Never again, I remind myself as I force my eyes back to the happy couple as they start exchanging their personalized vows. One night only. The last thing I need is to get caught up with a Mafia bad boy. It doesn’t matter if his tongue is capable of performing feats I didn’t even know were possible up until two evenings ago. Other men have tongues. Men who aren’t criminal masterminds and murderers.
After what went down with Christian, I should take a nice long break from the male species. I probably shouldn’t have even indulged in a one-night stand with Alessio. If I’d just toldmy ovaries to shut up, I wouldn’t be in such an uncomfortable situation, having slept with the best man.
What would Luna say if she realized the hickey on my neck came from her brother-in-law? I would die of eternal shame if she knew. She can never find out. I’m going to have to find a way to get Alessio alone during the reception and tell him to keep what happened between us a secret.
I don’t know how Luna would react, and I’m not about to do anything that would jeopardize her happiness on her wedding day. My stomach knots. He’d better agree not to breathe a word to anyone. Not even to his brother.
What if he told Priest already?
Next to me, cousin Carina whispers, “You’re bleeding.”
Shit.
She’s right. Blood from the thorn is trickling down my wrist and headed straight for my blue silk.
“Thorn,” I mutter back at her.
There’s nothing nearby for me to use to catch the blood. I’m screwed. The ceremony is still going on, and I have no choice but to use the white ribbon wrapped around my rose bouquet to blot up the blood before it wreaks havoc on my bridesmaid dress. Carefully, I turn the bouquet so the bloody ribbon faces me.
That’s one crisis averted and one more to go.
Trying my best to chill the panic boiling inside me, I glue my eyes to Priest and Luna, listening to their words of eternal love and devotion.
Somehow, I manage to keep myself from looking in Alessio’s direction for the remainder of the ceremony. I’ll face the lion later.
Chapter 6
SAINT
It’s wrong to get a hard dick when you’re standing up at your brother’s wedding ceremony before an audience of friends and family, including your very ownZiaMaria.
I know this.
But apparently, my cock is like Pavlov’s dogs. Instead of being triggered by a ringing bell, it’s the mere sight of her that does it.
Isla.
Luna’s best goddamn friend.
Yeah, I fucked the maid of honor at my brother’s wedding. Best man, so clearlynoton my best behavior.
Even worse? I have to escort her down the aisle with a smile on my face like I don’t want to carry her out of here caveman-style and fuck her eleven ways from Sunday. Grinding my jaw, I offer her my arm. She looks at it like it’s a used tissue on a public bathroom floor and reluctantly settles her hand in the crook of my elbow.
Her touch burns me through the linen shirt I’ve been forced to wear by Luna, and the scent I remember from our night of endless fucking makes a reemergence. Isla smells like pineappleand citrus, like something sweet you want to sink your teeth into.
The violinist is playing a new song, one I can’t place, but it’s upbeat. Pop turned into string music. Luna’s idea. Priest wouldn’t give a shit if any music played at all. He just wanted to make his woman happy.
I cast a glance in Isla’s direction as we move up the sandy aisle that’s been strewn with white petals. She refuses to look at me, an ice queen with her blonde hair down her back. Freed from the messy travel bun, the silken strands are wavy, glinting in the sun.
She looks fucking incredible.
Also, her nipples are hard again. I probably shouldn’t be admiring the way her tits fill out her dress or the way the blue silk lovingly clings to her every killer curve like that’s its only job. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about how she looked on her knees for me, my cock in her mouth. How it felt, her taking me down her throat.
Fuck.
I force myself to think about something else as we reach the end of the guests and follow Priest and Luna onto a shaded terrace where the photographers have gathered for more pictures.ZiaMaria. Kittens. Weeping women. Little kids with snot running down their faces. Screaming babies. The sound a bone makes when it breaks. The sour scent of vomit.
That finally works. Sweat is trickling down my spine by now, and I don’t know if it’s from the intensity of the sun or the fact that I want the woman at my side so badly I can barely breathe.
