It wasn’t my fault they hadn’t listened to me. But God, I still felt responsible anyway. It was my job to plan things, after all, and it was just… hard to accept that some things were out of my control. I couldn’t help but fear that—that the wedding party would blame me, somehow. That I’d lose out on everything I’d worked so hard for.
Not going to lie, I had a good cry about that.
When I finished soaking and felt… not back to normal, but definitely better, I got out and dried off. Hmm. What do wear?
I wasn’t about to wear the same dress for the third day in a row. Nor was I going to wear a pajama shirt. But Preston’s suitcase was open. I stole one of his shirts, since it went down to my knees. Buttoned all the way up it was kind of like a dress. Perfect.
I grabbed one of the fluffy bathrobes that was supposed to be for the honeymooning couple and went downstairs. Time to face the day, whether I liked it or not.
11
Preston
I still hadn’t been able to get a hold of anyone. My only hope was that the members of my family who were relatively sane, like my parents, would be able to take charge and organize things. Bree and Chad’s friends in the wedding party didn’t seem like exactly the most responsible type but the entire guest list couldn’t all be crazy. I had to hope that everyone would figure themselves out.
Since there wasn’t anything else to do, I started working on making lunch from the leftover catering. Power was still out but between the snow to preserve it and the stove and oven to heat it, we were in okay shape. And Lyric needed more than just toast in her stomach.
When Lyric came downstairs and I saw what she was wearing my shirt, I nearly dropped the damn food I was holding. She had a bathrobe on as well but it was open, revealing the light blue button-up I’d brought—I’d intended to wear it on the flight home but—holy shit.
She looked so good in it, so good in my clothes, I felt like I was losing my mind. It took everything in me to turn away instead of striding across the room to kiss her, rip that shirt open, make her moan my name again like she had every time I’d whispered in her ear as we’d had sex.
“Figured you needed more than just some toast,” I said, putting the heated food onto a plate for her and then getting my own food ready.
“Thanks.” Lyric started digging in, her eating getting more enthusiastic as she went, like she was realizing how hungry she actually was. “Were you able to get through to anyone?”
“No, I think cell towers are still down or something.” It wasn’t snowing quite as badly as before but flakes were still coming down. It no longer felt like a blizzard but I doubted anyone was out to clear the roads.
Lyric sighed, then nodded. “I just don’t want to get blamed.”
“You won’t be,” I promised her. If anyone tried, I’d make them pay. I had money and a law degree, there was nobody I couldn’t take down if I wanted to.
We finished eating, cleaned up the plates, and then retired to the living room. I had to admit, I was going to be bored out of my skull if we didn’t find something to do before long.
Lyric curled up on the sofa, staring out at the window. There was no way that watching the snow fall was going to be helpful for her. Sure, maybe under other circumstances it would be lovely but not right now. All it would do would remind her of the wedding and keep her anxious.
I had to find something to distract her. Surely there was something in this house besides a television and books. Nothing against books of course but I didn’t think Lyric would be in a reading mood.
“I’m going to go check out the library,” I said. “I’ll be back.”
Lyric nodded, still staring out the window.
The library was the nicest room in the whole mansion if you asked me. It was the only room that wasn’t insanely pretentious. One wall was all bookshelves from about waist-height upwards, but below that they were cupboards. Hmm. Maybe there was something in here?
I opened up the covers, and bingo. A bunch of board games.
We couldn’t play some of them, like Clue. You needed more than two people for it to actually be fun and worth it. But these board games sparked a memory.
I’d spent a lot of sleepovers at Tenor’s house, and vice versa. Tenor’s mom would be off performing a lot of the time, so of course I’d want to be over at the house that had no parental supervision. Even though we were good kids who just played board games and watched movies, nothing crazy, it was the fact that we could stay up late and make noise and nobody was around to stop us that got to us. On the nights that Tenor was over at my place, Lyric usually tagged along, because she couldn’t be at the house alone all night.
To try and include Lyric, we’d play some board games before Tenor made her go to bed (he was always more responsible about her than he was about himself) and then he and I would watch some movies together or play video games.
And boy oh boy, was Lyric competitive.
I’d always been competitive. I liked to win. It was what made me a good lawyer now as an adult. Being a good lawyer wasn’t just about knowing the law. It was about passion. You had to have that zest for blood in the water, that love of battle, and boy oh boy did I have it.
Maybe, as a teenager, I shouldn’t have been quite so eager to lord my boardgame victories over a girl four years younger than I was, but Lyric was smart and she’d gotten plenty of victories against me as well. It had been fun and playful, a way for her to feel included.
I was sure that this could distract her easily.
Taking as many board games as I could carry, I went back to the living room. “Hey, look what I found! I don’t think these things have been touched in years.”
“Oh my God.” Lyric sat up, looking like she was in a better mood already. “Is that Snakes and Ladders?”
“You bet it is.” I set the games down. “You want to start with that one?”
“Sure, let’s go for it. I might as well go easy on you.” She grinned at me, and I found myself grinning back.
