The Wedding Rescue, Book One (An Alpha Billionaire Club BBW Romance)

by Wilder, Alexa

  He finished his text and put the phone away, saying nothing. I shifted in my heels, the heat between my legs suddenly cold, the damp uncomfortable. Dylan stood beside me, watching the numbers change above the elevator door. For all the attention he gave me, I might as well have been alone. Awkward didn’t begin to cover it. Maybe I was making a mistake.

  Not maybe. Definitely. I wasn’t exactly brimming over with fantastic choices where men were concerned. Looking at it that way, what was one more? At least Dylan could kiss, which was more than I could say for some of the other men I’d chosen. Still, he was pretty much a stranger, and I’d been crawling all over him in his office.

  At the thought of my eagerness, I felt my cheeks heat again. Did any other woman Dylan dated blush at the thought of making out with him? I doubted it. Then again, we weren’t really dating. When the wedding was over, I’d go back to my boring life, and I’d never see Dylan again. I might as well make the most of it.

  I was so lost in my thoughts; I didn’t notice the elevator had stopped until the doors slid open. Dylan’s hand closed over my elbow, leading me into the main floor of the casino. I’d only arrived at the Delecta for the first time a few hours before, and I didn’t have my bearings. I thought the restaurant was directly opposite the elevators we’d used. At first, that’s where Dylan led me. Then he veered abruptly to our right, pulling me down a long row of flashing slot machines, past a bar, behind a potted palm tree and halfway down a dim, carpeted hallway. He stopped exactly between two nondescript metal doors, completely out of sight of the busy casino floor.

  What were we doing back here? My brain couldn’t catch up. Dylan’s long body pressed close, pinning me to the wall. His leg pushed between mine, spreading my thighs and sliding my skirt up my legs. I opened my mouth to speak, and he covered it with his, his tongue sliding between my open lips, his breath hot on my skin. Just like that, the heat was back.

  One hand found the hem of my dress, inching it upwards, reaching around to squeeze my ass before slipping between my legs, into my panties. At the graze of his fingertips along my still wet pussy, I moaned into his mouth.

  “Shhh,” he said, breaking our kiss. “No camera here. Not if we don’t move. But you don’t want anyone to hear you, to come see us, do you?”

  I moaned again. I didn’t. I really didn’t. Did I? No. Now that he’d said something, though, I thought I felt eyes out there, crawling over us. Watching. I shivered, partly from the thought of a stranger watching us kiss, seeing Dylan’s hand up my dress. His hand was doing more than coasting along my fevered skin. He dipped two fingertips inside, soaking them in my aroused heat before pulling them back and circling my clit. More shivers. His touch was light, teasing me with pleasure, but it sent sparks of need through every cell. I ached to move, to moan and beg. Dimly aware that we were only a few yards from the bustling floor of the casino, I did my best to stay still and silent. Tiny whimpers spilled from my lips.

  “Shhh. This will have to be quick,” Dylan breathed into my ear. “I thought I could wait until after dinner, but I can’t. I want to see you come now.”

  He pushed two long fingers deep into my wet pussy in one hard thrust, stretching me in a brilliant flare of pleasure. His two fingers were bigger than any cock I’d taken before. He would split me open when he finally got inside me. I’d felt him when we were kissing before. Sex with Dylan would be in a class by itself.

  Just this, his fingers inside me, the heel of his palm grinding my clit as I thrust my hips against him, was the best sex I’d ever had and it wasn’t even sex. The orgasm hit me in a rush, splintering through me as he muffled my moans with his mouth. He played with me, thrusting his fingers, circling his palm on my clit, drawing it out until my knees wobbled and my moans faded into panting breaths.

  I’d never come that fast in my life. Granted, I’d been primed from our kiss in his office, but orgasm was never a guarantee for me, even when I was alone. Every muscle in my legs shook, and I was glad the wall was there to hold me up.

