I raise a brow. “Only if you perch me on top and put your mouth on me again.”
He chuckles even as he shifts his hips against me to indicate what a swell idea he thinks that is.
“Option four, I take you outside and we make love under the stars.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you had several options,” I say, capturing his lips with mine.
“There’s one more,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I open my mouth to his, and our tongues dance a moment before I pull back. “Make it quick.”
“Hotel,” he pants. “We have sex there, then head down to the New Year’s party with my cum dripping from your cunt.”
I gasp. Literally. I’ve never heard him talk like that before, and it’s like an inferno rises within me as the anticipation builds. I catch his lips with mine once more, and then I say, “That one.”
I don’t even have to think twice about it.
We’ll have sex here someday, surely. But I want the first time to be exactly what he just said.
He kisses me again, the fervor rising as an intoxicating undercurrent of need and hunger pulses between us, and then he grabs my hand. I collect the envelopes left on the gift table, and Ford turns off the lights. We meet near the front door, and the car that’s been waiting for us all day is out front.
We’re taken to one of the most luxurious hotels in all of Tampa, and our driver hands Ford the key to the honeymoon suite. The driver already deposited our bags in our room, so Ford and I head inside and toward the elevator, his hand planted firmly in mine.
This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting far too many days for.
The anticipation has been building since he first uttered the words “New Year’s Eve.” It felt like this day would never get here just as much as the days have rushed by us, and now we’re here. Waiting. Ready.
Wet. So, so wet.
We take the elevator up to the top floor, and we head down the hall. Ford opens the door, and he steps in first.
And then he sweeps me up into his arms as if I weigh nothing, and he carries me through the doorway.
I only catch a quick glimpse of the gorgeous room. Someone was just in here because candles are lit, soft music plays, and the entire scene is straight from a movie. It’s perfection.
But it’s only a glance because his lips are on mine again. He kisses me softly at first, but it escalates to urgency as the chemistry I tried for so long to deny takes over. Our tongues battle together in a war we’re both winning as the need spreads inside me, heating me all over. It’s reminiscent of our first kiss—not the one at the bakery when we ate that honey and fig cake, but ourrealfirst kiss, the one all those years ago in front of a keg. There’s need and want and curiosity in thiskiss, all things I felt twelve years ago that Ford still manages to make pulse within me.
Eventually I pull back, and he carries me to the bedroom. He sets me down on my feet still clad in my white heels, and he spins me around to start working the buttons on the back of my dress.
There are a lot of them. Twenty-eight, in fact.
He threads each one through the loops with patient but slightly trembling fingers while the anticipation continues to build. An ache throbs between my legs, in my breasts, in my chest.
I wonder if his fingers are trembling from nerves or from excitement. Both emotions plow into me as the need becomes overwhelming.
Clearly wedding dress designers only think about how gorgeous the dress looks on, not all the work it takes to get it off.
Once he finally gets it open, his fingers graze a soft caress down my spine before he leans forward and trails kisses there.
I shiver at the feel of him, and I spin around to force his jacket off his shoulders. It flutters to the ground in a pool, and I yank his tie off as my trembling fingers move to the buttons lining the front of his shirt. I try to be patient, but I’m needy. I’m aching. I’m so goddamn horny for him that one swipe of his finger through me will be enough to set me on fire.
He helps me by unbuttoning from the bottom up, and we meet in the middle. I push his shirt off, and he works the cufflinks and cuffs as I reach down and rub his cock over his slacks.
He’s hard. So hard. Incredibly hard.
My brain short-circuits much like it did the day I first sat on his lap and realized that maybe he wasn’t faking his feelings for me.
He reaches for the shoulders of my dress and slowly peels it forward, carefully helping me out of it to reveal the lacy white bra and panty set I wore beneath it. It’s all I’m wearing, in fact, except for my matching white heels.
