Amish Honeymoon Cruise

But where was he?

She looked down at the pier. There they were, her family—and Jeremiah's—distinctive in their Amish dress. Waiting for their children to return to them to settle down in the Amish community—with nothing that led up to this quick marriage needing to be voiced ever again. Knowing that Rachel would come back pregnant; expecting her too. They had done this early enough for the community not to mark it—or to ignore it even if it was suspected.

Her focus was so much on the Amish dress of those below that she missed Jeremiah walking along the pier beside a small, brunette, fiftyish woman. He wasn't in Amish dress. He walked right by his family and Rachel's and, not looking out for a young man in a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, none of them recognized Jeremiah as one of theirs either.

Jeremiah looked up at the ship right before he entered the backseat of the limousine with Mona. He saw Rachel on the cabin's balcony. He had cooled down. He no longer blamed her—much—and he'd probably go back to her and the Lancaster Amish community in a few months, but if Mona had convinced him of anything it was that his Rumspringa days were not quite over. There were still oats to be sown. He wondered . . . if and when he came back and if they said nothing about it in the community, whether Rachel would like to try out some of what Mona was teaching him, something other than the missionary position. He almost backed away from the limousine door then—but his thought of other positions snapped his mind back into the image of Rachel being fucked like a rag doll in front of the crouching Carlos and moaning for it.

Mona was reaching out, grasping the hem of his T-shirt, and urging him into the backseat of the car. She already had her blouse open at the front and her tits hanging out. As he allowed himself to be drawn into the car and shut the door, Mona was unzipping his shorts.