His beard brushes my ear and sends shivers down my spine.
I catch his heated gaze in the dressing room mirror. “You’re supposed to be getting the zipper, Blackwood.”
Sadie wandered off to look for shoes, leaving me with several options to try on, while Harper never made it past the kids’ area. It’s just me and Ethan—and a handful of others in the upscale formal section.
He slips beneath the neckline and cups my breast. “I like it better down.”
“Ethan…”
His thumb brushes over my hardened nipple, and my protest dies. Why is everything so sensitive, every touch heightened? Oh yeah, I’m pregnant.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” He pinches my nipple then moves to seize my throat and jaw, tilting my head back to rest on his shoulder. “Wearing this dress,” his teeth graze my neck, “carrying my son.”
Reece’s sister insisted I try on this dress—a figure-hugging black gown—claiming it complemented my complexion perfectly. I’d only wear it to the rehearsal dinner, not the wedding. I’m not that bold.
Ethan guides my lips to his for a possessive kiss. I feel exactly what I do to him pressed to my back, hard and insistent. Heat pools between my legs, and I arch into him. His hand on my stomach drifts lower, bunching the fabric around my thighs.
“E—” My breath hitches when his fingers find my bare center.
“No panties?”
“They don’t fit well.” My ass is too big, along with my hips.
“My dirty girl, always ready for me.” He traces my wet slit from entrance to clit and back, slow and deliberate. “How are you feeling?”
“You’re not serious,” I deadpan.
I know where this is headed. This is Ethan. He has a taste for the taboo, craves the forbidden.
“Deadly.” Two thick fingers plunge into me. “The door is locked; no one can come in.”
Hangers glide along a metal rack in a neighboring stall, and my pulse quickens. “There’s someone beside us.”
“And you’re dripping for me.” He captures my mouth again, swallowing my soft whimpers. “You want me to stop?” he mumbles between kisses. “Tell me to stop.”
I can’t. I don’t want to. “No, Sir.”
“That’s my girl. Hands on the mirror.”
Leaning forward, I place my palms on the glass and arch my back.
His fingers work deeper, curling to find that spot that weakens my knees. “Spread your legs for me.”
I obey without hesitation, widening my stance as much as the tight dress allows.
A door shuts nearby, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan. The danger of being caught, of someone hearing us, only intensifies my arousal.
“Fuck,” he curses. “Try to be quiet. I need you.”
He withdraws his fingers and frees his length before he lifts the back of my dress and fills me in one powerful thrust.
I gasp at the slight soreness from earlier, and my inner walls clench around him.
He hisses through his teeth, and his fingertips dig into my hips, threatening to leave marks. “Look at us.” His stormy gaze meets mine in the mirror. “Watch what you do to me.”
The sight is obscene—me in a silky black gown, at Ethan’s mercy while he towers behind me, fully clothed in his faded jeans, brown dress boots, and a button-up rolled to his elbows, his jaw tight, eyes hooded with lust.
The submissive part of me, the part that lives to please him, loves being taken like this—claimed by him.
