meticulously styled hair. Parker's heart nearly stopped as the same hand launched forward to gently tug his hair, pulling him close until their lips met. The kiss was tender yet demanding. The warmth of their breath mingled with the taste of alcohol and the cake's sweet frosting.

As their tongues danced, the medium-sized brunette showcased her strength by yanking her new husband forward by his hips. The heat of her skin radiated from beneath the delicate fabric of her dress while the faint scent of perfume tickled his nostrils.

Suddenly, Arbor slid her hand down the length of his tuxedo pants. With a deftness that left him gasping, she reached inside his boxer briefs, her warm fingers wrapping around his growing arousal. The electric sensation caused Parker to groan into their continuing kiss, feeling his wife’s urgency through her groping.

Arbor's hot breath swirled inside Parker's ear before her tongue followed suit. Nibbling and sucking on his earlobe, she pulled his face to stare into his eyes. Her next words sent a shiver down his spine.

“I can't wait to get my mouth on you, baby. Now that we’re hitched, everything is a new first," Arbor purred sultrily. Her firm yet delicate grip continued to stroke him under his pants, causing Parker to feel as if he were in a dream daze.

The elevator's soft ding as it reached the 8th floor was almost lost in their growing arousal, and the world shrank around them. With a knowing smile, Arbor released his pulsing shaft to pull her hand out.

“C’mon, baby. It’s time for you to fuck a married woman.”

Parker had to bite his lip to keep himself from fainting while he watched his sexy wife trace a finger down the front of her strapless dress, over her abundant bust, down her toned stomach until her hand reached the bottom of the short dress. Bunching it up slightly, Arbor gave her love a sneak peek at the lacy, bridal garter belt and stockings hidden underneath.

With their suite door now only a short walk away, Parker decided to take the lead. Sweeping Arbor off her feet in the traditional wedding carry, he began to walk down the hallway. Laughing sweetly at her husband’s straining effort, Arbor wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes sparkling with excitement at his bold move. Despite his lack of muscles, he found surprising strength, driven by his love and desire not to screw up this magical moment.

However, the hallway corridor started to seem longer than he remembered from earlier in the evening. With her groom stumbling slightly into the wall, Arbor giggled a warning, "Careful, you don't want to drop your new wife on our wedding night, do you?"

Fortunately, Parker avoided dropping his beautiful bride before the wedding procession reached their door. On the other hand, the straining groom could’ve kicked himself for not removing the keycard from his pocket before picking up Arbor. Holding the petite brunette against the door frame, Parker nearly fell backward while he fumbled around for his keycard. Finally, he produced it with a flourish that unlocked the door.

With the door clicking open, Parker kicked it open wider with his foot to reveal the dimly lit suite beyond. With a grunt of effort, Parker carried Arbor over the threshold with their eyes locked together in a fiery gaze. Entering their private sanctuary of passion, Arbor reached past her husband to slam the door shut behind them.

Standing in the center of the suite’s sitting room, Parker was determined to keep hold of his bride until he could reach the bedroom. Struggling to keep his balance, Parker's eyes widened with excitement as he took in the grandeur of their suite. The king-sized bed, with its plush comforter and countless pillows, called out to them. The groom also felt relieved that he’d ignored the suggestion to place rose petals on their bed. That crap would have only slowed them down now.

With a gentle yet firm motion, Parker sat Arbor down in the center of the mattress, causing her wedding dress to slide up her thighs. Her delightful giggle followed, filling the room as she bounced several times on the comfy mattress. Stepping back, Parker marveled in awe at the woman who agreed to be his wife.

"You are so beautiful, Mrs. Nesnow."

The sound of her name on Parker’s lips caused Arbor's cheeks to flush. With a seductive smirk, she turned her body slightly, placing her back to him as she sat on her knees on the bed. Looking over her shoulder, her blue eyes pierced into his with dazzling intensity.

"Unzip me, Parker. I want to feel your hands on my bare skin,” the needy brunette commanded in a purr.

Admiring how the fabric of her wedding dress clung to her every curve, Parker moved forward to place his knees at the side of the bed. Leaning forward, he reached out to grasp the zipper in the middle of her back. Teasingly, Arbor demonstrated her impatience with a playful tug of the dress. With a gentle but firm pull, he started to unzip her dress, the sound echoing in the quiet suite. The fabric parted like a curtain, revealing a hint of lacy white lingerie covering her bottom.

