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“Excuse us.” I swipe a glass of champagne as I take us to the side, pulling her with me into the shadow of the tall pillars lining the room and the viewing gallery above us.
Arabella’s gaze meets mine as I pin her to the pillar with my body. My height swallows her small frame, and the vulnerability that dims her sass and spark cuts me so deep that I hate myself for doing this to her.
“You look beautiful. Even if I want to kill every fucker that looks at you…you look fucking perfect. Hold your head high, and don’t let that crown slip.”
Nodding, she slips a little down the wall, and a groan erupts from her parted lips when my thigh presses between hers. The heat from her pussy permeates through my trousers.
With my breath drying in my throat, all I can do is luxuriate in the feel of her. It feels like forever since our quickie, and my body is straining with my waning control.
Her head tilts back as I move to steady us both, eyes screwed shut and tits ready to burst from her dress.
“Mmmmph…”
Fuck, that long drawn-out moan has my dick hardening and my insides burning up.
“Oh shit,” she breathes, scrambling to get herself together.
The pull between us tightens, my knees bend to hold her in place, and I have to brace myself with one hand on the cold stone to stop myself from devouring her siren lips. I want to suck all the past right out of her. I want to drink down every ounce of her sadness and pain. To take it all from her even if it chokes me to death.
“Belles.”
Her half-lidded eyes glisten the longer we stand here in a prideful stand-off of feelings and needs. She wants me—it’s obvious from the way her empty hand slaps to her side, clawing at her dress, and her entire body trembles with her frenzied breaths and the friction of mine. I want her. Every part of me is strung taut with the need to take her. To show her who she belongs to. Where she belongs.
The champagne glass slips from the hand at my side. The shatter of the glass is muted by the loud voices around us and the string quartet in the gallery overlooking the throne. Before I can stop myself, my hand moves to her thigh. The silky fabric of her dress slips open until my skin is pressed to hers, smoothing all the way up to the top of her stocking.
Widening, her eyes glitter with greedy lust, her tongue licking across her black-cherry lips with her ragged breaths soaking into my shirt.
God, she feels so good beneath my hand, almost as good as when she writhes beneath my body with my dick buried deep in her. I could fuck her right here, right now with all that’s going on around us, and I wouldn’t give a damn about who sees us or what they think.
That’s the way it is with Arabella. She’s my tunnel vision. Not my career. Not the expectations of others. My wife has always been my endgame. Even when I didn’t know it, she was my goal. The thing that I worked towards tirelessly.
Arabella is my trigger. I’d bulldoze the fucking world for her. It frustrates me that she can’t see that.
Dropping to her hair, my other hand tangles in her shortened tresses.
She’s so fucking magnificent. I saw it the moment I laid eyes on her from across the busy college quad. She made me work for her from the start. It’s what I love about her—Arabella’s always known her worth.
“I don’t do entitled rich boys.”
“Good job I’m not a boy.”
“But you are rich and entitled.”
“Technically it’s family money, and you’re one to talk.” Taking a step a closer, I tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans so as not to grab hold of her and have her do exactly as I want. I know she’s putting on a good fight, but let’s be honest—she wants me.
Her doe eyes can’t lie with the way her thick lashes flutter, her gaze dark and sultry.
“I don’t think so.” She takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest, her tits threatening to spill over the square neckline of her gypsy top.
The sun is high in the sky, and it’s making her skin glow a pale ambery bronze. She’s so mesmerising that I have to work extra hard to get my thoughts and argument in order inside my head. “Besides, entitlement is worse than money.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her audible swallow brings me closer. “You want something? Work for it like every other person.”
Taking another couple of steps closer to her, I take her in from head to toe. She’s tiny, and although I’ve seen her around enough because of my friendship with Casper, it still surprises me that I can look down on the top of her head. “Just because I’m entitled to something, it doesn’t mean I won’t work for it. It’s part of the fun.”
“I’m not your fun.” Her eyes flit up to mine, holding my stare with this dark magnetic pull I’ve never felt before. It’s like the chemicals inside us react to our closeness and pull us together. She’s a force I can’t pull away from. Everything about her draws me closer.