I set up the board game, and soon it was like old times, arguing back and forth about who had done what and the rules and trash-talking each other. It was even more intense now that we were adults. For one thing, we knew a lot more swear words.
At one point, Lyric took off her bathrobe so that now she was just in my shirt. Her skin was flushed from the excitement, her hair cascading around her, framing her face, her green eyes snapping.
Fuck. This was going to be something I regretted I was sure, but I couldn’t resist. I had to.
I kissed her.
Lyric froze for a second, as if she wasn’t sure this was real. I brought my hands up to her face, stroking the soft skin with my thumbs, gently holding her in place as I deepened the kiss. Lyric gasped, then moaned, and let me press her down onto the carpet. I shoved the game board out of the way as I spread her legs, settling between them.
She was so hot and responsive, her hands coming up to slide her fingers through my hair. This had to be the madness of isolation, it had to be—why else would someone who’d made it clear she hated me be so eager to let me do this to her? But I didn’t want to ask and break the spell we were under. I didn’t want to risk ruining this moment.
Now that she wasn’t not, well, throwing up, and we were both fully awake, kissing her was even better. I could take my time and explore her. I wasn’t drunk like the first time we did this, and I wasn’t half-asleep. And I wasn’t a damn college student with a short refractory period and a hair-trigger, either. I could make this really count.
Lyric let me take over the kiss, wrapping herself around me as I dove into her again and again, keeping myself from touching her other places. I wanted to just kiss her for a while, to really build this up and explore her. I wanted to build the heat between us, slow and steady, and have her begging for me. No way was I going to let this be over too fast.
At last, I pulled away from her mouth, staring down at her—her flushed cheeks and shining eyes, her slick, par
ted lips. She was even more beautiful now than she’d been five years ago. That extra bit of maturity and confidence sat well on her.
I wanted to stroke her hair back out of her face, endearments fighting to escape my lips, but I held it all back. I didn’t want to overwhelm her. Hell, I was overwhelming myself.
Instead, I bent down and kissed slowly along her neck, unbuttoning my shirt as I went. “You’re wearing my clothes,” I pointed out.
“I didn’t have anything else.” Lyric shivered underneath my lips.
“Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you like this?” I asked. I could barely recognize my own voice, the absurd, deep growl in it. “I almost ravished you the second I saw you in my shirt.”
“I would’ve let you,” Lyric admitted, her voice breathy. “I would’ve let you do whatever you wanted…”
“Good.” I nipped at her collarbone, the spot where I’d left that hickey all those years ago, and then looked back up to meet her gaze. “Because I’m going to ravish you now.”
Lyric shuddered and whimpered at that, and I could smell her arousal. She had to be wet, and fuck, the thought made me dizzy with want. I was going to fuck her like she’d never been fucked before.
My first order of business was to get my mouth on those luscious breasts. I shoved the shirt out of the way and kissed down to them, taking my time, sucking at her skin and nipping with my teeth. Red spots where my mouth had been bloomed bright against her creamy skin and Lyric moaned, tugging at my hair.
“You have no idea what seeing you in that dress did to me, darling,” I told her, the endearment slipping out before I could stop it. I’d called her that last time, too, and she’d seemed to like it, making these delicious high-pitched gasps every time I’d told her come on darling, that’s it.
“It was so tight, hugging all these curves.” I sucked her nipple into my mouth and Lyric cried out. “Making my mouth water.”
“I—I had to wear something form-fitting so I could layer up with my coat easily.”
“As if someone like you didn’t know you’d be making the pants of every man around you tight.” I traced my fingers up and down her thigh, making her shiver. “You know how stunning you are, you always have. But none of those men would’ve gotten to have you, would they?”
Lyric shook her head frantically as I lapped and sucked at her other nipple, using the barest hint of teeth. “N-no, no they wouldn’t—oh God, oh God, please—just—just you, oh, please, Preston!”
“Please what?” I trailed my fingers up to her stomach, then down to the inside of her thighs, so close to her aching wet pussy. “You need to be specific.”
Lyric whimpered and I could smell a new rush of slick sliding out of her. She was so fucking sexy, I wanted to just drive right into her and fuck her senseless—but like hell if I’d let our first time together in five years be a quick wham bam thank you ma’am. I wanted her to feel wooed and worshipped after the shitty weekend she’d had. And I did say I was going to ravish her—and I was a man of my word.
I kept teasing her, moving my fingers up and down her thighs, circling around but not getting exactly where she wanted me. Lyric squirmed impatiently. “I want you to get inside me, please.”
“You’re asking so nicely,” I teased her, kissing along her stomach. “I suppose I can give you what you want.”
She was so wet, it was nothing for me to sink a finger into her. Lyric gasped, then groaned in frustration. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then you should’ve been more specific.” I was being a bit of a tease, I knew it, but I wanted her to have a good time. I didn’t want to risk this being over too quickly. If we ended this with her unsatisfied, I’d never forgive myself.
One finger turned into two, then three. I was stroking her, scissoring my fingers to get her nice and stretched open, and she was responding perfectly. There was nobody in the house or even close by, no neighbors, nothing. Nobody to overhear us. And Lyric was loud in a way she couldn’t be at that party all those years ago.