Feeling the zipper on her dress reach its limit, Arbor lifted her butt off the bed to allow the dress to slip down even farther. Parker took the initiative to finish pulling it down and remove it completely. Carefully, he carried the dress to the armchair and draped it over the side. Turning around, Parker found Arbor left in nothing but a white bridal thong, garter belt, and stockings. Waiting until his eyes were focused on her entirely, Arbor met them with a smoldering desire before she flipped onto her back. As the mattress gave way slightly under her weight, the blushing bride let her legs hang over the edge of the bed, allowing the silk stockings to frame her toned thighs like a piece of art. Biting her lower lip as her chest heaved, Arbor opened her mouth.

"Do you like what you see, Mr. Nesnow? Or do you want to see more?"

Parker's eyes widened at her tone and body language. Despite having seen Arbor naked before, something about this moment felt fresh and tantalizing. An attempt to respond to her question came out as a strangled gasp-and-growl combination as his dry mouth stuck together.

Rather than wait for an answer, Arbor hooked her thumbs under the sides of her thong. With gazes locked, she slowly lowered the tiny thong with a gentle yet firm motion, pausing only briefly when the fabric caught on her garter belt. The sight of her bare skin sent a jolt of electricity through him as he realized this vision was his for the rest of their lives.

Although muffled by the plush carpet, the sound of her damp thong hitting the floor barked like a gunshot to Parker’s ears. Blazing, Arbor's eyes never left his, her own desire mirroring his in their depths. Watching the love of her life intently, her chest rose and fell with every breath she took as his attention roamed her nakedness, well aware that her body begged for his touch.

“I think these might just stay on," Arbor murmured, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips while she snapped the garter belt against her taut skin. The challenge in the brunette’s gaze was unmistakable: she wanted him to appreciate the view she offered, while knowing that she looked absolutely stunning in this moment. “If you don’t mind, hun.”

Parker nodded at the idea. Then he gulped again at the seductive arch of her brow, Arbor made before pointing at his tuxedo pants.

"Your turn, Mr. Nesnow. I want to see what you're hiding under that fancy tuxedo."

In complete agreement with her suggestion, Parker was unable to move as Arbor’s fingers traced the lace of her garter belt, hinting at the bare flesh beneath. Then, he added a yearning moan as she sat up rapidly, causing her breasts to sway with the movement. Even wilder, she reached out to beckon him with her hand before she snapped her fingers impatiently.

"Let's not keep Mrs. Nesnow waiting, shall we?" Arbor commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. And if it did, the fire in her eyes added all the encouragement he needed.

With hands clumsy from need, Parker fumbled with his bowtie, leading his new wife to smirk at his eagerness. Deciding to tease him further, the sexy brunette leaned back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows and crossing her legs at the ankle. Raised, expectant eyebrows gave Parker the hint. His fingers fought through his palpable excitement to undo several buttons on his shirt.

"Come here," Arbor commanded after seeing his pale, exposed chest.

After Parker moved closer, his bride reached out to dance her fingers along the waistband of his pants before deftly unbuckling his belt. Sliding it off with a whisper of leather, she let it fall to the floor. Next, Arbor yanked down his boxers to leave him standing only in his partially unbuttoned shirt. Nodding appreciatively, the brunette decided she liked the disheveled look on her husband. It was sexy to her.

"Now," she said, her voice low and sultry, "Let's get that married cock up here to meet its wifey slut."

Climbing onto the bed, Parker moved up between Arbor's legs, which caused her to spread her thighs wider. A passionate kiss followed as the groom leaned forward, and the bride’s hand snaked up to feel the bare parts of his chest. Lightly raking her nails along his skin, she sent delicious shivers down his spine that caused his cock to jump. The sudden movement caused his dick to brush against Arbor's inner thigh.

The slight touch unleashed a sudden burst of strength that increased the horny bride’s desires. As a result, Arbor flipped Parker over onto his back. With her body moving in a fluid motion, Arbor straddled her love, causing her lingerie-clad hips to grind against his skin. Adding a wicked smirk, Arbor then slid her body down the length of Parker’s until her hot breath warmed his erect tip.

"You know," the aroused bride mused, her eyes looking up at him through her lashes, "Now that we're married, I own this big, beautiful cock. And I plan to enjoy it every chance I get."

