by Stella Gray
She fucking wants me. I want her. With any other woman, I would have made the big moves already. But now that we live together and have this official arrangement going, I know I have to tread lightly. Be more sensitive. My usual tactics don’t apply here, because unlike other women, I can’t kick Brooklyn out in the morning.
Still. Something has to give before she sees a side to me that she definitely won’t like. So in the interest of maintaining harmony, I’ve done my best to keep my distance.
Until today. It’s only 10 a.m. and I’m already strung tight. I agreed to come with her to the wedding cake tasting she arranged solely to keep her happy, but now that we’re sitting here, I’m over it. I’ve left the wedding planning entirely to Brooklyn, mostly because I can’t handle being near her all the time, but also because it requires attention to details that, frankly, I don’t give a shit about. I might have more patience if I wasn’t horny and on edge, but I doubt it.
Venue? Who cares?
Colors? Fuck off.
Music? Nope.
I’ve given very little input into any of it, trusting my sister and Brooklyn and a team of professionals to work it all out. Me? I care about the honeymoon, and the wedding night we’re probably not going to have. Let me plan that. I swear, it would be a night neither of us would forget. My body tenses at the thought of her in scant lingerie, leaning over the balcony of some five-star resort on a private island where I could fuck her anywhere, anytime.
“Sit, sit!” Our consultant is back with a round of samples, playfully scolding Brooklyn—who’s still wandering around the place while I fight my urges here at the table.
Brooklyn scurries over, slips out of her denim jacket, and drapes it over the back of her chair. As she slides into her seat, I do a double take at how her breasts fill out the soft, cropped sweater she’s wearing, her dark skinny jeans accentuating the curve of her hips. She’d been so intent on ignoring me this morning that I’d given her space and didn’t take the time to notice how perfectly her outfit hugs her body.
Big mistake.
“Thank you so much for having us, April,” Brooklyn gushes. “I’ve always loved this bakery. I’ve posted tons of your little cakes on my Instagram.”
The woman—April—places a hand over her heart and smiles broadly. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. Word of mouth is the best advertising we can get in this industry.”
She runs through the list of things we’ll be sampling then, explaining ingredients and fillings in such detail I can barely keep up. We’ve reserved an hour and a half for the tasting, and judging by the samples laid out on the table next to us, April has really pulled out all the stops.
Brooklyn is eyeing the dishes with the same hunger I feel each time I look at her. I envy the cake. It’s about to get some serious action from that pretty mouth of hers. An appreciative little moan rolls from her throat and it captures my full attention. I want to hear that sound when we’re naked and my cock is deep inside her.
“Do you smell that lemon buttercream?” she asks, her eyes suddenly locking on mine.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, though my mind couldn’t be further from the frosting.
April smiles, delighted. “There’s nothing artificial in that, dear. We use fresh Meyer lemons, local butter, and organic cream. It’s so rich and decadent, it practically melts in your mouth. Would you like to try that first?”
“Yes, please!” Brooklyn says. She’s so damn excited I can’t help being amused.
Moving a small dish of frosting from the tray over to our table, April hands us two silver tasting spoons. “I’m going to have you try the frosting and cake samples separately, and then some of our favorite combinations together. We can combine anything you like, of course.”
Brooklyn dips her spoon into the frosting, smells it, and grins before taking a small bite. She makes that sound again and closes her eyes, sucking the remainder off the spoon, taking it all into her mouth. I realize how intently I’m watching her, but I can’t force myself to look away.
“Oh, my. That is delicious.” She cocks her head at me. “Aren’t you going to try some?”
I’m holding my spoon in the air, too busy watching her have a mouth orgasm to remember to get my own sample. I take a bite, barely tasting it in my eagerness to watch Brooklyn try something else. “It’s fine,” I say, much to the women’s obvious disappointment.
A lot of descriptions get thrown around after that—espresso ganache, Swiss meringue, white chocolate whipped cream—but all I can focus on is how much I want to see my fiancée enjoy each one. I tell her they’re all great, and that the choice is hers.
