I reach forward with one hand, toying with one of her nipples, then use my other hand to massage her clit. She's shaking andmoaning, and when I thrust in and out of her, she screams my name, begging for more.
“Gavin! More, yes!” she shouts. I slam into her over and over, making the blood rush hard and quick through our veins. We are both on the edge of ecstasy.
“I’m going to come,” she says, and her entire body stiffens. “I’m…going…to…ohfuck…”
The orgasm ripples through her, causing my own to flood through me. I come to my knees, and she falls onto the bed. Once some of the blood finds its way back to my brain, I chuckle grittily.
“Good girl.”
Chapter 22
Charlotte
“What’sthe difference between a trumpet skirt and a mermaid skirt?” Holly asks as she sifts through dresses on the rack. We are back at Chiffon and Charm, but this time it’s for wedding gowns. This is one detail I didn’t think I’d be asked to supervise, but Holly insisted. Since she doesn’t have a maid of honor, she wanted my help. She has a close group of friends who are all equally important to her, and it would be too much for all of them to deal with the dress.
It’s common to do it this way now, and many modern women have ditched titles in the wedding party altogether. Turning the wedding party into a hierarchy may have worked in the past, but now it seems to create a lot of unwanted drama.
It is a little weird that she wants me here. But here I am, not just as the wedding planner, but for input. I tried telling her that her friends know her better than I do, but Holly claimed that I have an intuition that is second to none.
I am sitting on the velvet, half-moon white couch, front and center. Holly is rummaging through wedding dresses.
“The trumpet’s flair starts in the thighs and gradually opens,” I tell her. No one else has answered her questions yet. “The mermaid skirt fits nearly to the knees and then flares dramatically. It kind of looks like a fin, hence the name.”
“Exactly,” the shop owner says with a smile. Holly crinkles her nose and says, “I don’t think either of those are for me.”
“What about a princess cut?” her friend Courtney asks. “With a long train?”
“Nah, I’d be tripping over it all night,” she shakes her head. “And how would I sit?”
“You can always get a little white dress to change into at the reception,” I suggest.
“I don’t want more than one dress,” she says.
“So maybe something a little retro,” Ashley says, “like a fifties style or a short hippie dress?”
Holly lets out a sigh, and I swear it’s the first time I’ve seen her frustrated.
“I don’t know. I feel like so much of the wedding is already non-traditional. I love everything I’ve chosen so far, but for the dress, I don’t know. It feels different,” she says, sitting down.
I stand up. I don’t know why.
Choosing the wedding dress for my ex-boyfriend’s bride to be is weird, but I am their wedding planner. The dress is the most important part, and I know dresses.
“Not everything has to be eccentric,” I say, walking over to the line of dresses. “The cake, the colors, the food, and themusic selections are already non-traditional. I think it’s saying something for the dress to be very simple.”
“But not boring,” she says.
“No. Not at all. But think about it. A simple white dress with no frills. Because you are the frill. You are where people’s eyes should be, not your dress. It should complement you and nothing more,” I say as I sift through dresses. Then I see it. It’s neither form-fitted nor poofy. It’s a simple soft chiffon with a winged top to accentuate the chest without overdoing it. The train is just the right length, and the waistline will show off her curves beautifully.
“What about something like this?” I say, holding it out.
“It’s timeless,” the shop owner says, clasping her hands together in front of her.
“And elegant,” Brianna, one of the bridesmaids adds.
“It’s lovely,” Holly says, standing up.
She takes it from me with a smile and heads off to the fitting room with her normal skip. A moment later she returns, and everyone gasps. Even my jaw drops a little.