"Oh, fuck!" Parker moaned as his wife flicked her tongue out to tease him with the lightest of touches before she wrapped her full, pouty lips around the head of his shaft. The whole time, her blazing eyes never left his.

With a firm grip around the base of her husband’s shaft, Arbor traced deliberate circles around the engorged manhood. Looking up at him with a mix of love and lust, she let out a velvety purr, "Mrs. Nesnow is going to take such good care of you."

With that, Arbor took Parker deep into her mouth, her tongue swirled around his length as she sucked with a fervor that made his toes curl. Then, a wet pop sounded as Arbor released her husband.

"You taste so good, baby," the bride whispered, her eyes sparking with mischief as a strand of saliva connected her lips to her husband’s cockhead. “You're mine now. All mine.”

Hands and mouth moved in tandem as Arbor kissed and licked her way down the shaft. Parker's head got a tongue swirling until his wife captured it in her mouth for a taste, savoring it. Then, he entered the warm cavern of her mouth while saliva dripped all around from the slurping and sucking. In no rush, Arbor enjoyed worshiping her man's cock, working her hand in perfect rhythm while she whispered filthy promises about what she would do to him all night long and all on their honeymoon.

After dropping, "I'm going to suck you until you can't take it anymore," Arbor changed her mind upon cupping his ball. Checking the other one, she marveled at their fullness. Maybe avoiding sex for the last month was a good idea.

A wicked smile formed yet again, and Arbor bobbed her head faster, her cheeks hollowing with each bob as she took him deeper into her mouth. Half-lidded eyes of pleasure watched his face contort with passion. Then she released her toy with a pop and smiled to show off her shiny, saliva-covered lips.

"You know, Parker," Arbor purred, her voice a seductive whisper, "Now that we're married, I can do this whenever I want."

A pause followed to allow for another long lick of the length of his cock, from base to tip.

"I can wake you up with it, suck you off in the shower, even when you're trying to work from home," the new bride giggled, her voice playful yet filled with a promise of a lifetime of unbridled sexual exploration. Then, she enveloped his cock again, using her hand to pump in sync with her mouth. And she added a toothy graze to his sensitive skin, ever so slightly. "Or maybe…I'll let you fuck my throat until you fill me up with your hot, sticky cum."

The words alone were enough to make Parker throb in her grip. Gleefully, she watched his cock pulse in her hand, the veins bulging while the head turned a deep shade of purple. The response sent a rush of power through her body, knowing she had her loving husband at her mercy.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” Arbor asked needlessly, gently cupping his full, hot balls. "These feel so full. Full enough that I think you're ready to make me a very happy wife."

Parker attempted to move as he thought she wanted to finally fuck, but Arbor stopped him as she locked her lips around his cock again for another tongue swirl and taste. After a few more sucks and slurps, she released him with a pant.

“Whenever you're ready, baby," the wanton bride began, her voice a seductive challenge. "I want to feel your cum all over me. Paint my face, cover my tits, fill my mouth. Make it a wedding night I'll never forget. Make me a white bride one more time, baby. Make me your slutty bride!"

Parker's eyes widened in surprise at her slutty request. Never before had she wanted to be debased in such a manner. It confused and turned him on. Maybe there wasn’t anything to those complaints from husbands about their wives turning frigid after getting a ring. If anything, Arbor seemed way wilder and more wanton.

The confusion carried down to Arbor bobbing and sucking down on his lap. Parker’s cock had seemed to grow even larger with the picture she wanted painted before his dick began to soften. Glancing up at her lover, the new bride began to worry at his shocked, terrified expression.

“What’s the matter? Did I get too dirty?” Arbor questioned.

Then, she noticed that he stared past her and into the suite. The brunette started to turn her head until she stopped as her new husband spoke.

“G-G-G-Ghost!” Parker stammered, shrieking.

“Ghost?” Arbor questioned, watching her husband lift a trembling finger to point behind her.

Sitting up, the brown-haired bride turned to look over her shoulder. While she did so, Parker scrambled off the bed. Arbor’s blue eyes widened upon finally witnessing the glowing red phantom of Lady Scarlet, who watched them lasciviously with one hand caressing her ample breast.

“Holy shit! It’s real!” Arbor exclaimed, glancing over as her frightened husband fled the bedroom, his shirt tails flying behind him like a cape. “Parker, wait!”