Noise breaks out around us, voices competing to be heard. I ignore them all. There’s only one reaction I care about.
But Ansel doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He’s not looking at her, or even me, just calmly finishing his slice. One slow forkful at a time. Once he’s done, he reaches over and grabs another, right in his hand.
Humming to himself, he stands up, his chair scraping noisily over the wooden floor. We all fall silent, watching him as he strolls around the table. Well, not all of us.
Candace is still talking. Her voice has risen to a screech now. She hasn’t noticed Ansel approaching.
Or stopping right beside her.
There’s a collective gasp as we realize what’s about to happen a split second before it does.
Ansel takes the slice of tarte and shoves it right into her face. I hear it connect.
Sploosh.
There’s a moment of stunned silence. From the corner of my eye, I can see the delight on Harley’s face, and the moon eyes Dalton is making at my boyfriend.
He can fuck off. There’s only one person who will be marrying Ansel, and it’s going to be me.
Ansel doesn’t stop there either, merrily rubbing it into her skin,making her sticky with apple and caramel. Her artfully applied makeup is now smeared all across her cheeks.
She looks likeThe Screampainting, all brown and red and purple in the face.
Wylder’s lips twitch in amusement. He’s not going to explode, not now.
But he’s not going to let Candace get away with this either. She’s been dancing along a line for months now. Tonight, she crossed it.
“I—” Her mouth opens and closes, bits of the dessert falling down her immaculate dress. “I?—”
Ansel licks his fingers. “Don’t ever insult my boyfriend again, or I’ll go for your hair next.”
With that, he strides back over to me and grabs my face. Forcing me to look at him, he kisses me roughly. “Come on, take me upstairs, boyfriend. I’m a fucking mess.”
15
CADE
I drag him upstairs, locking us in the room we’ve been using. The moonlight is bright tonight, the only witness to what I’m about to do to him.
He’s never looked hotter. His flushed cheeks. Sparkling eyes. Sticky hands.
My perfect, razor-sharp butterfly.
“You drunk?”
Ansel smirks. “No. I’m just right.”
I let out a long breath in relief as I step toward him. My cock throbs between my legs, the entire dinner a tease, a temptation.
“Are you mad?” he asks as I pull his hand up to my mouth and suck on his fingers, one by one. My tongue laps at the sweetness of him, savoring all of him.
“No, never. That was so fucking hot. You have no idea what you do to me.”
His breathing is labored as I place his hand on my crotch, letting him feel my erection. His fingers squeeze it, and I let out a low groan.
“Feel it. Feel what you’ve made me become.”
He bites his bottom lip, looking coy. “And what about me? What have you made me?”
