“Baylocks usually get whatever they want,” she continues, voice just above a whisper. “I want to see you have some patience for once in your life.”
I growl softly in response—not loud, not theatrical, just low enough that she feels it more than hears it. The night air curls around us, but the heat between us doesn’t dissipate. It intensifies. I let my fingers slide slightly along her waist, tracing the seam of the dress without crossing into anything explicit. The restraint is deliberate. Torturous.
If she thinks she will win this game, she is mistaken.
“When I get you alone again,” I say quietly, letting my voice darken, “I am not going to be gentle.”
Her breath falters. “You say that like I should be afraid.”
“Precisely.”
Her hips press back against me again, this time less subtle. A clear indication. “What will you do if you get me alone?” She turns in my arms to face me, eyes bright, lips slightly parted.
“I’ll make you scream.”
“The bridal suite is empty,” she says immediately.
For half a second, I consider it. But I lean down and brush my mouth against hers instead. “Not yet.”
She’s teaching me her patience game. And it may undo me.
The terrace doors open again, letting a wave of sound spill over us—cheers, someone shouting for another round, the band shifting tempo like it refuses to let the night wind down quietly.
She steps back from me just enough to put air between us. Not distance. Control. Her hand lingers on my chest, fingers tracing the line of my lapel in a way that’s far more intimate than if she’d done anything overt. “You’re being very disciplined all of a sudden.”
“I’m suffering,” I reply. “But I suspect you are too.”
She smiles in a way that’s both amused and dangerous. I slide my hand to the small of her back and guide her into another slow turn, pulling her closer again when she faces me. Her breath is warmer now. Faster. “You know,” I say quietly, “if we go back in there right now, I won’t behave.”
Her eyes darken. “Is that a fact?”
I lean closer so my mouth brushes just beneath her ear. “I will take my time with you. I will slowly and methodically unravel you. Inch by inch. Until you’re shaking for me. Until you’re muttering my name because it’s the only word you know. I will wear out every part of your body. Patiently.”
She inhales slowly, and I feel the response ripple through her body. Her hands slide up to my shoulders, fingers curling lightly at the fabric. “And when that patience runs out?”
I pull her closer again, letting her feel the steady pressure of my body against hers, the restraint beneath the desire. “I’ll take what I want.”
Her lips part slightly as her breath hitches. “And if I keep making you wait?”
I smile slowly. “You won’t.”
She arches a brow. “No?”
“No. You like what I do to you too much for you to keep making me wait.”
The night wraps around us, the string lights overhead casting warm shadows across her skin. She looks different out here—less burdened, less raw. The edge from earlier has softened into something charged and playful. The doors open again behind us, and this time a couple stumbles out laughing, oblivious to the tension they interrupt.
“I’m not sure. We agreed to go slow?—”
“When I get you alone again, I’m going to shove your back to the wall. I’ll take off that dress with my teeth, followed by your underwear. Then I’m going to my knees for you so I can devour you. Every hole, every soft bit of you. I’ll make you scream my name when you come on my tongue. Again. And again. And again, until you can’t stand. And then I’ll pick you up, and fuck you against that wall. You’ll wake up with a wallpaper print embedded in your skin tomorrow. And when you wake up, I’m going to flip you face down and take you over and over. I’ll draw that wallpaper print on your back with my tongue while I fuck you?—”
“Let me remind you that the bridal suite is empty.”
My suddenly impatient girl. “Let’s go.”
EPILOGUE
PERRY