We finish with the toppings and move on to cake. The samples are cut into small squares and though we’re given slender little forks to use, I pick up the first sample with my fingers. It’s red velvet, not my favorite, but the anticipation on Brooklyn’s face makes up for it. She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue and eyes me curiously. She leans in and my pulse starts to race at the thought of popping the treat between her lips, feeling her mouth brush against my fingertips.
Her gaze falls to my hand as she breaks a piece of the cake off for herself, denying me the pleasure of feeding her. Holding back my disappointment, I eat the rest myself, watching her as she starts to reach for another square—spiced something. Quickly, I pick it up first and offer it to her, holding it near her mouth, making my intention very, very clear.
“Open up,” I coax, my gaze fixing on hers.
A pulse beats between us as she slowly opens her mouth. Before I can press the cake to her lips, though, she pulls it out of my fingers and eats it. She chews slowly, making me watch her savor it, and when she’s done, she licks her fingertips to get every last drop of flavor. Then she flashes me a saucy smirk.
“So good,” she says, practically purring.
There’s no doubt in my mind now. She’s denying me but teasing me at the same time. Punishing me for something. And I’m eating it up.
I’m about to come…unglued. Everything about this is sexy as hell. I’ve never been one to mix food and sex, but I’m regretting that now. We finish the plain samples, and then April brings out one last silver tray with thin slices of decorated cakes, most with layers of filling inside.
“These are some of our most popular pairings,” April is saying, but I tune her out.
As Brooklyn nods along, my cock twitches. She’s going to kill me with this sampler. I’ll either end up walking out just to control myself, or I’m going to fuck her right here on the table.
April continues her breakdown of each slice of cake, and I don’t give a flying fuck, but I pretend like I do. Somehow, I hold my composure together…until Brooklyn runs the tip of her finger over a thin ribbon of strawberry champagne filling and sucks it off with a wet little smack, her eyes catching mine as she dips the tip between her lips for a final little suck.
My chest has gone tight, my cock thrumming with unreleased lust. April gets into the nitty gritty of cake toppers and decoration options and I find myself nodding along, agreeing to things I’m not fully aware I’m agreeing to. Finally, April sets down a single fat slice of traditional looking wedding cake, white on white, with a delicate rose made of frosting on top.
“This is the fun part!” She claps her hands and gestures that we should stand. I quickly adjust myself under the table before rising. Brooklyn gives me a cursory glance and then watches April with interest. I feel the weight of how my fiancée keeps her attention off me, noticing how much effort she puts into keeping her distance.
April cuts the cake in two and then pushes Brooklyn and I closer together. She has us link arms and winks as we get cozy with our arms entwined in the obligatory “feed each other cake” pose. Then she places a neat chunk of cake in each of our hands.
“Nothing like a little fun practice!” She cheers a little and stands back, watching us like an apt teacher waiting for her students to make her proud.
Brooklyn clears her throat,
avoiding my gaze. I lean closer to her, smelling her scent mixed with the sweetness of the cake. A dark stirring begins like a whirlwind inside me.
“Do we get to practice the wedding night, too?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes fly to mine, lips parting in surprise. I want to see if her nipples are hard beneath that damn sweater, but I can’t look away from her mouth as I slide the cake in. She takes it softly, intently, her lips pressing against my fingers with a warmth I feel all the way to my balls.
She hurriedly feeds me my cake and then breaks away to grab a napkin. April gives a pleased laugh and removes the platter. Brooklyn turns her back to me and wipes her mouth. I will her to turn around, but she doesn’t. She’s hiding her body’s reaction to me. I felt it in the way her breath hitched and her body heat jacked a few degrees.
She wants me.
And she’s fighting it.
Her cunt and her tits are all in, but her heart and head are not. Those are things I can’t change through will alone, and I certainly can’t rush.