  His hard cock pressed into my hip, reminding me that I’d been completely passive, allowing him to do as he pleased, but offering nothing back. Before I could think better of it, I sank to my knees, reaching for his belt. Dylan’s fingers slipped from between my legs. He touched my face with his other hand. Maybe he wanted to stop me. I didn’t care. I knew I was supposed to let him lead, but I wanted to give him something back. I wanted his cock. His fingers had been amazing. Fantastic. Better than I could have imagined. But I wanted to touch him. I wanted him in my mouth.

  My fingers fumbled as I opened his belt. I ignored the whisper of my name above me, pushed away the faint sounds of the slot machines filtering down the hall. His hard length pressed against his zipper, waiting for me to release him. I had to be fast. We’d only been in there for a few minutes, but I had no idea if anyone would be coming, or if the doors on either side of us led anywhere. Maybe they’d open and people would come streaming out. Just the thought spurred me to get on with it. I’d have plenty of time to linger over his cock later. For now, I needed to stay focused.

  He was too big for me to take all of him in my mouth. I wasn’t exactly the queen of blow jobs. I’d given a few. Mainly to boyfriends, of which there hadn’t been many. It had been a while since I’d been here, kneeling before a man, my hand on him, lips open and eager.

  Actually, my lips had never been eager. And I’d never thought of it as a ‘cock’. Always a penis if I mentally used a word for it at all. What I had before me was a cock. Thick and long, this was the tool of a man, not a boy. I circled my hand around his girth, unable to close my fingers. I whimpered at the thought of taking him between my legs. The pressure. I’d be so full. I licked his head, tasting the drop of moisture at the tip. Musky and male.

  I wanted more. Using my hand to stroke where my mouth couldn’t reach, I dropped my jaw and took as much of him as I could. Above me, I heard a low groan. I moaned in response, the vibration teasing him as I sucked and licked, my hand stroking in the same rhythm. With my other hand, I cupped his balls, pressing two fingers into his perineum. He thrust back at me, driving his cock deeper into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat.

  I choked for a second before I relaxed. With any other man, that would have been it. I would have pushed him back, overwhelmed. But I’d never wanted a cock like this before. I wanted him in my mouth, wanted his taste, wanted to feel him come and know I’d given that to him.

  Breathing through my nose, I tried to relax and let him thrust, twisting my hand, sucking in hard pulls. I stroked my tongue around the head of his cock when he drew back, tasting every inch of him. My pussy, so recently satisfied, pulsed between my legs, jealous of my mouth. It wanted him to fuck between my legs instead of my lips. I was happy exactly where I was, inhaling his scent, feeling the need build in his jagged thrusts. His balls pulled tight to his body, and I sucked harder, not letting myself ease back as he buried his cock in the opening of my throat and came, groaning my name into the empty hall.

  I sucked out the last of his orgasm, reveling in the taste of his come. Another first. I’d swallowed before, but never because I really wanted to. This time, I’d needed it, needed to feel his pleasure inside me. Fingertips caressed the side of my face with a touch that was almost sweet. Then his hands were under my arms and I was on my feet, shoved back into the wall, his mouth on mine, my body pressed to the length of his. When he broke away, we were both panting. He stepped back and busied himself straightening his clothes. I looked down, suddenly shy, wiping the backs of my fingers across my mouth.

  I had a sudden wish for lipstick, or at least some gloss. Something that might shield my mouth from others, a cosmetic armor against anyone realizing what I’d just done. Unfortunately, I’d brought a tiny purse that held nothing more than my phone, my ID and a debit card. I hadn’t thought to add any makeup, not even lip gloss. I’d have to brazen it out. It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong, anyway.

  Finished with his b
elt, Dylan took my elbow once more, leading me back into the crowded casino floor. I managed to keep up without tripping over my heels, my head spinning. It went without saying that I’d never done anything like that before. No one had seen us, so it wasn’t exactly public sex, but it was closer than I’d ever come. The idea that Dylan had wanted me so badly sent tingles down my spine. Me, plump, boring, Leigha Carmichael had somehow managed to interest a man like Dylan Kane. I couldn’t quite take it in. Up ahead, through the crowd, I spotted my family waiting for me. Taking a deep breath, I told myself to get it together. Facing my sisters with my head in the clouds was a bad idea. They could eat me alive when I was on guard. Distracted, they’d pull me apart in seconds.

