“Don’t be so rude, Leigha,” he chided, only slightly favoring his foot as he stepped back. “When this guy dumps you, you’ll be on your own. I could be a good friend.”
“Fuck off, Peter.”
Not an original come back, but I was too grossed out to be witty. I whirled around, just wanting to get away from him. The sad thing was, I believed him about Christie. Not that she’d be cool with me being her husband’s mistress, but that she didn’t ask too many questions. I wondered how many late meetings and business trips he had. I was betting it was a lot. The thought depressed me. I didn’t really like my sister, but she was my sister. A marriage of convenience with Peter wasn’t a happy prospect.
This time when an arm wound around my waist, I relaxed into it, recognizing Dylan by instinct, even before his clean, masculine scent hit me.
“Sorry you got stuck with the evil twins while I talked to my Mom,” I said.
“That’s okay. You can make it up to me later.” The promise in his voice was enough to heat my blood. “What did Peter want?” he asked.
“Nothing.” No way was I going to tell Dylan what Peter had said. I had a feeling he wouldn’t take it well. And Peter wasn’t worth pissing Dylan off. I could handle Peter.
“I didn’t like him touching you,” Dylan said, his mouth moving against my ear in a whisper of a kiss.
“Neither did I,” I admitted.
“You’re mine. No one touches you but me. Understood?”
“Dylan,” I said, pulling away so I could face him. “I didn’t want him to touch me. I got rid of him as fast as I could.”
“I know.” Dylan took my hips in his hands and tugged me against him. Dipping his head to mine, he said, “I know you didn’t like it. And I know you were being polite. Next time, don’t be. No one touches you but me. Ever. That’s more important than being polite. Now tell me you understand.”
“What if I don’t want you to touch me?” I couldn’t help asking. Dylan nipped my ear, his teeth drawing a flash of pain that turned immediately into heat.
“If you don’t want me to touch you, we’ve got bigger problems than your fuck-head of a brother in law getting in your face.”
“Okay.” That was the best I could come up with. My brain had scattered at the touch of his teeth to my ear.
“Good. He touches you again, he answers to me.”
“Okay.” My brain clicked back into gear. “If it bothers you so much, why did you leave me with him?”
“I wanted to see what you would do,” Dylan said. I lurched back, suddenly pissed off.
“What?” I screeched. He’d left me to handle that pig as a test? Dylan’s arms tightened, not letting me move. People turned their heads to look. Dylan grinned down at me and pressed a kiss to my temple, whispering,“I’m buying you ten more pairs of heels just like that. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him leaving tracks of blood. You did a good job, sweetheart.”
I didn’t want to, but I melted—not just at him calling me sweetheart, but his praise. Testing me was high-handed and annoying. His being proud of me was hard to resist. Before I could think of what to say, Peter announced that it was time to go into dinner. Good. One meal, and hopefully not too many speeches to get through, and I’d be alone with Dylan again.
4
Leigha
Dylan and I checked the seating chart on an easel by the door and found we were seated in the far end of the room, furthest from the wedding party. I knew Christie had stuck us there to make a point. As her sister, I should have been sitting close to her, Cathie, and my mother. For the first time, I was thrilled she was a spiteful bitch. I’d rather be alone in a corner with Dylan than sitting near the wedding party any day.
Dylan pulled my chair out for me and helped me sit before taking his own seat. No one sat to his left. On my left was an older couple I didn’t recognize. After stilted introductions, during which Dylan neglected to mention his last name, the couple turned to face the rest of the table and ignored us. Perfect. If we drowned out the sound of one of the groomsmen getting ready to give a speech, we could almost pretend we were alone.
We both stayed quiet and ate our salad while the groomsmen droned on and on about his long friendship with Peter. About anyone else, it might have been sweet. But since I knew he was talking about Peter, it was mostly annoying. I zoned out a little, trying to enjoy the meal and wondering how long it would take, when I felt the weight of Dylan’s hand on my leg.
