Again and again, he makes me climax.
He is relentless for what seems like hours, until I can take no more. I want to beg him to stop because my clit has become too swollen and sensitive, but then I wouldn’t be a good girl, would I? I wanted this.
That is the moment when he places his raging, swollen cock into my mouth. Not just the tip, not just what fits in my mouth, but the whole thing. The tip enters my throat and my nose brushes his pelvis. He thrusts fully in and out of my mouth andthroat while praising me. What a wonderfully naughty girl I am being for him. All the time his eyes watch me. Hungry, greedy. And something else. Something utterly alien to me. Possessively. As if I am his toy and his only.
Finally, with his scrotum resting against my chin, he buries himself deep in my mouth. He holds himself there while he climaxes, throbbing and pulsing, his rigid meat flexing deep in my throat as he deposits rope after rope of hot, sticky seed directly into my waiting, willing belly. His fingers find my sex again and push into it. I think of myself bound, tied, secured to the headboard, submitting, and in service to him, and my mind goes blank with excitement.
I cry out. My chest heaves, and my hips begin to rock as another orgasm tears through me.
He unties, and me kisses me like I’m something precious. There is still a fire burning within me for him, but his treatment of me is almost reverent. It wasn’t sex we just had. It feels like the blending of two entities, two souls.
We lie tangled in the sheets, the window open to let the sea breezes in. My head rests on his chest, and his heart beats a steady rhythm beneath my ear. I trace circles on his skin with one finger, unable to stop smiling.
Times Square was dazzling, overwhelming, unforgettable. But this, this explosive sex and this warmth, this closeness is what I will remember until the day I die. Because it isn’t about the lights, or the city, or even the ridiculous engagement story we’ve been weaving. It’s about us. And for the first time, I let myself admit it fully that I’ve fallen for Rhett.
I close my eyes, letting sleep pull me under, still wrapped in him, in us, in the certainty that something has shifted tonight, and that nothing will ever be the same again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Pippa
It is the day of the Hawthorn wedding, and I am a mixture of excitement and nervous energy as Rhett’s chauffeur drives us to the venue. The Hawthorns’ Hamptons estate is only a short drive away. We could have walked if we wanted to. It looks like something out of a dream as the car rolls up the double driveway. Manicured hedges frame the path. Here and there are dotted topiary sculpted into swirls and shapes that almost look too perfect to be real.
Beyond the flawlessly green lawn, a white tent the size of an airplane hangar gleams in the late afternoon sun, its peaks tipped with gold finials. The ocean glitters in the distance, a silver sheet stretching endlessly beyond the cliffs.
Even from the car window, I can tell that this isn’t just a wedding. This is the wedding of the year. And this estate is just something else. It makes Rhett’s beachfront mansion look like a shed in comparison. God, what would these people think if they saw my tiny apartment? They would probably die on the spot.
“Wow,” I murmur, peering out of the window as uniformed attendants wave cars into a valet loop. Men in tuxedos and women in various colored gowns drift up the steps of the Hawthorn estate, their jewels flashing, their champagne flutes already in their hands.
Rhett smiles. “Oh, just wait. You haven’t seen the inside yet.”
My blush pink dress moves against my thighs as I shift in my seat. It is the dress I picked out with Maria when she took me shopping in East Hampton. The net fascinator I bought rests at an angle in my hair, a vintage touch that makes me feel like I’ve stepped out of an old Hollywood photograph. My nude heels pinch a little, but they make my legs look longer, so I’ll suffer. The gold clutch in my lap gleams softly. The only problem is the nerves that threaten to pull me down if I let them.
We reach the end of the driveway and the chauffeur stops the car. Before I can grasp the handle of the car door, Rhett has come around to my side. He offers me his hand as though we’re in some old-fashioned film. Cameras flash, and I panic inside. Am I going to end up in the bloopers in an issue of Hello at some point? A who’s who of nobodies. I relax slightly when I realize quickly that they’re not paparazzi, just the wedding photographers and some of the other guests capturing the arrivals. Still, I straighten my back and tilt my chin up slightly, suddenly conscious of every detail: the way my dress floats in the sea breeze, the way Rhett’s hand steadies me, the way his gaze flickers over me with something that makes my skin feel warmer.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, so low I almost miss it.
My cheeks heat. “I don’t feel beautiful at all.”
His eyes hold mine, darker than the ocean. “You will be the most beautiful woman in every room you enter.”
Before I can respond, an usher guides us up the grand steps in front of us. The air smells like salt and roses. The gardensare drenched in blooms. White orchids, pale pink peonies, blush roses climbing arches and railings vie for attention. There are flowers everywhere, as if someone decided the estate should resemble a living bouquet. A string quartet plays softly near the entrance, the enchanting notes weaving through the laughter of guests.
Inside, we are led to a large room that has been transformed. Rows of cream chairs stretch across the room with an aisle between them, facing a raised platform draped in cascading flowers. A crystal arch stands at the front, catching the sun through the huge windows behind it until it scatters rainbows across the guests below. Everything is decked out in shades of cream, ivory, and gold, a palette so elegant it almost hurts to look at it.
We look for our seats with Rhett’s friends. Max sees us first, and he immediately stands to greet us. He is tall and broad in a perfectly tailored suit, his grin easy. He leans in and kisses my cheek.
“Well, well, look who’s arrived. Was hoping you might have gotten bored with Remington and ditched him by now.”
“Don’t count on it,” Rhett says dryly, settling into the row.
I sit down beside him.
Maria beams at me, her dark hair shining in the sunlight. “Pippa, you look incredible. That dress was made for you.”
“Thanks,” I say with a nervous smile. “You look stunning in that dress.” Her dress is a soft peach silk number, cut daringly low at the back. “I’d kill to look so effortlessly elegant.”
She shrugs like she doesn’t expect to hear anything else. “This old thing,” she says dismissively, then winks at me.
