“So I’ve heard, Mr. Baylock,” I grunt.
He buries himself deep, then pulses tiny thrusts into me. Just enough to drag a few inches of his shaft against my G-spot at this angle. I’m trembling between the wall and his body. “That’s it, isn’t it? Right there?—”
“You know it is,” I whisper.
“That’s five minutes!” Olivia hollers through the door.
Damian laughs hard. “That woman needs to learn patience.”
But I’m too on the edge to say much of anything at all. My voice is tight. “Soon!”
“That’s my girl,” he growls in my ear.
It’s not three more thrusts before I’m coming on him. I can’t hold still, can’t stay quiet. I’m on the verge of gushing in my wedding dress, and it’s so wrong that my orgasm balloons into something bigger. When I feel him swell inside of me, it doubles down on pleasure.
He has the good sense to pull out and come onto a towel I didn’t know he grabbed from the vanity. He barks, “Fuck!”
I spin and kiss him as he works himself out on that towel, and I damn near fall over, still dizzy from my own climax. But our lips meet, and that’s all that exists in the world for a minute. Our connection.
He pants, “That was reckless.”
“Our signature move.”
He laughs and kisses me again. “We should probably break this up before Liv has a conniption.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
One more kiss for the road, and he leaves. For a moment, the suite feels impossibly quiet.
Then the door bursts open again. Olivia storms in. “That was rude,” she says immediately.
I grin. “Get used to it. I plan on nailing my new husband every chance I get.”
She stares at me. Then laughs. “Good thing I’m the boys’ new nanny, or you’d never get any.”
I laugh so hard I nearly smudge my eyeliner.
“Let’s touch up your makeup and get you out there to marry that crazy man.”
“Yeah.”
She gets started, and for the first time all year, nothing feels precarious. It feels inevitable. “You’re glowing again.”
“I’m flushed,” I correct.
“You’re feral.”
“That too.”
She grins and moves toward me, tugging at my veil to straighten it again. “It’s your wedding day. You’re allowed to look feral.”
I look at myself in the mirror. The gown fits like armor and invitation all at once. The bodice is structured, but the fabric moves when I breathe. The neckline is modest enough for a church and suggestive enough for the reception. I smoothmy hands down the front of it slowly. “After tonight,” I say thoughtfully, “I’m never going to be patient again.”
Olivia snorts. “You were never patient.”
“I was disciplined.”
She raises a brow as a question.