Trying not to be obvious, I looked up at him. Dylan’s eyes were on the speaking groomsman, his expression bland and vaguely interested. For all that anyone else could see, he was the picture of innocence. Beneath the table, his fingers slipped beneath my skirt and trailed along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
“Dylan,” I hissed. His eyes flicked to me and he winked, then went back to pretending to pay attention to the speech. That was my only effort at protest. Why bother? By now I knew Dylan would do what he wanted to. Whatever he wanted to do was guaranteed to be more fun for me than sitting here and acting like I cared about the rehearsal dinner.
Adjusting my napkin so that it more fully hid the movement of Dylan’s hand between my legs, I dropped my eyes to my plate and shut out all the other diners. He teased me, trailing his fingertips in figure eights up and down my leg, the side of his hand brushing innocuously against my delicate lace panties. I tried to act like he wasn’t driving me crazy, like I couldn’t feel the heat build between my legs with every pass of his fingers.
I just wasn’t that cool. When he brushed against my panties one more time, I barely caught myself before I moaned. The man beside me shifted, as if he was going to look at me, then my silence convinced him it wasn’t worth the effort. I sank my teeth into my lower lip and slid down a little in the high backed chair, opening my left leg toward Dylan.
No change. Only more of those teasing, light touches. I could feel myself getting wet. If I thought he would let me get away with it, I would have jumped out of my chair and dragged Dylan to the nearest coat closet. Somehow, I didn’t think I could pull that off. This was Dylan’s game, and if I didn’t play by his rules, I’d lose. Since winning with Dylan meant an unbelievable orgasm, I didn’t want to lose. But maybe I could get a little creative.
Curious to see what he’d do, I slipped my hand into his lap. Beneath the dark wool of his suit, he was hard. I closed my hand around his length and squeezed. He gave a slight jerk in his chair before calmly putting down his soup spoon and removing my hand from his lap. Tilting his head in my direction, he said, under his breath,
“No.”
“If you can, why can’t I?” A long, intent look, dripping with meaning. Okay, I knew why. But still…
“You’re making me insane,” I murmured. “Are you going to do this all through dinner?”
The thought was both enticing and horrifying. We were only on the soup course, and groomsmen number two was rambling on and on about some team he and Peter were on in college. Barring a natural disaster or foreign invasion, we could be here for hours. While Christie might not care if we snuck out, my mother would.
“That depends,” he asked. “Do you really want me to stop?”
“No. I want you to keep going.” At the aggravation in my voice, he grinned.
“Take off your panties, and I’ll give you what you want.” His voice was so low I barely heard him.
“Here?”
“Right here.”
I didn’t answer. How was I going to get my underwear off in the middle of the dining room? We were at the far end of the room. The light was dim. But, I had a man sitting just to my right. Dylan was crazy. He wouldn’t make me come unless I figured out how to get my undies off while I was still sitting here, with barely the edge of the tablecloth to cover what I was doing. My pride wanted me to turn down his challenge. My body wanted the orgasm he would give me if I obeyed his ridiculous challenge.
“Excuse me,” I said under my breath to the man beside me. Fortunately, he
didn’t spare me more than a quick glance.
Twisting in my seat so that I faced Dylan, I lifted my left hip off the chair and reached beneath my skirt. The high-low hem was my friend as there wasn’t much skirt to get out of the way. Tagging the edge of my panties, I hooked my index finger in the fabric and gave a sharp pull, dragging them down below my ass. A good start, but that was the easy side.
Pretending I hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, I took a spoonful of soup. I went to put the spoon down beside the plate and dropped it on the floor instead. It was too obvious, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Nudging my seat back a few inches, I murmured,
“Excuse me. Sorry.” I eased my seat back a little more and leaned forward as if reaching for the floor. The second my head was below the table, I lifted my rear-end off the seat and reached beneath my skirt for the other side of my panties, using my napkin to cover the sight of my hand going up my own skirt. From beside me, I heard Dylan clear his throat. My head popped up, and to my horror, I saw the servers coming to clear the soup course, starting at the ends of the tables.
In a panic, I gave the panties one more tug before sitting back up and scooting my chair into place. I made it just in time to sit back and let a uniformed server remove my bowl.