  6

  Dylan

  She was completely unexpected. When I saw her in the bar, I was drawn by her abundant curves - those ripe tits and her round ass pushing the seams of her conservative dress to its limits. Then we met, and her sweet, shy demeanor was its own hook, as were her pretty face and her clear grey eyes. Instead of jumping on my offer of help, she’d pushed me away. It wasn’t my power that made her melt, it was my body. One kiss and she’d been creaming all over me.

  I knew women found me attractive. They’d been after me since I hit my first growth spurt at fourteen. As I’d grown older, and more visibly successful, it got harder to tell what they wanted more, me or what was in my bank account. Not Leigha. Unless she was an exceptional actress, news of my wealth and position had only made her more nervous. Until I got my hands on her, that is. Then she’d gone wild. That kiss was insane.

  One touch of my lips and she’d opened for me, her tongue reaching for mine, letting me guide her onto my lap, not even flinching when my hand slid under her skirt. If her sister hadn’t called, I’d have been fucking that sweet, tight pussy a minute after getting my hands on her ass. And her tits were exceptional. I couldn’t even think about those without getting fully hard and I’d only just come in her mouth. Jesus, let’s not forget about that mouth.

  I’d dragged her into the hallway, grateful I knew the exact spot where the cameras didn’t overlap, because I couldn’t wait a second longer to get my fingers inside her. My cock would have been better, but there hadn’t been time for that. She’d been soaked, like a hot, wet vice. So tight, she must have had all pencil-dicked boyfriends. She’d gone off like a rocket, her face an arousing combination of surprise and ecstasy.

  But the blow job was what got me. Not just that it was good, or that she’d let me in her throat, both surprises in themselves. No, it was her hunger. Her need to get her mouth on me. She didn’t hit her knees because she felt she had to, or thought she should. She’d sucked me like she loved my cock. Like she couldn’t get enough, and could have sucked me all day. She’d swallowed my come without a flinch. I’d had women do that before, either because they loved to suck cock or they knew how to fake it. But never one this clean. This innocent. Leigha was a revelation. One I was finding I wanted more than I’d expected.

  We had to get through this dinner with her family. Then I was taking her to my penthouse. I might not let her out all weekend, except for the wedding. If fucking her was anything like having her suck me off, she was going to have a hard time walking by Sunday night.

  7

  Leigha

  I found myself leaning into Dylan as we approached my mother, sisters, and Peter, my future brother in law. Three (bleached) blond heads turned in our direction at Peter’s nudge. Then three jaws dropped. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get some well-deserved satisfaction out of that. The three of them had always been peas in a pod–outgoing, pretty, popular, and skinny.

  A constant stream of boyfriends rang our doorbell when I was in high school, all for Cathie, Christie and my mom. Only a few for me, and those never lasted long. Not once one of my vivacious sisters decided to steal him away. They didn’t actually like my dates; they just thought it was funny to see how quickly they’d dump me for the promise of a popular girl guaranteed to put out.

  I was the only female in my house who’d gone to college to get an education. While I’d graduated with a degree in business and accounting, then gone for my CPA, Christie and Cathie had been trying to figure out the best way to get an engagement ring before junior year.

  Now, only a few years after they would have graduated, they both had a marriage and a divorce on their résumés. There was no actual employment unless you count the arduous task of interviewing housekeepers and divorce lawyers. We were here at the Delecta so Christie could rope Peter and make him her latest sucker. I didn’t feel sorry for him. He was handsome, successful, and a complete asshole. As far as I was concerned, they deserved each other.

  Dylan’s arm around my waist pulled me closer, tucking me into his side as we stopped before my family. Before they could speak, he said,

  “I apologize for our lateness, it was my fault. I’m Dylan Kane.” He held out his hand to my mother, who took it, her jaw still half dropped.