I let out a breath. Wanting her won’t kill me. If she wants to keep things platonic, fine. But she’s going to learn real quick that being this sexually frustrated brings out the real asshole in my personality.
I guess she’ll just have to learn to live with it.
Brooklyn
Chapter 14
Someone needs to remind me ASAP why I can’t jump my fiancé.
He looks so drop-dead sexy in his gray Armani tux that my thong just got instantly soaked. Luka adjusts his tie in the entryway mirror, his legs spread apart as he commands his space with sexy, masculine grace. I watch his hand as he works the knot in his tie, recalling those strong fingers near my mouth as he fed me cake. How I’d wanted to wrap my lips around them and suck the frosting off. How it had taken all of my self-control to act like I wasn’t interested.
He turns to look at me as if he can read my thoughts, his hand falling slowly away from the base of his throat. Silently, he fully faces me, and a wicked grin transforms his face into pure, unadulterated playboy.
I enjoy the appreciation and desire on his face. I’d chosen my outfit for Danica Rose’s official launch party very carefully. We’d talked briefly about matching in some way to show off how in love we are and all that, so I’m wearing a silvery gray silk halter dress with a plunging neckline, balanced by a floor-length hem and a single slit that goes up one thigh. Side by side, I’m sure we’ll look like the perfect pair. We’ve decided to be that couple.
It’s good not only for our image, but for DRM’s as well. We’re the united front of a new chapter in the Zoric empire’s story. One with a brand new name and a brand new set of faces, that doesn’t include Konstantin and the stain he created. Tonight is all about the company moving forward, with Luka and me at the helm of its publicity shift.
This is our first major public appearance since the engagement was announced, though, and I’m practically buzzing with nerves.
The unabashed hunger in Luka’s eyes makes my stomach clench even harder. I can’t hold back the grin that tugs at my lips. I’m glad he’s having such a strong reaction to me. Christ, it was all I could do to hold back at the cake tasting the other day. Teasing him hadn’t been entirely intentional then…but now? I’ll admit I’d chosen this dress because I knew he’d love it.
I also left my hair straight tonight so it falls to my waist, begging to be touched. Perfect cat’s eye liner and nude lips let the subtle sheen of my curve-hugging outfit take center stage.
“You’re drooling,” I scold Luka with a smile as I approach him on four-inch heels. I may want to keep a wall between us sexually, but it’s still fun to be lighthearted with him.
“Can you blame me? Come here and let me get a better look at you.”
I hesitate to get too close. If he touches me, I’m going to give in to what my body wants so much. I stop a few feet in front of him and do a slow turn while tossing a sultry look over my shoulder. His fingers flex as if he’s holding himself back from reaching out. Breaking through his hesitation, he skims his fingers down my arms, causing tingles to race over me.
“Stunning. Look how well we match.”
He gestures for me to stand before the mirror with him. I have to get right next to his body to do so, but I’m curious…I want to see us. Tossing back my hair, I position myself beside him and temper my urge to lean into his touch as his hand skates across my lower back and comes to rest at the curve of my waist. He pulls me closer against his side until we’re touching hip to hip. I hold my breath for a fraction of a second and look at our reflection.
Luka’s tall muscular body, dark tousled hair, and intense green eyes do nothing but complement my sleek stature and Mediterranean coloring. We match, but not in a sticky-sweet way—more like an elegant couple on the cover of some elite European magazine.
He catches my gaze in the glass and a pulse of sexual electricity sparks between us. He begins to turn toward me, and I watch him like he’s in slow motion. I’m caught in the push and pull of desperately needing him to touch me, and just as desperately needing to prevent it.
“Luka, I—”
His phone goes off, startling us both. He works his jaw and then steps away to pick up the call with a low growl. After he says a few tight words, he hangs up.
“The limo is downstairs,” he informs me.
“Better not keep it waiting,” I say, relieved that we’re out of time to fool around.
I rearrange my clutch in my other hand so I’m free to take the arm he offers. My eyes work back up to his after taking another sweep of his exquisite body in that tux, and then I’m leaning against him as we head down in the elevator.
