Page 42
Oh god. Too much wine. Too much tequila.
He sets his glass down with deliberate control. “Whitley.”
I bat my eyelashes at him. “Yes?”
“Meet me outside.” His voice drops to that commanding tone that makes my knees weak. “Five minutes.”
Before I can respond, he’s already walking away, leaving me breathless at the bar with my empty shot glass and racing heart.
Five minutes.
I act as if I’m not counting each second as I mingle with wedding guests, nodding at appropriate moments while my mind spins with possibilities. When exactly four minutes and thirty seconds have passed, I excuse myself and slip out the door.
The night air hits my flushed skin, cool and crisp with the scent of pine. I wrap my arms around myself, scanning the darkness until I find Beau leaning against the stone wall of the building, partially hidden in shadow. The moonlight catches his profile, highlighting the sharp angles of his face.
I inch closer to him, drawn by some invisible force. His eyes track me, predatory and focused. Before I know what’s happening, he closes the distance between us, backing me against the cold stone wall. His body cages mine, not quite touching but close enough that I feel the heat radiating off him.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, his breath hot against my ear.
“Me? Never.”
His hand slides up my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake until his fingers wrap around my throat—not squeezing, just resting there with enough pressure to make my pulse jump.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, his thumb tracing my jawline. “My hands on you?”
I can barely breathe. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I want your hands on me.”
He spins me around, pressing me against the wall. His chest is solid against my back, one hand still on my hip while the other sweeps my hair away from my neck. His lips brush against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “You think you can tease me all night and get away with it?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie,” he growls, his hand sliding around to grip my jaw, turning my face to the side so I can see the intensity in his eyes. “I saw you watching me.”
My breath catches as his hand trails down my side, gathering the fabric of my dress. The cool night air kisses my thighs as he slowly raises the hem.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, though I know exactly what he’s doing. It’s what I wanted him to do.
“Teaching you a lesson.” His voice drops impossibly lower. “About consequences.”
His fingers trace the edge of my panties, and I whimper, pressing back against him, feeling the hard length of him against my ass.
“Did I say you could move?” His fingers slip beneath the lace, and I nearly cry out when they brush against my center, finding me embarrassingly wet.
“No,” I whimper.
“No what?”
What does he mean? No… Oh.
“No, sir,” I whisper, the words tasting like sin and surrender on my tongue.
His answering growl vibrates through his chest. “Better.”
His fingers trace slow circles, deliberately avoiding where I need him most. I bite my lip to keep from begging, but he notices.
