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“Thanks,” I reply, my mind instantly going to Maggie.
“And thanks for sticking up for Sophie that night at the ice cream shop. I’m sorry you got hurt, but I bet it felt good to shake that little asshole up first.”
I smile as I rub the new scar above my brow. “Yeah, it did.” It felt even better to get the punch I deserved, but I don’t tell her that part.
“You wanna stay for mimosas?” she asks with an awkward smile.
Shaking my head, I shove my hands back in my pockets. “Tempting, but no. I gotta get going. I’ll…uh, see you later.”
“See you later,” she replies with a wave.
I leave through the side gate instead of facing the swarm of women inside. Once I’m in my car, I let out the heavy breath I was holding. It almost feels like the first real deep breath I’ve taken in a long time. I feel free.
* * *
I getready for the wedding at Maggie’s house to avoid my mother. She has nothing nice to say about today, and I’m tired of hearing about it. Standing in the kitchen, I scroll through my phone in my uncomfortable tux as I wait for Maggie to come down. We have to drive separately—again—but I don’t want to get there that much earlier than her.
When I hear her heels click against the stairs, I head toward the sound, staring down at my phone as I wander mindlessly through her house.
“I’m ready,” she announces, and I look up from my phone, frozen in place, gaping at her. She’s in a tight, black strapless gown. It hugs her hips and shows off the fullness of her tits. Instinctively, I lick my lips, biting the lower one as I think about peeling that dress off her later.
“God damn,” I mutter as I close the distance between us, wrapping my hands around her waist. She lets out a sweet giggle as my lips find her neck and I bury my face against her soft skin. She smells like perfume and shampoo.
“Don’t you dare mess up my hair or makeup,” she warns, without sounding all that serious.
“Oh, I want to mess it up.” My hands clench the satin as I drag it up her legs, but before I can reach beneath and find her ass, she shoves me away.
“Behave,” she scolds.
“I don’t want to,” I whine, reaching for her again.
Taking her hand in mine, I run my thumb over her knuckles, pressing my lips to each one. Seeing her dressed up like this is doing things to me. Like making me feel like her boyfriend instead of her sub. Something territorial creeps up my spine when I think about other men seeing her in this dress.
“I was thinking…” she says, biting her red-stained lip.
“Whatever you want, I’ll do it,” I reply.
“We could go to the club after the wedding.”
My eyes lift up to her face. “It’s not Masquerade night.”
“I know,” she replies. “But I could sneak you in.”
“And do what?” I ask, a little afraid she has plans to punish me again—not that I don’t enjoy the pain element of our relationship. I’d just rather not end the evening in tears and an emotional breakdown.
When she doesn’t answer, I study her expression, trying to understand. As she smiles, pulling me closer, realization dawns.
“You want to fuck me.”
I swallow, my cheeks starting to heat up.
“If you’re not ready—"
“I’m ready,” I say, cutting her off.
Her eyes light up with excitement. “Really?”
With our gazes locked, I nod. My hands travel across her jaw, grasping her by the back of the neck as I pull her mouth to mine. She clings to my arms as I take her lips in a fierce kiss. I can feel her lipstick smearing, and I love it. My cock twitches in my pants, so I grind it against her tight dress.
