I tilt my face, needing him to know how close I want him. I feel the vibration of his groan in the ends of my hair as our kiss slides into something too feral for a polite jazz standard. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m being unprofessional. I’m on the job. But he just gave me the closest thing to a love declaration I’ve ever received, and unless there’s a major accident, no one is going to miss me for a few minutes. And so I break free and say the only two words I can manage: “The pantry.”
36GRACIE
I can’t stop pacing when I make it to the walk-in pantry before Jude, who said he’d check in with Phoebe before we temporarily disappeared. I’ve never played hooky like this before, and even though no one will miss me for a little while, I still feel jumpy.
Taking off my earpiece to turn on speaker mode (just in case someonedoesbreak an ankle on the dance floor), my mind is whirring with all the end-of-night tasks still ahead of me. According to wedding planner math, I definitely don’t have time to be getting frisky in a butler’s pantry. Unless—
An idea comes to me like my hardwired efficiency and horniness had a brainchild. Without giving myself time to second-guess myself, I slip my hand to the discreet side zipper of my dress and pull. The garment slithers off me like it’s my most devoted collaborator in this scheme to get laid as quickly as possible. Carefully stepping out of it with my heels, I’m bending to pick it up when the door to the pantry opens.
My head snaps up as Jude drops the handle, and the door swings open. The kitchen beyond him is dark, but the soft light of the pantry illuminates the mute shock on his face. Reflexively, I bring the dress up to hide behind. Stepping in quickly, he closes the door behind him.
With the click of the latch, the air in the room undergoes an immediate reconfiguration. Molecules rearrange into something farless oxygenated as his eyes rake over me. There are three, maybe four steps between us, allowing him to take in everything from my neat chignon to the pointed toes of my shiny black stilettos. In between, there isn’t much else. Sheer black stockings held up by tiny satin bows and an equally sheer black garter belt. Matching black panties and every single trembling ounce of my vulnerability.
“I know you like undressing me, but we have to be quick, so—”
“Drop the dress,” he says quietly. At his shift into a tone that my body has begun associating with earth-scorching orgasms, I shiver. Let the silk slip out of my hands, where it’s been blocking my naked chest.
“Come here,” he commands gently. Breath becoming thready, I slowly walk toward him, carefully stepping over my discarded dress and all the unchecked wedding tasks that have fluttered from my mind. When the click of my heels stops in front of him, he lifts a hand, and I notice for the first time that he’s holding a crystal plate with two slices of cake.
“You didn’t eat your dessert,” he notes. “Why not?”
I look away, embarrassed. I could say I was too busy, but that’s not the full truth, and he’ll know it. So, I try for honesty.
“I was saving it. You made me promise to…” Somehow, I say the rest, but it’s a mumble that sounds a lot likelulu fumu.
He crooks a finger beneath my chin with his free hand and tilts my head up. “What was that?”
I raise my eyes to his, taking a shaking breath. “You made me promise I’d let you feed me cake,” I repeat.
“Mm,” he says, like he’s glad I’ve recalled my promise. His thumb strokes the underside of my bottom lip. “You’re good at following instructions, aren’t you?”
I try not to whimper as I’m flooded with heat. I nod.
“Is that because you like being told what to do?”
I clasp my hands in front of me, twisting my fingers together. This is all so new to me, it’s hard to articulate. I do enjoy being told what to do, but it’s not my end game, either. It’s more…
“Or do you just want me to tell you what a good girl you’ve been?”
At this, my thighs press together against the corkscrewing heat between my legs. My lips tremble, a breath shuddering out of me.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, caressing my cheek. “At first, I was sure I was just imagining it. That shake in your thighs whenever I praise you,” he trails off, eyes moving to my lips. “But you crave it, don’t you? You’d plan your ex’s wedding. Bend over backward for your thoughtless family. Strip down in a pantry when you should be working, just to please me. To get alittleaffection.”
Shame prickles the inside of my stomach. What does it say about me that he’s right?
He must see my expression fall, because suddenly he’s cradling my face, tilting it back up to his. “Baby, no,” he says, his eyes steady on mine. “Shame onthem. Shame on everyone who took, and took, but never returned your generosity. Who never appreciated your kindness and talent. They never chose you, Gracie.” His deep voice catches in his throat. “But I do. I want to choose you every day until you can’t believe you were ever scared of this.”
I’m overcome. Overwhelmed by this outpouring of love. Because that’s what this has to be, right? My heart isn’t just beating—it’s sprinting right toward him, ready to dive.
“I choose you, too,” I say in a rush. “Even the parts you can’t show me yet. I trust you, Jude.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as his eyes search mine, and all the hunger that’s built between us over the last two months reaches a precipice I’m ready to jump from.
“You want to give me your trust?” he repeats softly.
I nod, eager to prove myself beyond words of declaration. I can hardly take a full breath as I watch him lift the crystal plate and break off a small piece of frosted pink Battenburg with his fingers. He holds it aloft between us.
“Open your mouth.”
