“Why not? Sex solves all sorts of issues. It’s better than therapy. Cheaper, too. Think about it.” He slaps my shoulder, then goes off to say something to Aunt Jeremiah.
I shove his ridiculous advice out of my head and turn away. The spot on my thigh that Fiona touched tingles, almost as though she still has her palm on it. She looked so…pitiful and beautiful, so treacherous and hot at the same time. If she hadn’t retreated… If she’d actually unbuckled my pants and pulled my dick into her mouth…
Security wouldn’t have been called in. No. I would’ve clenched her hair and fucked her mouth, thrusting deep into her throat. I never did that back in college because I didn’t want her to choke, but now?
I’d order her to hollow her cheeks and maintain good suction, because it’d be about me—and my pleasure. Then, when I’d had enough, I’d come in her mouth, making sure she swallowed it all. If she spilled even a drop, I’d make her do it all over again.
Then—once I’d had my fill—thenI’d call security.
Maybe you should’ve done that. Then you wouldn’t be having all those fucked-up dreams about her. Or an erection at your brother’s wedding.
Damn it.
I breathe in and out a few times.Be a good brother. Make a toast and dance and do everything that you’re supposed to do at a wedding.
As Ares and Lareina start their first dance, my phonepings. I look down at the screen. A photo from another unknown number. Fiona in a wedding gown. Her gaze unfocused and her mouth unsmiling, she’s sitting on a stool in a white room full of ivory lilies. Doesn’t look like a happy bride. Isn’t she marrying Jude, the love of her life? She should smile, glow radiantly.
Or perhaps Jude decided he doesn’t want her after all. And it’s very possible that he simply lied last night to piss me off. What started out as an unrequited rivalry on his part has morphed into hatred on both our parts. He’d love nothing more than to seize an opportunity to mock me, using Fiona like he did before.
But if not Jude, then who’s the groom? Maybe some old geezer with money?
I narrow my eyes at the photo.Is she trying to beg me to come save her from a marriage she doesn’t want?
How shameless. She deserves whatever fate throws at her.
But…
I think about some stooped, balding asshole touching her. His mottled hands. His thin, dry lips pressing against hers, his quivery fingers undoing the laces on her dress and stroking her taut flesh—
Revulsion and rage swell. In my mind, I’m already grabbing the collar of the old man’s shirt and hurling him away. I haven’t felt such raw possessiveness in…forever. But it isn’t caring, either; I want to grab Fiona and shake her for being a cheap idiot then pound into her until she’s begging for mercy.
Jesus. What’s wrong with me?
Then another ping—from a different number. The new photo isn’t of Fiona, but Jude in a tuxedo in a white room much like the one in Fiona’s photo. Several vases of lilies of the valley sit in the background. His hair is slicked back, his eyes bright. The smirk twisting his mouth is full of smugness.
–Unknown: Perfect groom for the perfect bride.
So he reallyismarrying Fiona? This piece of shit, who treated her worse than the dirt on the soles of his shoes?
Despite what I told Jude last night, I might not have been her first choice. She might’ve gone to him first, then come to me after he didn’t give her the answer she needed fast enough. Or…maybe she’s just that crazy about him. The years apart might’ve shown her she couldn’t be without him. Who the hell knows what’s going on in her head?
My mouth tight, I block the number. She wants to brag that she’s marrying the man of her dreams? Well, let the traitorous bitch marry that snake. It’s a perfect pairing.
I shake my head. She’s never changed. Yet my gut churns with acid. I simply can’t understand—
Ignore it. She wants that asshole.
I forcibly wrench my attention back to Ares. But the wedding-night scenario reappears. Except this time, instead of the wrinkled hands, Jude’s hands glide over her body, his mouth on her lips, his cock entering her—
The last image nearly blows the top of my skull off. The pressure has built so tight, my sternum feels like it’s about to crack.
Over my dead body they’re going to have a fairytale wedding and live happily ever after.
Pulling at my tie and loosening it, I get up and start to leave. I have a wedding to go fuck up.
Chapter Nine
Bryce
