Alien in the Family

later. Put the money away in your wallet. Please?”
    He did as asked. “Well, it’s all yours now anyway.” He took my hand, and we walked through the casino back to our elevator.
    “Jeff? Did you . . . do anything . . . to help me win?”
    He laughed. “No, baby, I didn’t use hyperspeed or anything else. Gambling is luck, but at the tables, craps in particular, much of it’s how the person with the dice feels. Too scared, nervous, or overconfident usually means they’ll crap out. I could tell when you and your grandmother felt the stress, and that meant you’d crap out the next roll. Everyone else at the table was worried they’d break the streak, meaning they would.”
    “What about the roulette wheel?
    He grinned. “Again, I didn’t do a thing. Nerves have nothing to do with roulette, either. You just picked wisely for that spin of the wheel.” He nuzzled my ear. “I told you—you’re personifying Lady Luck right now.”
    We got into the elevator and made out the whole way up. Martini kissed me tenderly and stroked my bare skin with his fingertips until I was a puddle. We walked hand-in-hand to the room. He opened our door, then picked me up and carried me inside.
    I gasped when I saw the room. It was loaded with flowers.
    “You like them?”
    “Oh my God, Jeff. Are these all from you?”
    “Yeah. Just wanted to make our wedding night special.”
    I grabbed his face and kissed him. “Just being with you makes it special, Jeff.”
    He nuzzled my neck. “Always like to be sure.” His tongue traced my skin, right where my shoulder met my neck, and I started to moan. He smiled against my skin. “How long is it going to take to get you unbuttoned?”
    “Probably longer than we want,” I managed to gasp out.
    He set me down. “Guess I can’t chase you, then.”
    “Maybe later. You’ll like what’s under the dress, anyway.”
    “Mmmm, I love what’s under the dress.” He turned me around and started unbuttoning. “Wow, called this one right. Good thing I’m doing this now.” He slid his thumbs down my spine and I gasped. It took him a little while, but he got the dress unbuttoned to about the middle of my bottom. Then he slid his hands around my waist, up my stomach, and cupped my breasts. I leaned back against him, my breathing heavy. He toyed with me for a bit. Once I was a puddle again, he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom.
    He took his wallet out of the tuxedo jacket. I took off his boutonnière. “Don’t take the tux off yet.” He started the low growl that always sounded like a purr. I backed away and shimmied out of my dress. His purr got louder.
    I turned around and hung my dress up. Turned back and he was right there, jungle cat look on his face. He picked me up by my waist and slammed our pelvises together. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and his mouth ravaged mine.
    I was already moaning by the time we fell on the bed. He grabbed my wrists and held my hands captive up over my head. Then he proceeded to do one of the many things he did best—bring me to screaming orgasm at second base.
    Martini let go of my wrists and slid my thong and shoes off. He left the garter belt and hose on. His hands slid up my legs. By the time he was at the middle of my thighs I was moaning and when his tongue followed I was back to my typical cat-inheat yowl.
    Lost count of the number of climaxes, couldn’t think much or form coherent words to beg him to make love to me. He finally moved back up my body, and I managed to get his pants undone and him in my hands while he made sure my breasts didn’t feel unloved or slighted in any way.
    I was moaning and writhing under him. “What do you want, baby?” he whispered in my ear.
    I’d been practicing for this moment. Had to get a whole sentence out, when one word was difficult because I was so far gone over the edge. “I want . . . my husband to make love to me.”
    He smiled and kissed me. “Can’t refuse my wife’s first official request.” He slid into me—my head went back, my back arched, and I clutched at him. It was intense—wild and tender at the same time, and I was gone in a matter of moments. “That’s what I want,” he purred against my neck. “Over and over again.”
    I obliged. I had no choice—everything he did made me want him more, and I was screaming and sobbing and begging him to stop and keep going all at the same time. We were slamming into each other, fast and furious, then he threw his head