Every moment with him is charged. My heels make a determined clip across the lobby floor, the steady sound reminding me that I’m doing this for show. My fiancé looks incredible, and I know the attraction is mutual, but giving in to temptation would only muddy the waters.
He sits close in the limo and makes small talk about the event, but I’m too busy watching his lips move and daydreaming about his talented tongue to pay much attention. By the time we reach the swanky hotel venue, I’m so aroused that it takes all my will not to crawl into his lap.
Clinging to Luka, I walk into the Art Deco-style bar that’s been rented out for the night and into a roomful of people I’ve never met. Heads turn to watch us, and the female whispers start immediately, some not bothering to temper their volume as gossip gets tossed around.
A chill goes down my spine as I realize the sheer volume of eyes on us. I’m sure our engagement has brought out a mix of jealousy and shock in more than a few people who’d hoped to gain something from Luka in the near future. For instance, the stable of attractive women he’s left behind—many of them circling us like sharks in this room right now.
“Everyone’s staring,” I tell Luka through a clenched smile.
“That’s because you’re the belle of the ball,” he says, his voice low and smooth. But it does nothing to calm my anxiety.
I’m the centerpiece in a room full of gorgeous, sophisticated models who have no qualms about eyeing my fiancé with lusty knowing in their expressions. For the past hour, I’ve been trying to remind myself why I shouldn’t jump into bed with Luka, but now the reason hits me full force as we stroll through the glittering crowd.
I hear what they’re whispering behind our backs. I see how they look at him. At me. Their looks are smug, or pitying, or amused.
I’m surrounded by women that have all slept with my fiancé.
It’s a sickening feeling to realize there probably isn’t a pussy in this room that he hasn’t been inside. He glances down at me with an encouraging smile that I might find endearing if I wasn’t suddenly so uncomfortable…and so angry. Everyone here thinks I’m a joke.
“Don’t be nervous.” He squeezes my arm encouragingly. “Our job is to tell people how glad we are to see them, smile for the cameras, and duck out as soon as possible. Sound okay?”
/> “Sure.” I lift my chin and don’t return his gaze. “Let’s just get it over with.”
“Ah, so you are nervous,” he says, misinterpreting the edge in my voice. “Let’s get you a glass of wine, then. It’ll help you loosen up.”
A snappy retort goes down my throat as I hold it in, hyperaware of every female here. I can’t ignore the way they look at Luka like they’re hungry, how they tilt their heads together to whisper and laugh. I’ve never been one to let gossip get to me, but this feels different. Heat tingles along my hairline and my body feels like it’s slowly pressurizing.
Glancing around, I tighten my grip on Luka’s arm as we head to the bar. Music thumps and vibrates through the room. I catch a glimpse of a redhead in the corner with an incredible, curvy body and a vampy, 1940s vixen vibe to match. Her bright blue eyes home in on my fiancé, her painted lips arching in a cocky smile.
“Do you…know her?” I ask Luka, inclining my head in the woman’s direction.
He glances over and shrugs. “Cassandra Ronan? We signed her a few months back. Do you want me to make an introduction?”
Cassandra looks at me and then makes a show of sipping from the straw in her cocktail while dropping her gaze to Luka’s crotch. Then she licks her lips before turning away.
“Um no, that’s okay,” I say. “I’d rather find that drink first.”
I clear my throat and swallow hard, but the lump there is only growing.
Then I see a blonde dancing in a corner, her body wrapped in a black mini that shows off long, tan thighs. She’s doing some sort of belly-dancing thing, swiveling her hips in smooth, suggestive motions that has a small group of male observers very, very interested. I press my lips into a hard line. Why did I think a modeling agency party would be anything other than this?
Luka makes a half turn to pass me the wine glass that seems to have materialized in his hand. “There’s a good crowd here tonight—I’m sure Stefan’s floored that so many people showed up to support Danica Rose. I honestly wasn’t sure what the turn out would be like.”