Her words are like a punch to the gut, even though I’ve been telling myself I’m over it. I’m not, and I don’t know if I ever will be. Even so, the last thing I want to do is ruin this dance bydigging into the past, so I pull her closer, letting her fall against me as I bury my face in her neck and inhale her floral perfume.
“No, Clover,” I say after the next verse of the song. “She’s not mad at you, and I’m not either.”
I feel her sigh rather than hear it and hold her tighter. It’s a mistake, because even though we’re in the middle of a crowded room, having her pressed against me, swaying like she is, is sending my body all the wrong signals, and I’m soon popping that boner Lawson screamed about days ago.
Chloe notices.
“Is that…” she asks, pulling back and looking down.
I grab her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Yes, but don’t look at it.”
Her nostrils flare, and her brown eyes look nearly black. “But what if I want to?”
It’s a statement that shouldn’t do a damn thing to me but does. Without another word, I grab her hand and push through the crowd of couples. A few people give us weird looks—and some knowing ones—but I ignore it all, trying to get as far away from prying eyes as possible. We hit the hallway, and I look left, then right, but there are people everywhere.
Fuck, how many people did they invite to this damn wedding?
I usher Chloe past them, giving a nod to Poldzkin, who is rocking a brace on his knee, his crutches leaning against the chair he’s sat in. We turn a corner to find several doors, and I know one of them has to lead to somewhere secluded.
Perfect.
I try the first. Nothing. I grab the handle for the second, and it’s locked too.
“Motherfucker.” I gnash my teeth. “Do none of these doors open?”
“Try that one.”
She points to one farther down the hall, and we race toward it. It opens.
“Callum, are you sure we should?—”
I cut off her words with my lips as I pull her inside, and she doesn’t seem to mind, sinking against me and wrapping her arms around my neck. Because yes, I am sure. I am so fucking beyond sure that my cock is quite literally leaking inside the damn tuxedo pants Hutch had us all wear.
I feel my way through the dark room, searching for a light, because if we’re going to do this, I want to see it. I’m rewarded when my fingers graze across the switch, and I flick it on. The room comes into focus, and though it’s not the closet I wanted to pull her into earlier, it’ll have to do.
“Is this a bathroom?” she asks, looking around.
“I think so. I wouldn’t be surprised. This place is huge.”
She palms me through my pants. “Speaking of huge…”
I growl, then practically throw myself at her, and all she does is laugh as she kisses me back. I’m not sure who removes what, but I find myself with nothing but my unbuttoned dress shirt on and Chloe on her knees, taking me to the back of her throat. She always loved doing this, and I wasn’t about to complain. I’m not going to now, either.
“Fuck,” I mutter as she takes me deep. “I swear your mouth is magic.”
“Kind of like your cock,” she says as she pulls off with a loud pop.
I’m already on the brink of coming, and while I’m desperate to do so, I don’t want to just yet. I want this to last just a little longer. I tap her head, and she peers up at me with glossy eyes.
Fuck. She’s perfect.
It takes everything in me to say, “You have to get up. I won’t last long, and you don’t want to wrinkle your dress.”
She releases me, her lips glistening with spit. I’m sad when she drags her hand across them, wiping it away.
“Fine, but I want to finish that later.”
“You can. I promise. But for now, I want you up on the counter. And spread your legs. I want to see you.”