Fuck. Her moans, sighs, and cries of my name were fucking intoxicating. Forget the fucking champagne, I wanted to get drunk on her noises. I wanted to kiss her again, but that would mean I couldn’t hear her and fuck, I wanted to hear her.
Lyric clung to me, gasping and arching against me, trying to push herself down on my fingers to get me to touch her more, deeper, harder. I kept avoiding her clit, wanting to build her up to the peak, until I was soaked all the way to my wrist.
I pulled back at last, gently spreading her legs, and stroked myself a few times to get myself ready, get myself in the right headspace. My cock was leaking steadily by now, and it felt hot as a brand when I wrapped my hand around it. I used my own slick to coat my cock, and then I lined myself up, nudged the head against her entrance.
Lyric wrapped her arms around me. “What was that word you used?” she asked. “Ravish me.”
Oh, I could definitely do that.
12
Lyric
I wanted Preston to make good on his promise to me. I was someone who could take care of herself and had always been in charge. I doubted any man would dare to even think about ‘ravishing’ me.
But Preston was confident, as if he knew that he could handle me. As if he could tell what would get my blood rushing, get me hot, and he had no problem taking advantage of it. As if I could deliver my pleasure to him and he’d ensure I got it.
And fuck, was he delivering. He’d teased me on two fingers until I was sobbing with need. I hadn’t felt this good while touching myself—not that I’d had a ton of time for that lately—but God, it felt so much better when it was someone else, someone who knew what they were doing. Preston had touched me like he vividly remembered everything that had turned me on last time, like it was only yesterday that he’d been making me orgasm at the party.
I’d never been so loud before. I was almost embarrassed for myself. But there was nobody else to hear, and Preston seemed to like the noises. He encouraged them with low growling and praise whispered in my ear and I couldn’t stop, how could anyone stop when they had someone like Preston praising them every time?
And now I wanted him to make good on his promise. His promise to ravish me.
After the last time, I didn’t let myself think about romance much. I didn’t let myself have romantic daydreams. But somewhere in the back of my mind there was still that teenager who dreamed of the romantic, passionate lovemaking in the cabin in front of the fire, and that teenager was swooning right now.
Preston slid inside of me at last, one firm, slow thrust that I could feel in every inch of me, all the way to my fingertips. It was like he was connected to every single one of my nerve endings. God, his fingers had been delicious, but teasing, not quite enough, not quite what I wanted. This was so much more. This stretched and filled me the way that I wanted.
And oh, God, Preston wasn’t holding back. This was what it felt to be well and truly fucked. His strokes were deep and certain, not too rough or too fast. Like he wanted me to feel it all over, but he also wanted us to savor it. Like he wanted to savor me.
Preston’s hand slid down to my thigh, lifting it up so that my leg was around him, deepening the angle. It felt like he was dragging against every possible inch of me and I cried out, shivering all over with heat and pleasure. I’d forgotten how truly good sex could be. Or rather—how good sex with Preston could be.
His other hand braced by the side of my head so that he could get the leverage to keep thrusting into me. I felt picked apart, piece by piece, laid bare and vulnerable, his for the taking. Like he could just fuck me rough and leave me if he wanted but he was choosing to take his time and be thorough. It was intoxicating.
Preston bent down, kissing me, and I shuddered all over. I couldn’t stop making noise. Now that I’d started it was like I just couldn’t stop, I couldn’t help myself, I had to keep doing it. I couldn’t hold back. But Preston just seemed pleased, continuing to kiss me, li
ke he was drinking up my sounds, swallowing them. Claiming them just as he claimed every other part of me.
I was so overwhelmed. Distantly, as if from very far away, I could hear the sound of the snowstorm picking up again, the wind ravaging the trees. It felt like that storm was only building because it was matching how I felt inside.
Preston slid into me again, and again, until it was all a blur. I felt truly, well, ravished, as he’d promised. I felt worshipped and used at the same time. The pleasure that sang through me every time his cock thrust into me was like nothing I had felt before. Even our last time together—the best sex I’d ever had until that moment—paled in comparison to this. It was like during the last five years Preston had made it his mission to get even better at sex, to become a true master at it so that he could relearn my body and take me to pieces.
I couldn’t believe he was able to last so long. His stamina wasn’t that of a man barely into his twenties, oh no. It was like he was waiting, not letting himself come until I did.
And oh, fuck, did I come. I moaned wantonly, loudly, and Preston sealed his mouth over mine, swallowing the sound. I felt like I was literally going to shake apart. I held onto him, my nails digging in, as the pleasure consumed me. I’d never felt so alive in my life. For a moment it felt like nothing in the world existed besides my pleasure and the warm, solid muscle beneath my fingers.
As I slid down from my high, Preston’s control finally snapped. He fucked into me fast and rough, and I truly felt—as ridiculous as it sounded—like one of those maidens in those romance novels, the ones about warlords in pseudo-medieval times. Feeling him lose control like this, feeling him fucking into me with abandon, was almost as good as my own orgasm. I wanted to feel him coming, I wanted to feel him losing himself in me.
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