  “Not THE Dylan Kane?” she asked, breathlessly. I braced for the embarrassment to come. As I expected, she moved in, sidling closer so she could lay an overly familiar hand on the lapel of Dylan’s suit. “The owner of all of this? Girls, you know who Dylan Kane is!”

  Before she could get any closer, Dylan eased back, stepping slightly behind me while keeping his arm firmly around my waist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carmichael,” Dylan said, polite in the face of her attempted groping. Not one to give up easily, my mother giggled, a young, high-pitched sound I’d always hated. It usually meant she was up to something.

  “Oh, I’m not Mrs. Carmichael. That was the girls' father’s name. I’ve moved on since then. I’m Mrs. Lowe, but you can call me Barbara.”

  Unable to help myself, I went to my toes and whispered in Dylan’s ear, “The Mrs. Lowe is from husband number four.”

  “Are you going to introduce me to your sisters?” he whispered back, his breath tickling my ear. I caught Christie scowling at me. She was justified. Whispering in front of all of them was kind of rude, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel badly about it.

  “Only if you promise not to sleep with any of them,” I said into the side of his neck, my voice so low I knew he could barely hear. In response, I got another squeeze of his arm, followed by a light kiss to my temple.

  “This is Cathie, Christie, and Christie’s fiancé, Peter,” I said, gesturing to each of them in turn.

  “Nice to meet you,” Dylan said, then turned to the restaurant. “Do we have a reservation? I know it’s my fault we’re late, and I’d hate for everyone to go hungry.”

  My mother finally remembered why we were there and led us to the hostess stand. A moment later, we were on our way to our table, a large circular booth surrounded by light drapes suspended from the ceiling. The design of the restaurant was intimate and cozy. Wonderful for a date, not so fabulous for a family dinner.

  As we arranged ourselves in the booth, Cathie gave me a hip bump designed to send me reeling into Peter, giving her room to sit beside Dylan. Dylan refused to release his hold on my waist, and instead of letting me fall, he used my sideways momentum to slide me into the booth, with him beside me. Smooth. And sweet. Unfortunately, I ended up with Peter on my other side. Unable to finagle a seat next to Dylan, who’d taken the end of the booth, Cathie slid in on the other end and glared at me.

  “So, what are you doing with Leigha?” she asked, venom dripping from her words. “You’re not actually her date, are you? She works for you or something, right?”

  “I work at Haywood and Cross, Cathie,” I said, cutting in. “I’ve been there since I graduated from college.”

  “And Leigha is most definitely my date,” Dylan said. “I’d love to get her working for me, but Haywood and Cross is a great firm. I doubt I could entice her away. And it would interfere with our,” he paused and met my eyes, “personal relationship.”

  Across the booth I heard Cathie whisper to Christie, “I think I just threw up a litt
le. Tell me he’s not sleeping with her. So gross.” I flushed in embarrassment. If I’d heard, so had the rest of the table. They weren’t exactly subtle.

  “How did you two meet?” my mother asked, covering the awkward silence left after Cathie’s comment.

  “As so often happens in a town like this,” Dylan said, “We met at a bar. I saw Leigha across the room and I knew I had to get to know her better.” He smiled down at me, his expression the perfect representation of a doting boyfriend. He was good. If I wasn’t careful I’d find myself believing it.

  “And you asked her out?” Christie said.

  “Of course.”

  “But she’s fat.” This from Christie. My mother murmured her name in an embarrassed protest.

  “And boring,” Cathie added. “She’s an accountant for God’s sake. How much more boring does it get?”

  Christie leaned around my mother to meet Cathie’s eyes. “Do you remember the boys she dated when we were in high-school?”

  “Oh my God, such losers. Remember the one from the math club? They did that thing together?”

  “He was such a dork,” Christie said, her giggle a replica of my mother’s. My mother rolled her eyes at us in a half-hearted apology.

  “Girls, don’t be rude. Maybe if you two had spent a little more time in the math club and less time on dates, you would have graduated with a 4.0 like your sister. And that thing she and the boy from math club did was a very complicated project. They won some kind of prize for it, didn’t you honey?”