Gabriella glided to the cake, plucked the ornate knife, and turned to look at me. The sight of her holding that blade did things to me. I was the groom. Might as well try to enjoy what little was left of this damn day.
I slid next to her, keeping her on my dominant side so she wouldn’t have to see the mask. My hand covered hers. Flesh touched flesh. Her skin was soft. Warm.Breakable.And yet she didn’t pull away or even balk at my touch.
In fact, she leaned into me.
It was the smallest motion. Quite possibly mistakable for fluffing her skirt. But I felt the intention. How her body bowed to mine.
I guided her hand, going for a middle tier on the monstrosity that was the wedding cake.
“There’s still time for me to shoot it,” I rumbled against her ear.
Her breath caught.
The sound was a bolt of lust. Pure and hot. I was suddenly starved. I wanted nothing more than to taste that sound.
“Well?” I coaxed.
Her hiss was the sound of the wind cutting through the meadow. “No! I forbid it.”
So brave. I hadn’t scared her, and she was still bold enough to give me orders. I had never been so turned on in my entire life.
The flash of the camera caught the moment.
Gabriella turned her attention to the photographer, tipped the blade against the side of the cake, and smiled sweetly for the picture.
I only had eyes for her.
Shifting my touch, I slid my finger against the inside of her wrist. I felt her pulse jump. I pressed harder, savoring the feeling of her racing blood.
“Careful,” she murmured lightly. “You might enjoy cutting into this a little too much.”
My grip tightened over hers as I guided the blade down, slow and deliberate. I leaned in, inhaling summer-ripe fruit as my mouth brushed her ear. The knife sank into the fluffy dessert. The icing split. Her elbow moved, brushing against my stomach.
Torture.
This was nothing but torment. Sweet, sweet agony.
“I always savor what’s mine,” I responded softly.
Her breath faltered.
“Especially when it bleeds a little before it gives.”
Gabriella fuckingshivered.
Good.
She should. In less than an hour, I would show her exactly what it meant to be mine.
We lifted the blade, set it at an angle, and cut to create the slice. The cake parted, but neither of us moved. Her hard breath mixed with mine.
It was perfect.
Until the slice began to wobble on the edge of the tray.
I snatched the serving utensil before the piece flopped to the ground.
Applause followed.
