My arm remains angled behind me, palming the back of his neck. I drag my fingers to the base of his nape and claw them into his scalp. His eyes flutter shut and he emits a low groan. That’s what does it for me. That’s what drives me over the edge. I tighten my grip on his hair as my walls pulse around his fingers. My moan barrels through me in time with my release. Monty’s hand dances with my orgasm, cresting with it, then guiding it down, down, until we both go still.
He hugs me against him with one arm as he slides his fingers out of me. I drink in his reflection as he watches me, an awed smile on his face. He heaves a sigh and falls onto his back, chest pulsing. I collapse on top of him, boneless in the wake of my pleasure. We fall into a symphony of panted breaths as we regain our composure. Once I manage to gather some semblance of strength, I push myself to sitting, my dress still pooled around my middle.
He meets my eyes, his lips still tilted in a grin. For a moment I’m not sure what to say. What if this changes things between us? What if this places a strain on our friendship? Then his smile widens, and I remind myself we’re still us. Nothing has changed.
“That was amazing,” I say to him as nonchalantly as possible. “You’re…a wizard or something.”
A laugh rumbles through him. “We live in a world where magic and fae exist, and you call me a wizard.”
“Fae and magic are real. Wizards aren’t. And you are some mystical being with how you worked my clit.”
He throws his arm over his eyes, his grin widening. “For the love of the All of All, she just called me a sex wizard,” he mutters through his laughter.
My eyes leave his face and rove over his body down to his?—
“Shit, Monty.”
He lifts his forearm from over his eyes, alarm written over his face.
I gesture at his rather obvious erection. “You’re still hard! I’m so sorry, I didn’t tend to you at all.” Should I…touch him? Straddle him? I was so fixated on my own pleasure that I didn’t spare a thought for his. I only delighted in how pleased he looked touching me. But of course he couldn’t be satisfied with that. I flutter my hands, unsure of what to do with them?—
He sits upright and catches one of my wrists, stilling me. “Daph,” he says, tone gentle, “this wasn’t about me. This was for you.”
“Yes, but…isn’t that selfish?”
He shifts my wrist until my palm is in his. With soft motions, he strokes his thumb over the back of my hand. “Lesson Number…I don’t fucking know. Sex doesn’t always have to be a transactional exchange. You don’t owe me anything for what I did just now. Sometimes one’s pleasure is found in pleasuring someone else. You deserve to enjoy an orgasm, end of story. You deserve to be spoiled with them.”
“But what about you? I don’t need fifteen steps for fantastic fellatio. I can?—”
He silences me with a finger to my lips. The finger he had inside me. I nearly melt at the realization. “Take this lesson, Daffy Dear, and stop feeling like you have to do more. Let yourself be the one to take pleasure for once.”
I give a reluctant nod, resisting the urge to pout. The truth is, I want to do more. I want to make Monty feel the way he made me feel. I want to see what kinds of expressions I can coax, what kinds of sounds. I want to know how he feels when he comes. Just as badly, I want to feel him against me. On top of me. Inside me. I want more of him.
He studies my face for a few beats more, then removes his finger from over my mouth. His eyes, however, linger and he doesn’t fully pull his hand away. Instead, he shifts it until it cradles the side of my face, then runs his thumb over my lower lip.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was about to kiss me.
But he won’t. He can’t.
Because if we kiss, it’s real. That’s what he said.
And this isn’t real.
It isn’t.
Yet, as he finally drops his hand and fixes my dress, I can’t deny that part of me wishes it were.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MONTY
Thorne is going to kill me, I’m sure of it, after I answer yet another question withhmm?I’ve been a shit best man all evening, ever since I arrived at his suite to help him prepare for his ceremony with my mind elsewhere. All I could think about was Daphne. All I could do was steal glances at my hands, marveling at how they’d coaxed her to climax and drew out the sweetest of moans and whimpers just hours before. I was harboring half a hard-on as I tried to pretend I was present with Thorne and his other groomsmen, and now I can’t pretend at all.
Because there she is.
I stand on a rounded dais at the far end of the hotel’s main avenue, where the glittering indoor canal ends in a large pool. The dais is set upon a wide terrace, flanked by intricately carved marble walls adorned with faux windows and a massive array of floral arrangements. A string quartet plays from a nearby balcony, filling the air with their sweet melody. The back wall is enchanted to replicate the sunset, and before it stands an arched trellis woven with climbing jasmine. Briony’s bridesmaids—Angela included—stand on one side of the dais while Thorne, his groomsmen, and I stand on the other.
But my eyes take in none of this. Instead, they’re locked on Daphne.
