You’re overstressed. Amy is practically a coworker. You cannot entertain the idea of sleeping with her.
But she had started it.
And I wanted to finish it.
Instead, I busied myself with helping her set up for the couples shower.
“Are you going to be upset if I put up flowers everywhere?” Amy teased. She had armfuls of flowers, and more were being brought in from a truck parked in front of the house.
“These seem like a lot.”
“Please.” Amy snorted. “Just wait until you see what I have planned for the wedding!”
She strung up lengths of gauzy white fabric along the bannister at the terrace, anchoring each with a big bow framing a bunch of puffy flowers and greenery. When she was done, I had to begrudgingly admit that it did look nice. And so did Amy.
She had spare flowers tucked into her hair with extra fabric draped around her neck as she hummed and worked, her fingers moving deftly.
Stop staring at her. You don’t even like her.
But I wanted her.
“I’m going to change,” I said abruptly and walked into the house, stripping off my shirt as I went.
I gritted my teeth when I remembered that I was not, in fact, alone. I looked back over my shoulder to see Amy staring at me, mouth hanging slightly open.
Oh yeah, she definitely wanted me.
When I got back to my bedroom, I turned the shower on to icy cold, slipped off my boots and pants, and stepped under the water. Even though it was freezing, I had a raging erection.
I let my hand slide down to grip it. My thoughts wandered to Amy. I thought about her there in the shower with me, on her knees, her hot mouth around my cock. I wondered what her tits looked like. I wanted to come over them.
“Sebastian! Sebastian!” Alfie yelled.
I cursed and turned off the water then grabbed a towel as he barged in.
“One of the horses is inside the house!”
“Oh, for—” I pulled on my pants and ran barefoot, still damp, down the stairs.
Sure enough, one of my horses, lured by the smell of the catering, was standing in the middle of the dining room. The only barrier between him and his snack was Amy, whose curly hair was sopping wet and drenching her shirt.
Fuck, she is not wearing a bra.
Her nipples were plastered against the thin wet fabric, the outline clearly visible.
Fuck.
She saw me.
“Can’t you do something?” she yelled as the one-ton animal, a draft horse I had rescued from a hoarding situation and who had made it his life mission to eat anything and everything he could sink his teeth into, made a play for the canapés.
“Ringo,” I said to the horse, trying to look anywhere except at Amy’s chest.
She put her hands up to try to block the horse from jumping. Her tits bounced under the fabric.
God help me.I needed religion, a drink, and to fuck Amy.
I was afraid that if I went any closer to her, I was just going to let the horse have at the food and run my hands over her torso to feel the nipples against my palms.
