“There you are.”
Elsie jolts at the sound of my voice echoing through the quiet chapel. The lights are off, but the sun sets late at this time of year, so it’s plenty bright enough for me to see her sitting in one of the pews about halfway down the aisle. I take slow, measured steps toward her, not wanting her to feel cornered. For whatever reason, she’s running from me tonight.
I need to know why.
“Declan. Hi,” she says, jumping up from her seat and stepping out into the aisle. She wrings her hands as I approach, and the anxiety radiating off her kills me.
She doesn’t meet my eye as I stop in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” I settle my hands on her shoulders and run them down her arms in what I hope is a soothing gesture, careful not to tug down the straps of her dress. Despite her nervous energy tonight, she melts into my touch. So maybe it’s notmethat’s the problem. Butsomethingis bothering her.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head and looks away, her gaze fixed on the floor beside us. “Just needed a minute after a long day.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?”
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she settles her hands on my hips and closes her eyes, letting loose a long sigh.
“Hey.” I tilt her chin up with my forefinger and wait for her to meet my eyes. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Her kiss catches me by surprise. I’d been hoping she would finally open up, tell me what’s bothering her, but instead, she leans up on her toes and settles her mouth onto mine. It’s a careful, hesitant kiss that she almost immediately deepens into something needier, hungrier.
“I don’t want to talk right now,” Elsie whispers against my mouth. She nips at my bottom lip and runs her hand down my stomach. If she’s aiming to distract, it’s working.
“Elsie,” I warn, pulling back. “I came in here to talk.”
“I told you,” she says, her hand trailing lower. “I don’t want to talk right now. Just give me some time, okay?”
How can I say no to her? She could ask me for the moon delivered on a silver fucking platter and I’d find a way to get it for her.
“Okay,” I agree, albeit reluctantly. That’s all she needs to hear, because she’s kissing me again, this time on my neck, and her hands are fumbling with the waistband of my pants.
I set my hands on her hips and resist the urge to tug her closer. “Elsie,” I force out through gritted teeth. I don’t think getting fucked in a church pew during her best friend’s wedding reception is high on her to-do list, but it’s about to be if she keeps this up.
“Something wrong?” she taunts, grinning up at me. Her eyes dart down to the front of my pants, broadcasting her plans clear as day before she reaches down to grip my cock. She strokes me once, twice, three times through my clothes, almost lazily – but the look in her eyes is pure hunger when she looks up and meets mine again.
“Is there a reason you’ve got my cock in that pretty hand of yours?”
“It’s a shame we’re not home,” she practically purrs. “Or even the shop. We have fun there, too.”
If she’s aiming to distract, it’s working. She continues stroking me while she talks, but it’s the way she bites her lip and looks up at me with those big, hazel eyes, pure lust and something a little bit feral in her gaze, that makes my last thread of control snap.
I wrap a hand around her wrist and she freezes, her throat bobbing as she swallows hard. With my other hand I grab her jaw between my thumb and forefinger, cradling her chin in my palm. I lean in close, so we’re nearly nose-to-nose, and I lock my gaze on hers.
“I will gladly fuck you right here, right now, in this chapel where anyone could walk in.” Her eyes flash at my admission, her pupils blown wide. “If you think I’m too much of a gentleman, that I’m going to be delicate with you — you’re wrong.”
Every nerve ending in my body is singing. I’m a live wire, ready to spark. I wonder if she is, too.
I watch as Elsie licks her lips, her eyes darting between both of mine. At first, I can’t tell if the idea excites her or makes her nervous. Maybe both.
Then, like a match to kindling, Elsie says the two words that guarantee I’ll deliver on my promise.
“Prove it.”
That’s the thing about me — I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove myself. I tried to prove myself worthy of my mom’s attention and affection for far too many years. Had to prove that I was capable of surviving on my own the dozens of times she took off on me. Tried proving to my grandparents that I was okay despite the shit hand I’d been dealt in life, though they saw right through it.
I’ve spent over a decade proving myself at work, putting in the hours to be damn good at what I do. And I’ve spent the last two months proving that I can be a good business partner to Sean, even if I’ve never fully admitted to myself that that’s what I’ve been doing. Proving that I’m going to stick around.
So Elsie telling me toprove it?If she needs me to prove I can make her see stars while our friends party on the other side of the wall, oblivious to what’s going on in the room next door, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
