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“We need to change,” I announce, turning my back to him. “Undo my buttons, husband.”
I feel his hesitation, then he brushes my hair over my shoulder. Even that simple touch has my skin tingling. He can’t be serious about no sex. Can he?
“Where’s your bra,” he whispers.
“Over there with the dress I’m about to change into for the reception. This dress didn’t allow it.” I hold up my arms. “Push it all the way down so I can step out.”
Oran’s strangled moan when he reveals my Brazilian-cut underwear and garter belt, makes my clit throb. He’s still on his knees when I feel his teeth pierce my left ass cheek. I hum my approval, my body wants more. Stepping out of the pile of material, I swivel on my suede orange Jimmy Choo pumps, bringing the part of me I’d love his mouth to explore in front of his face. Looking down at the still kneeling Oran, I give into the hope he’s changed his mind.
“There are other parts of me that would like to be bitten.”
The longing in his charcoal orbs drowns me in lust and confusion. If he wants it, it’s his to take. My hair covers my breasts from his view. It’s one of the few times that I’m happy they’re on the smaller side. I can feel his desire to see them, but I won’t let him. We can suffer together.
Oran inhales deeply to breathe in my scent then rests his forehead on my bare belly.
“Cut it out, please.”
That almost sounds like a plea, but I’m too hot to care about his feelings. He doesn’t care about mine. It’s my turn to test boundaries. Slipping my fingers in his black silky waves, I rest a thigh on his shoulder, and pull his hair.
“Eat me, Oran. Show me what you can do.”
We’re locked in one of the hottest stare downs I’ve ever had. The stakes are high. I’ve never wanted to win so badly in my life.
Someone knocks on the door, but it’s not enough to kill the eye contact.
“Go away,” we both yell, not caring who is there.
Oran nips my inner thigh but quickly rises and I find myself slammed against the wall with his body trapping me. Our kiss is desperate and starved; I’d happily blow off the rest for more of this. His small bites and rough touch has me alive in ways I’ve never felt. I claw at his clothes until his jacket hits the floor.
“You don’t want to play dirty with me, Trophy,” he threatens between kisses. “I’m better at it.”
“Get dirty then, Hell. Don’t hold back.” I wrap my leg around his waist and circle my arms around his neck. “I want to climb you.”
He pinches my nipple as he licks the hollow of my neck. “You even make fucking sound proper.”
“What-”
The next knock is more aggressive. The pounding differs from the first visitor. His tone belies the way he’d just knocked.
“Karessa, darling. Hurry, some of us are waiting to dance with the bride.”
Somehow it creeps me out and Oran scowls. “One minute, Mr. Hale. I’m changing.”
“No need to call me that, you can call me, daddy. Do you need help?”
What the fuck?
Oran puts me down, and I don’t protest. It’s like we are doused with ice-cold water, anyway.
“I’m more than capable of taking care of my wife!” Oran growls at the door but Elmer doesn’t respond.
After slipping on my bra, I take my time shimmying out of the garter belt and rolling off each thigh high. I pull on my dress. Oran zips it without me asking and helps me slide into my spiky glass Louboutins.
“Wait while I change,” he tells me as he strips. I’d be watching and licking my lips if the mood wasn’t killed. Our vibe is off and we’re back in that weird place. “What’s with all the orange?” he asks me.
“It’s your favorite color, It might as well be the accent color of the wedding.”
He stops buttoning his shirt. “But you also wear a lot of orange.”
