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“I have to go,” I mutter. “They need me for pictures.”
She nods, panting. “Okay.” Her lashes dip as she glances down at my trousers. “You don’t want help with that?”
I wince, reaching down to adjust myself. “No time.”
These pictures are going to be awful. Blood is thumping in my balls so hard it’s physically painful, and my skin feels so hypersensitive, I can feel every damn fibre of this stupid suit scraping my nerves. I’m gonna have to make sure I’m standing at the back of all of these photographs.
She nods, nuzzling into my tie, then pulls back. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Go. I’ll see you later.”
I kiss her cheek and turn to leave.
“Wait.”
I turn back. Layla grabs my wrist and tugs my hand to her lips. Before I can say anything, she’s slipped two of my fingers in her mouth, licking them clean of her juices. My balls squeeze at the sensual tug of her lips and tongue against my skin.
“Layla—” I groan. “Please. You’re killing me.”
She nips the tip of my finger, then pulls back and smiles sweetly. “Just cleaning you up. Have fun.”
It takes everything in me to turn and leave. But, somehow, I manage it.
* * *
The wedding photographer has set up shop in a corner of the ballroom, setting out all of her equipment against a big white wall decorated with roses. Most of the wedding party are already in position, chatting. Rob is trying to surreptitiously drink a flute of champagne while his new mother-in-law re-ties his tie and talks his ear off.
I go to join them. “Hey. Sorry, it took a while to find you.”
Amy’s mum looks at me and pulls a face. “For God’s sake, clean yourself up. We’re starting soon.” She pushes past us. “Has anyone seen Amy?” There’s a chorus of nos, and she huffs, wandering back into the crowd to find her daughter.
I turn to Rob, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “What did she mean, clean myself up?”
He clears his throat. “You, um, look like you just got ravished. Fix your hair.”
Shit. I should’ve checked myself in the bathroom mirror before I left. I reach up and start combing my hair down with my fingers.
Rob watches, grinning. “It’s that Layla girl, isn’t it? She’s cute.”
“She’s here with Luke,” I say stiffly, rolling down my sleeves and looking around for something to check my reflection in.
“You know I listen to your podcast, right? I know all about your weird little four-way experiment.” He tilts his head, looking at me. “I’m happy for you.”
“Nothing is happening between us.” I tug my tie straight, then try to covertly check my fly is done up.
“No?” He asks, eyes crinkling. “You do know you’ve been talking about her for years, right? I feel like I almost know her myself.”
I blink. “What do you mean? I’ve never talked to you about her.”
“Josh, I don’t think we’ve had one conversation in the last three years where you haven’t mentioned her. Sure, you didn’t say her name, but it’s obviously her.” I look at him blankly, and he raises his eyebrows. “Your infuriating green-eyed neighbour? She works too hard and screws up your internet when she’s taking video calls? Blonde hair, hot temper, likes to show you her underwear? Ring any bells?”
“I didn’t tell you all of that.”
“Oh, but you did.” He looks out over the crowd. “It didn’t click until I saw her today. The way you talk about her, I was picturing some kind of warrior princess. She looks more like a little fairy.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” I mutter, buttoning my cuffs as the photographer stomps up to us, looking harried. “Do I look okay?”
“You look beautiful,” he assures me. “Absolutely stunning. My gorgeous baby brother.”
The photographer, a five-foot-nothing woman with grey-streaked hair, claps to get our attention.
