“I’m not complaining.” I bring my attention back down to her bare sex. I can’t stop myself from running a thumb over her slit. Iclench my teeth at the wet, hot, feel of her. “Fuck.You’re soaked, baby.”
“Good observation,” she bites. But it’s breathy and desperate. I pinch her clit in retaliation, drawing a sweet whimper from her lips.
“Are you always this mouthy?” I ask, drawing lazy swirls along her folds. “Or is that reserved just for me?” I plunge a finger in, reveling in the way she instantly bucks against me, already begging for more. Fuck, if she is the death of me, this would be one hell of a way to go.
When she doesn’t answer me right away, I yank my hand out and land a light slap on her pussy. “Answer me, Whitney.”
“Yes!” She cries. “J-just for you.”
“That’s what I thought.” I sink two fingers in this time, and when she moans, I capture it with my mouth. The hand gripping her chins trails down to her neck, fingers wrapping around the skin and slightly squeezing. Her gasp sends a shock straight to my dick. She arches, body tensing, and world shattering as she finally comes all over my hand.
When she comes down from her high, slumping against the wall, I pull the pocket square from my suit and clean her up. I bend down to place a light kiss on her thigh. When I turn to leave, to let her clean herself up or pull herself back into reality, she catches my wrists and shoots a pointed look at my crotch. It’s my turn to huff a laugh as my eyes skim over the bust of her dress. The fabric shifted with her movement, giving me a brief, unintended peek. “Just do me a favor and fix your dress before going back out there, Winnie. I’d hate to kill a man on my brother’s big day.”
I leave Whitney there, mouth gaping, cheeks flushed, and looking freshly fucked.
Chapter Eighteen
WHITNEY
Cold water covers my face as I splash it not once, not twice, but three times. I don’t care if it smears my make up. The only thing I seem to care about after Wyatt made me a moaning, weeping mess in a hidden room is that thatcanneverhappen again. It was a momentary lapse of weakness. We set boundaries. For both our sakes, we set boundaries.
Granted, we didn’t set a boundary against private intimacy, but we only agreed on keeping up appearances. Not sneaking off to seduce each other in quiet corners.
We didn’t agree on that at all.
But the way his breath brushed against mine, the way his sapphire eyes roamed over my body like he couldn’t get enough of me–it was impossible to not let him touch me. I remember, very vividly, what it felt like the first time. I will never forget what he–we–felt like.
But like I said, it was a moment of weakness. One slip in my desires just to feel somethinggoodagain. And fuck me, did it feel good. That’s what I keep telling myself as I splash another wave of cold water onto my face. I refrain from rubbing my legs together, the need still burning between my thighs. It’s like Wyatt wasmadeto tempt me–like he understands every dip,every spot on my body that begs to be touched. It’s torture, pure torture, knowing exactly what he’s capable of in the bedroom. I drank a fair amount of alcohol while getting ready with the girls, and again while dancing. I look in the tiny mirror above the sink and hope the flushed skin could be blamed on that alone.
Seeing Brinley in her flower girl dress nearly killed me this afternoon. I’ve dreamed of my wedding day and how important it will be for Brinley to be part of it. How will my wedding day be with Wyatt? Planned and thoughtful? Rushed and a trip to the courthouse? I know the latter is more realistic, but I hate how deep it cuts. I hated that we were not marrying for love, but that we’re marrying for convenience.
I’m terrified that when all of this ends, Brinley might be the one who hurts the most. When she saw Wyatt today… God, she adores him. More than anyone else she’s ever met. What if this ends in disaster, and he refuses to see her? What if Ana hates me for lying and wants nothing to do with the little girl who screams “Nana” every time she walks into the room? Am I a terrible mom for putting her in a position to have her heartbroken? Or are Wyatt and Ana the type of people that would still show up, even if it’s just for her?
Letting him touch me was a terrible idea, because I want him to do it again.Needhim to do it again. I don’t care if it’s an orgasm or a quick brush of his knuckles against my cheek, I crave him like heat in the dead of winter. If he does it again, I’m not sure how long I can pretend after that.
“Hey! You, okay?” I glance in the mirror to find Blake, wedding dress hiked up to her knees. She’s probably the most sober one here today, even though it’s her time to shine. I turn, leaning against the sink. “Yeah,” I nod eagerly, trying to convince myself of the words. I let my tone turn teasing, “How are you feeling?Officiallya Conway and all that.”
She’s just finished writing her book. I’m so excited for her and so proud of the things she’s survived and thrived through. Wesley is hers, and has been since they were little kids. It’s about time the two figured their shit out. Blake ignores my question and comes to lean against the bathroom sink with me. “You’ve been a shit liar since we were kids, Whit.”
I huff a laugh at her blunt reply, running both hands over my face. Her words remind me just how much we’ve been through together. I lean my head against her shoulder, finding comfort in the proximity of my closest friend. She smells like lavender and gin. “I’m tired, B. Just really fucking tired.”
“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, voice soft, but ready to go to war if needed. She tucks her head against mine.
I give my head a little shake. “Sorry, B. If I talk, I’ll lie. And you’re the last person I want to lie to.”
“Fair enough.” I watch as she reaches into the front of her dress, pulling out a white flask with her new initials, BC, on it. She flashes it towards me, the diamond studded cursive reflecting off the light glow of the overhead lights. “How about a shot, instead?”
I truly laugh this time–deep and rich–the only kind of laugh that a friend like Blake can draw from me. “Yeah,” I say, taking the flasks from her hands, “A shot will do.”
Blake and I hide away in the bathroom for quite some time, with Vivienne and Harper eventually finding us. We drink the entire flask, taking turns cheering to things I’m sure we won’t remember in the morning.
I’m still conflicted with my earlier thoughts, but it’s nice to be distracted, just for a little while.
Hungover doesn’t beginto describe what I feel the morning after Blake and Wesley’s wedding. The daylight breaking through my bedroom window is equivalent to a rebar through my skull.
I cringe, knowing I’ve probably slept in for way longer than I should have. When my phone dings, the sound ricochets in my head. I rub the bridge of my nose, rolling over in bed to find a glass of water and medicine on the bedside table. Wyatt must have left it there after carrying me to bed last night. I pinch my eyes shut when I see it’s a new group chat with Haden, Wyatt, Wesley, Harper, Blake, and Vivienne.
Blake
