From where I sat, I had a perfect view over her shoulder, of the way her thighs parted beneath the table as she settled fully against me, heat and softness flush to my body like she’d been made for this exact position. Her weight grounded me and unraveled me all at once.
I was tipsy enough now that my restraint felt thin, frayed at the edges. My thoughts lagged behind sensation. Behind the drag of her dress over my knuckles. Behind the subtle shift of her hips like she was testing me.
Our hands rested together in her lap, fingers loosely entwined, and the candlelight caught on the metal there—matching rings, hers and mine, glinting like a reminder I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.
We’re married.
The thought hit me all over again, sharp and intoxicating. Not a secret. Not a fantasy. Not something fragile.
We were married.
We weremarriedand she was in my lap with no panties and no shame, warm and wet and settled right over the thick, aching length of me, and I hadn’t even touched her yet.
She was my wife. Sitting in my lap. In public. Like this was normal.
It made something primal tear loose in my chest. Made me want to pull her closer, press my mouth to her neck, forget the table, the room, the world beyond her breath and heat.
I stayed still by sheer force of will. Barely.
She hadn’t worn a bra. I hadn’t let her. And now her nipples were visible through the thin fabric every time the ocean breeze slipped through the archways. Tight. Tempting. Teasing.
Her hair brushed my jaw, soft as silk, smelling like that lavender shampoo thatwreckedme. All clean and floral and far too innocent for what she was doing to me under this table.
My cock stirred before I could stop it, responding to her weight, her warmth, the familiar way she fit against me.
She shifted slightly, like she was just getting comfortable.
But I knew better.
Sheknew better.
Because I felt it. That exact moment her slickness dragged across the front of my pants. That exact moment her breath hitched and her body went still. And I swear to God, I nearly came just from the pressure of her heat against my cock.
“I swear to Christ,” I muttered against her ear, one hand resting on her thigh while the other lazily swirled my drink, “you’re going to be the end of me.”
She hummed, smug and pleased, and leaned back into my chest, dragging my arm fully around her waist like she was anchoring us together. To anyone watching, we looked like affectionate newlyweds—content, close, harmless.
Under the table, I was fighting for my life.
Conversation carried on around us. Laughter. Plates being passed. Marco raising a toast to absolutely nothing. Ivy stealing food off his plate and daring him to complain. Lucy laughing a little too loudly at something Kimi said, her knee brushing his this time—and staying there.
Auri shifted.
Just a little.
My hips reacted before my brain could intervene, flexing up into her instinctively. She sucked in a quiet breath and locked her ankles around my legs beneath the table, keeping her thighs open in a way that felt deliberate. Responsive. Encouraging.
Fuck.
I gripped her thigh harder than necessary.
She didn’t stop smiling.
Applause broke out at the table—someone had made a joke, something about tattoos or terrible decisions. Aurélie laughed with them, bright and effortless, while subtly rocking once more against me like she was intentionally testing my limits.
I was done.
Her body vibrated with a tension I recognized now as anticipation, coiled and sharp. And then her hand slipped into her purse.