“Did you find your spoon, sweetheart?” Dylan asked, a devilish twinkle in his eyes.
I scowled back at him. I wasn’t actually all that annoyed. The potential disaster of getting caught taking off my underwear in public was turning me on. I’d wanted my orgasm before, but now I really wanted it. That pleasure was mine, Dylan was going to give it to me, and all I had to do was take off my underwear without leaving the table. I wasn’t going to get caught. I was going to do what Dylan told me to and then I was going to come.
I was so close. My panties were still on, but I’d managed to get them around my thighs. I knew without asking that it wasn’t enough. If Dylan said he wanted them off, they were going to come off. This time, I waited until the servers were finished clearing the soup before I made my last move. Smoothing my napkin across my lap, I twisted the skirt beneath over to the side so I could reach my left hand beneath the hem.
The man on my right never noticed as I lifted my thighs an inch and pulled the panties to my knees. From there it was only a wiggle to get the scrap of fabric to fall to the floor. I’d have to remember to pick them up before we left. I’d chosen the almost transparent black lace from among the pieces Dylan had bought that afternoon. All of them were La Perla and all gorgeous. I wasn’t abandoning this pair under the table.
With a self-satisfied smirk at Dylan, I reclined in the seat and let my knees fall apart. My napkin was still spread across my lap, shielding Dylan’s hand from view as it slid beneath my hem, then up between my parted thighs. I bit my lip in anticipation and fixed my face in a polite smile, pretending I was listening to Christie’s best friend from high school rhapsodizing about cheer squad as if she hadn’t given the same speech at Christie’s first wedding just a few years before.
Dylan didn’t make me wait. Instead of teasing me with endless, light strokes, he went straight for the good stuff. A breath after he touched my thigh, his fingertips grazed my clit. I fought back a shudder, all my effort going into hiding my response to his touch. He pressed the swollen bead of flesh, watching for my reaction before he pinched it between two fingers and squeezed. I think I jumped. I know I made a tiny squeaking sound, startling the man beside me. He looked at my face for a moment before turning his eyes back to the bridesmaid’s speech.
My attention was completely divided between the need for silence and my rising arousal. I’d already been hot from Dylan touching my leg. Taking off my panties without being seen by the rest of the guests had only made me hotter. Now Dylan’s fingers played between my legs, toying with my clit and spreading my slick heat in circles around my entrance. I wanted to come, wanted to scream with orgasm right there in the packed dining room. I’d have to keep my mouth shut and my body still or risk total humiliation.
I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and breathed through my nose, deep, even breaths like I’d take in yoga class. Quiet and calm. At complete odds with the building need in my pussy.
Silent and frozen, my entire consciousness narrowed to the splinters of sharp, bright pleasure between my legs. The strength and heat of Dylan’s hand. His fingers pressing, rotating, dipping inside. I rocked my hips in a tiny, experimental motion. The flare of pleasure was dizzying, but the slide of my chair told me I couldn’t do it again. I’d have to remain passive, trusting Dylan to give me what I wanted.
In theory, that wasn’t a problem. In reality, I wanted my orgasm now, not when Dylan decided I could have it. I turned my head to face him, meeting his intense green eyes. Fixed on my face, they were hot, demanding, and in control.
“Please,” I whispered. “I’ll do anything. Don’t make me wait anymore.” His eyes flared.
“Anything?” he asked. I don’t know why I’d said that. With Dylan, it really could be ‘anything’. I had no idea where his limits were, but it was a guarantee that they went much further than my own. Who was I kidding? I’d done everything he’d demanded so far. My offer of ‘anything’ was a joke. I’d do what he wanted anyway, even if that included waiting for my orgasm, or not coming at all. So far, doing what he asked had brought me more pleasure than I’d ever imagined.
“Anything,” I said under my breath.
Dylan’s eyes went the deep green of a forest at twilight as he drove two fingers into my pussy. It took everything I had to stop my gasp at the sensation of finally being full after so much teasing. I would have preferred his cock to his fingers, but even overcome with need I wasn’t crazy enough to consider fucking him in the dining room.
