Marrying Mr. Majestic Bonus Scene

I recommend reading this short after finishing Marrying Mr. Majestic. Enjoy!

Drunk Silas

He was fucking cute. Cute as fuck. Fucking adorable.

“Bet you can’t tie a cherry stem with your tongue,” Way slurred.

We were back at the bar for a break from dancing. Sweat dampened the edges of his hairline, and I knew from dancing with him that it also dampened the cotton shirt over his lower back. His face was bright and flushed with excitement. This wasn’t the first or even fifth small bet we’d challenged each other with tonight.

“Can,” I said, poking my finger down into the fruity cocktail in front of me. “What’ll you give me if I can?”

He scrunched up his face in concentration. “Hmm… if you can, I will…”

“Let me wear your hat?” I teased.

His eyes widened. “Certainly not! Do you have any idea what that means in cowboy nomen… nomenclay… nomenclating? No-men…”

“Nomenclature,” I said with a laugh.

“Whatever. It’s a serious situation, Silas. The hat thing.”

His alcohol-heavy tongue drew out the sibilants.

“Slow dance with me, then,” I challenged, popping the cherry stem I’d captured into my mouth.

“Puh-futtt. Easy.”

I tied the knot and stuck out my tongue to show him. He leaned precariously forward, almost tumbling into my lap in an effort to determine whether or not I’d met the parameters of the bet.

I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer until my mouth brushed the hair above his ear. “Dance with me, cowboy.”

Way’s eyes looked dazed as I pulled him back to the dance floor.

“’S’not a slow song,” he said in a low voice, leaning his face against mine as I pulled him close.

“Not necessary, is it? We can still slow dance.”

A peppy club mix version of “The Tide Is High” was playing, but I forced Way’s body to slow down by holding him close. He made a muffled grunt of frustration before relaxing against me with a sigh.

As the crowd moved around us and the lights flashed behind my eyelids, I inhaled the scent of him, memorized the feel of him in my arms, and wondered at the quirky twists of fate that had led us both here tonight.

“It’s weird slow dancing with a guy,” he said close to my ear.

“Weird bad or weird interesting?”

His hands moved up my back and down again. “Weird good.”

After a few minutes of fantasizing about his hands getting more curious, I decided to tease him. “You know… men have better asses than women. In general, I mean. No disparaging a wom—”

His hands moved down to clasp my ass through my suit pants. It wasn’t a sultry move of seduction, more of a scientific fondling.

“Mm. Maybe so,” he said, squeezing once, twice. 

I bit back a laugh. “And we have narrower hips. In general, of course.”

Way moved his hands around to my hips and then up my sides. If I hadn’t had so much to drink, my dick would have been rock hard. 

“’S nice,” he admitted before moving his hands back to my ass.

“I bet you can’t kiss a man without blushing,” I said.

“Can,” he replied automatically. It was part of the game at this point. “What’ll you give me if I can?”

My chest lightened with bubbles of amusement. Stubborn fucker. “What do you want?”

“If I do it, you… you…” He stopped and considered. Then he grinned. “You sing ‘I Touch Myself’ at a karaoke bar.”

“Darlin’, I slay at a karaoke bar.”

His smile was radiant and smug. “Prove it.”

And then that cowboy kissed the fuck out of me on the dance floor.

Drunker Way

I thought I was drunk before the kiss, but it was nothing compared to the high I felt after it.

“Woah.”

Silas’s eyes were wide, and his grin was gone. “Woah,” he repeated.

“That…” I cleared my throat. “I don’t think I did it right.”

“You… you did it right.”

I studied Silas’s lips, red and wet from my assault. “No. No, I think I should try again.” My eyes stayed on his lips. I couldn’t have pried them off with an eyeball crowbar.

“Maybe,” he breathed. “Maybe so.”

I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his, and then something inside of me took over. I clasped his face in my hands and deepened the kiss. After a moment, Silas’s tongue tangled with mine. He was demanding, strong… masculine.

And kissing him made me desperate to know more. To feel more. To experience more.

“Waylon,” he said in a rough voice, pulling away. “You’re drunk.”

“Not too drunk for this.”

His eyes met mine. Their intensity grabbed me right in the gut and held on tight. “You sure? Be sure, Way. I don’t want you to—”

I leaned forward and kissed him again. And then time spun wildly out of control. 

We eventually found a nearby karaoke bar. It was early May, but the night air was already stifling hot in Vegas. Silas grabbed my hat long enough to take pictures in it in front of the Bellagio water fountains. We took selfies everywhere on our drunken stumble to find karaoke, and when we finally found it, we sang a duet of “I Got You Babe” that sent the other customers to their feet with whoops and applause.

Had I ever had as much fun in my entire life before I met Silas Concannon? Surely not.

After we climbed off the stage, he turned to me. “Bet you won’t—”

“Wait, wait. We’re still on your ‘I Touch Myself’ bet. You need to sing it.”

