“Told you,” he says.
“Told me what?”
“That you’re nowhere near done with me.” He steps back into my space, his hand cupping my jaw before it slides back into my hair. “No matter how much you try to pretend. You’re still mine.”
Then he’s on me.
His mouth claims mine in a single, bruising kiss. It’s raw, starving, and I feel every suppressed emotion he’s been carrying since the last time I walked away. I clutch the edge of the vanity, trying not to touch him. If I do, I don’t know where this is going to end.
His fingers press into my hips, and he yanks me flush against him until I can feel his thick cock pressing against my thigh through his suit pants.
I moan. The only semblance of sanity left is currently pressing against the marble countertop. The second my fingers move, I know I’ve lost.
He wedges his thigh between mine, forcing my legs apart, getting us as close as possible with our clothes on. Thankfully, my dress has a long slit up the side, otherwise it would’ve split open.
I gasp; he swallows it down with his lips. Taking all of it as though he’s been starved for me.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls against my lips, only breaking the kiss to drag his mouth down my jaw. His tongue pokes out when he meets my throat, and he traces a line down to my collarbone. I draw my head back, granting him more access.
My hands are still planted, though.
“Say it and I’ll stop,” he whispers right before his teeth scrape over my pounding pulse at the top of my collarbone.
Why? Why does he have to feel so right?
My chest is heaving, my back is arching, and my eyes are closed.
I need to stop him. We’re at his cousin’s wedding, for crying out loud. I can’t be known as the bridesmaid who hooked up with a groomsman, but feeling him devour me like this is almost worth the dignity I’ll lose walking out of here.
His lips travel to the middle of my chest until they reach the edge of my dress.
He looks up.
This is the moment.Thisis when I need to push him away from me and tell him that’s it.
When I raise my chest toward him, he takes that as his cue.
His lips come back to my skin, his tongue teasing the edges of the dress, licking just under it. All the while his hand is sliding up my thigh, under the slit of my dress slowly. He’s giving me every possible second to change my mind and walk away.
I won’t. We both know it.
As his calloused hands skate across my thigh, my hips buck toward his fingers, unashamedly chasing the high as my breath catches.
So much for my dignity.
Zach’s staring down between us, his fingers idly toying with the edges of my G-string. My chest is heaving, my clit is aching, but Zach just stands there, waiting for me to ask for it. To prove that I still want him.
Can’t he see my thighs are already shaking? That I’m one finger stroke away from breaking?
“Please—” It comes out as barely a whisper, but I know he hears it because his fingers are under the lace instantly.
I take in a sharp breath when his fingers enter me.
He leans in and whispers against my ear, “Fuck, Honeycomb.” His thumb circles my clit. “You’ve been waiting all night for this, haven’t you?”
I whimper and nod as my hips rock into his hand. There's no point in hiding the fact that I've missed this.
His breath fans against my neck. “Yeah,” he mutters, and the only sound between us betrays how much I’ve been waiting for this. “That’s the truth you won’t say out loud. Your pussy doesn’t lie to me though.”