As turned on as I was, it wouldn’t take much more before the rising orgasm swept me under. His arm in the perfect position, Dylan moved his fingers in short, pulsing thrusts as he pressed the heel of his hand into my clit. Pure, exalted bliss exploded in my brain and washed through my body, locking my muscles in place. I didn’t move, but I heard myself give a tiny whimper. I don’t know if anyone heard, and I didn’t care.
When the last wave of pleasure faded, I came back to myself, noticing that Dylan’s hand was back in his own lap and my skirt was pulled neatly down beneath my napkin. Reveling in sated relaxation, I turned to look at Dylan. His grin said he was pretty satisfied with himself. The bulge in his suit pants said he might have been emotionally satisfied, but his body still wanted more. A feeling of dread pushed out my calm. I’d said anything. What was he going to ask me to do?
5
Leigha
I had two choices. I could pretend I didn’t know I owed him one and eat my dinner. Or I could bite the bullet and find out what the payback would be. I was shy, but I wasn’t a wimp. At least, I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to return Dylan’s generosity by being afraid of him. He’d said I could trust him.
“So,” I said, trying for casual, “What’s my anything?”
He didn’t answer right away, just looked at me, reading my eyes. He probably saw everything. My vulnerability, my nerves, my need to please him. I could only hope he’d take it easy on me. When he continued to stare in silence, I fought the urge to look away. I wanted Dylan. Wanted to be worthy of the powerful, vibrant man he was. He wanted me to submit to him, but I sensed he wanted a woman who could hold her own against his strong personality. I needed to find a way to do both.
Finally, he smiled a gentle, unexpectedly sweet smile. Dipping his head into mine, he laid a soft kiss on my mouth. Leaning in a little closer, he said,
“Your anything is for later. I’m saving it. For now, just enjoy the rest of dinner.”
“You’re sure?” I asked, not quite able to believe he was letting me off this easy. I’d had visions of under the table blow jobs or sneaking off to find an unoccupied closet. Neither of which I really wanted to do.
“Eat,” he said, gesturing with his fork to my untouched
dinner plate. Remembering my post-orgasmic inattention when the servers had delivered it, I flushed. Oh, well. If they’d seen anything amiss, there was nothing I could do about it now. Christie had ordered filet mignon, asparagus and some kind of potato dish with a creamy sauce. Yum. Taking Dylan’s suggestion, I dug in.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of more boring speeches made tolerable by the delicious food, excellent wine, and Dylan beside me. We were silent, but I was acutely aware of his presence beside me. At one point, between the removal of our dinner plates and dessert, Dylan reached out and took my hand in his. I expected him to drop it in his lap, or start a conversation, but he did neither. He just held my hand, playing with my fingertips. When I caught his eye, he winked.
He had my head spinning. Just when I thought this was all about sex, he did something so sweet I was tempted to hope it was more. I’d held hands with men before and felt nothing from it, but this was different—maybe because it was Dylan. He wasn’t teasing me or trying to turn me on. He was keeping me close. It was dangerous. Not for him, for me.
I wasn’t the kind of girl to have casual sex. I wished I were. Life would be so much simpler if I could be like some of my friends, going out to clubs on the weekend to find a guy and get laid. I’d tried it, but it had felt wrong. Either I’d liked the guy and ended up feeling used, or I was just attracted to him, and I regretted it later. So I knew myself well enough to understand that, as much as I’d like him to be, Dylan wasn’t an exception. I was falling hard for him.
And it wasn’t the clothes, the jewelry, or the orgasms. It was him. His strength, and the combination of power and gentleness, the way he could be demanding and then sweet. How he wanted me to follow his orders, but he was thinking of me the whole time.
How could I resist falling for a man like this? I couldn’t. Every time I got a hint that I wasn’t just a weekend fling, my hungry heart ate it up. I was heading for disaster. I knew it. I couldn’t stop myself.
The Wedding Rescue, Book Three (An Alpha Billionaire Club BBW Romance) Page 2