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Shit. She needed to stand up so she didn’t leave a wet spot on this fucking stool. Glancing down, she saw her nipples peaking against the material of her dress.
“For?” She shifted on the stool, trying to get some space from the scent that surrounded him and the feel of his hard body against her.
All for naught. He moved with her.
“Sharing the story about the unicorn onesie. I don’t think my brother has ever laughed so hard in his life.”
His teasing tone was reminiscent of their time in the house together. It put her at ease in one sense.
“I’m a giver.”
“Trust me, beautiful. I’m well aware of that.”
No teasing left in his tone. Pure lust had overtaken his words. He positioned his body so his back was to the party behind them, semi-blocking her from anyone’s view.
“You know you’re fucking killing me in this dress, right?”
“Then look away.”
“Don’t ask for the impossible.” He dragged a finger up her exposed arm.
Not for the first time since the dress had been shown to her did she question the wisdom of wearing it. But having his touch on her once again didn’t help.
“Dance with me.”
“I’m done dancing.” She had to keep some distance before she gave in and tried to climb him like a damn tree.
He pushed into her side, and there wasn’t any denying the hard ridge in his pants. She swallowed back her moan, but it wasn’t an easy feat.
“I want you in my arms again, beautiful.” That finger moved down but this time it was on the inside of her arm and stroked along her breast. As he skimmed her nipple, a whimper escaped. “Dance with me.”
“I’m not a good dancer.”
“You seemed to do fine with all the other men who’ve been able to hold you tonight.” Another brush over her nipple, and he pinched her this time. “What’s different about me?”
The bartender moved toward them, and he placed his hand on her arm, acting like he’d not just pinched her nipple or nearly had her orgasming on a stool.
“You’re you.”
“So I am. And you’re you.” He sipped his drink and waved away the man tending bar, leaving them alone once again in the crowded room. “What is this dress made of?”
Her brain struggled to keep up with the conversation. “Chiffon.”
He nudged her shoulder. “Drink.”
She obeyed.
“Does that mean that when I fuck you against the wall it won’t show the wrinkles?”
His question was posed in the same tone he’d been using, conversational, but it didn’t matter. Never had with him.
“You can’t talk like that.”
He finished his drink and slid the glass away before putting his hand on the bar, allowing their fingers to barely touch.
“Why not, beautiful? You can’t tell me you aren’t able to feel my cock pushed against you. Can’t pretend I don’t see your nipples poking out of that dress. You want me as much as I do you.”
“It’s my sister’s wedding.”
He shifted his hips, brushing his erection against her side again.
“And if I know my brother, which I do, he’s already pulled her off to the side for a quick fuck. Having met the rest of the wedding party and seeing how those couples couldn’t keep their eyes off one another, I’m sure they’re doing the same thing.”
God, she could use some relief. Spinning on the stool so she faced him, she tipped her head up to meet his waiting gaze. In her periphery, she noticed the bartender giving them space, not even watching them.
“This changes nothing,” she muttered, sliding off the stool, making sure to skip her hand over his cock, reveling in his moan.
Turning on her heels, she walked off to where she knew a hallway led to a closet. Bradford was right behind her. The second the door closed behind them, he was on her.
He couldn’t get enough of her. Bradford wanted to touch her everywhere, yet he only had two hands. Backing her against the wall with a decisive thump, he pressed his lower half against her chiffon-covered body.
He cupped her face, angled her how he wished and meshed their lips together once more.
How it should be with them. Together. Always!
Her purr vibrated through him, right down to his throbbing cock. Iris didn’t move for a moment, then she curved her arms around his neck and speared her fingers through his hair.
Their tongues dueled, feinted and danced with each other. Like they’d never been apart for months. Like they’d woken up in the cabin from a night together and had come here. He nipped her lower lip then swiped along it before she drew him back in for another explosive kiss.
Dropping his hands, he skimmed them along her hourglass shape until he touched the top of the slit in her dress. The one which had allowed him sneak peeks of her toned thigh as she’d walked or danced with others.