His grin was feral. “I won that bet, sweetheart.”

“I kissed you!”

He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. “The bet was to kiss me without blushing.”

My face had been threat-level Zulu since the moment I’d met Silas, so I had no doubt if blushing had been part of the bet, I’d certainly lost. “Oh.”

His laughter rumbled through me. “So, it’s my turn. I bet you can’t…”

Someone’s shout nearby interrupted him. “Marry me!” Cheers erupted when the woman being proposed to nodded and burst into tears.

Silas’s eyes turned toward me, filled with mischief.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said with a laugh.

“You did come to Vegas to get married, Waylon Fletcher,” he teased.

“To a woman. To someone I know.”

“Surely after our night together, you can’t say we don’t know each other?” He was flirty and fun, and not for the first time tonight, I noticed envious glances shot in my direction. I glanced around, wondering what type of man would eventually land Silas Concannon for real. The idea made me vaguely nauseous, but maybe that was the candy apple shooter I’d thrown down a few minutes ago.

“Hey,” he soothed, rubbing his hands up and down my back. “I’m just teasing. Don’t you remember saying marriage wasn’t for me? I meant it. I’ll never get married. Fake Vegas wedding or real-life wedding. Doesn’t matter. Neither is for me.”

I laughed at the idea Vegas weddings were “fake.” “Okay, then what’s the bet?”

He spotted something over my shoulder, then gave me a Cheshire grin. “I bet you can’t take a body shot off a man.”

“Can. What’ll you give me?” I thought of something. “Wait. It has to be you, though. I don’t… I don’t want to do it with some random guy.”

We both knew Silas himself was “some random guy” to me, but I at least knew him well enough to know I didn’t mind… drinking off his body.

The very idea made me have feelings I’d never had for a man before.

Silas’s hand came up and caressed the side of my cheek. “Has to be me, hm? Why is that?”

I turned my face until my mouth brushed the side of his thumb. And then I reached my tongue out to swipe at it.

“Because I already like the way you taste.”

Drunkest Silas

The man knew how to make even a liquor-soaked dick hard.

“Fuck,” I groaned, pulling away before doing something I wouldn’t be able to take back. “Fine. Body shot. Let’s go.”

I grabbed Way’s hand and pulled him to the bar, where I’d seen two guys taking shots off a woman’s stomach.

The experience was so novel for Way he insisted on doing another shot. And then he insisted on me doing one off his abs.

Which… was not a hardship. In fact, it was so… not a hardship… that I took another. Then another. Until I felt like the rasp of his happy trail was permanently imprinted on my tongue.

After the body shot situation, we were beyond hammered. Way weaved beside me as we meandered down the strip arm in arm. He’d developed a case of the hiccups at some point, and it was the most endearing thing I’d ever seen.

“And then she <hic> made me <hic> sit outside. Can you <hic> believe that? My own sister!”

I tried to picture Way in muddy boots with a newborn horse under one arm. “How dare she not let you eat in the cafe like that?”

“I know! She <hic> is so <hic> mean!”

“What would she have said if you’d married Ellen?”

“Eden. And she, <hic> Sheridan, I mean, <hic> would have been fur… fur… <hic> furious.”

I pulled him away from an approaching band of bachelorettes tripping over their high heels, carrying dick-shaped bottles, and draped in twisted sashes. “Why?”

“Wants me to marry for real. For love ’n shit.”

“Ugh.”

He laughed and peered sideways at me. “Don’t say ugh! Love is supposed to be a good thing.”

It definitely wasn’t. “Fuck love.”

“If that’s how you feel, you should avoid it.”

“Agreed. But I need a way to keep myself from being tempted. Plenty of people say they’re never going to get married, and then they do. How do you…” I tried to get my drink-soaked brain to work. “How do you make sure you never get married?”

“Well, I mean… <hic> if you… if you were already married, you couldn’t get married. Right?”

It made a lot of sense. “Right. But then you’d be married.”

“Hm. But <hic> but how could you get married but, like, not for real?”

The answer came to me just as the Bellagio fountains erupted in bright lights and spray. “You could get fake married in Vegas!”

Way’s forehead crumpled. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

I shook my head, which sent the scene around me spinning. “No, it is. Vegas weddings aren’t the same, you know? People don’t take them seriously.”

“They’re real, though.”

“Are they? Surely not.”

His face remained creased in confusion before his eyes lit up. “I bet you they are! I bet you can’t get fake Vegas married.”

“Can,” I said, grinning at him. “What’ll you give me if I do?”

His face was bright and flushed. Waylon Fletcher was goddamned gorgeous. “What do you want?”

“I really want your hat,” I confessed.

“Think again, city boy,” he said on a laugh.

“Fine. I want you to spend the night in my bed,” I said, voicing something that should have remained unspoken.

His smile softened as his eyes met mine. “You’re on.”