Page 102 of Threaded Lies

The floor-length sheath of ivory. A straight column of satin that tastefully hugs every curve. It has delicate straps and an open back so the fabric pools just above her ass.

It’s understated yet sexy and the minute I see her looking at her reflection in the trifold mirror of the private dressing room, visions of hiking it up and fucking her in it fill my head immediately.

Shortly thereafter is a flash of jealousy so fucking strong that I don’t know how to process it.

She gasps the minute she sees me. Her eyes grow wide and she steps down off the platform she’s standing on, her hands going up to cover her chest as if I can’t see her in the dress.

As if it’s our wedding she’s trying on dresses for.

“What are you doing in here?” she whisper-yells, fear in her eyes as she glances over her shoulder, toward the door leading to the sitting room where her and Chad’s moms are sitting, foaming at the mouth to see her.

“It’s locked,” I tell her as I move across the room. “As is the one behind me.”

“Oh my god. This is not good. How—”

“Don’t worry about it. No one will—”

“You can’t be in here. Everyone will know. You can’t—”

I don’t hesitate. Not a single goddamn bit. I slant my mouth over hers and take until I can’t take anymore. Until my breath is faint and my head is dizzy and my balls ache with a ferocity like I’ve never felt before.

Her hesitation lasts milliseconds. Then her hands are fisting in my shirt and her body is pressed up against mine like she wants to unzip my skin and crawl inside.

The feeling is mutual.

“You can’t be in here,” she repeats until I swallow the words.

“I can. I am. And the more times you tell me I can’t, the longer I fucking will be.”

I think of Chad’s hand on her ass at the engagement party. Of the kiss he put on her lips to piss me off.

You want to one-up me, Chadwick?

I’ll win.

How about your bride in her wedding dress getting fucked by me?

Her fingers score the back of my neck as I kiss her again. “You look incredible. Stunning. And I fucking hate you for it, but more so who it’s for.”

“It’s not real,” she pants out. “It’s—”

“Rowan? Is everything okay in there?” a woman’s voice calls from the door.

“Yes.” Rowan puts her hand over my mouth, her eyes wide. “I just needed a minute.”

“The attendant said as much; do you need me to come in there? Do you not like the dress?”

“No.” I begin to inch the fabric of the dress up. “The dress is…”

“Sexy as fuck,” I growl into her ear.

“Perfect,” she chokes over the word as my fingers slip between her thighs and find her pussy. “I just…”

“Call off the wedding,” I order.

“I can’t,” she whispers back.

“Yes. You. Can,” I say, each word accented with my fingers moving in and out of her.