by Nichole Rose
"Do you really hate my dress?" she whispers.
"Yes."
I grab her arm when she turns toward the door as if she's going to storm off. Somehow, her feet tangle and she crashes into my chest. I take advantage of the situation like the asshole I am and back her up against the wall, caging her in between my body and the shelf behind her.
"I fucking hate that every man in attendance is going to see any part of you," I growl against her ear. "They'll be thinking what I've been thinking since I saw you."
"W-what have you been thinking about?"
"How sweet you'll sound when you're coming all over me, and how tight you're going to be when I'm inside you," I say, hoping like hell she doesn't slap me for it. "Knowing anyone else is having the same thoughts about you is going to drive me insane."
"Asher," she gasps, but I don't think she's offended or pissed off.
"I'm jealous as hell it's not me wrapped around your sweet little body instead of that dress, Kennedy." I nip her ear because I can't help it, because I want her to know how crazy she's making me.
Women don't do this to me. They don't send possessiveness roiling through me like thick black clouds of aggression. They don't tie me up in knots, looking for ways to please them. They don't consume every waking thought and haunt every dream. But this one…Jesus, this one. I can't shake her. Can't stop thinking about her. Whatever she's doing to me, I don't want her to stop.
"Asher," she says again, her voice shaking. She's not afraid though. She's so turned on her entire body shakes like her smoky voice. "Y-you can't talk to me like that."
"You love it, Kennedy."
"That's why you can't do it!" she cries in the sweetest voice.
"Ah, baby," I chuckle, the sound gritty and rough. I nip the shell of her ear and then run my tongue around it, making her moan my name and cling onto my jacket. "I'm going to say and do a helluva lot worse when you're riding me later. I'm rough and rude and dirty as hell. I don't deserve to kiss your adorable little feet and we both know it, but you're going to be mine, angel baby. Might as well get used to it now."
I don't know what I expect her to say and I damn sure know I shouldn't be talking to her this way—especially not in a church, for Christ's sake. She deserves romance and wooing and all that shit women love that I've never even thought about before now. But I can't seem to stop myself any more than she seems able to stop herself from wrapping her hand in my jacket and yanking my mouth down to hers.
The way she takes what she wants has my dick leaking in my pants. She isn't an innocent little angel when she's turned on. She's a Siren, demanding what she wants from me. I give it to her, licking inside her mouth to taste her. As soon as I do, I groan, sinking my hands into her hips. Her mouth is so fucking sweet, like cherries.
It's obvious that she's never kissed anyone before, but that's fine with me. I don't want to think about anyone else touching her or kissing her. Matter of fact, I don't want to think about anyone else anywhere near her. Because this tiny little slice of heaven on earth is just for me. I'll teach her what she needs to know.
I kiss her hard and deep, lost in the way she whines in the back of her throat and mimics my movements. Her tongue dances across mine, teasing my tongue ring, and then her teeth sink into my bottom lip. The sting goes straight to my cock.
She whimpers when I yank her up against me, crushing her breasts to my chest. My erection nestles against her stomach, which has her tipping her head back to moan. I take advantage of the moment and track kisses down her throat and onto the swells of her breasts. Her peaches scent is even stronger here, clouding my mind with base lust.
I pinch her nipple through her dress, pulling another cry from her lips. Her entire body reacts, her back arching and her hips grinding into mine. The sound of my name leaving her lips in that tone is easily going to become my favorite sound. It's obscene how effortlessly sexy she is.
"Fucking hell," I growl, pulling away when voices slip beneath the crack of the door.
Kennedy whimpers her disappointment, and then she hears what I do. Her entire body goes rigid against mine before she quickly puts space between us.
Shit.
I reach for her a second too late.
The closet door flies open, narrowly missing her.
"Oh my gosh!" Sienna grabs the door at the same time I grab Kennedy, yanking her back out of the way. "I'm so sorry."
"It's fine," Kennedy says, steadying herself with a hand against my chest. As soon as she realizes that she's touching me, she yanks her hand away like I'm a hot stove.
Sienna looks at her and then at me and then back to her.
Silence ensues.
Dane peeks his head in. He takes one look at Kennedy's red face and swollen lips and then glances at me. It takes him all of two seconds to work out what was just going on in here. His lips twitch with amusement, but he doesn't say anything.
"Why are you in the closet?" Sienna asks, glancing between the two of us again. Unlike her husband, she doesn't seem to realize that I was about two seconds away from fucking Kennedy dirty in the middle of a church.
"Oh, um. We were just looking for you," Kennedy says, putting as much distance between the two of us as she can. The way her voice shakes gives away the lie. So does the way her face flames. Her lips are swollen and wet and her dress is mussed. She looks exactly as if we've been up to no good in here. "Sophie needs her shoes."
"Oh!" Sienna holds out the box tucked underneath her arm. "They're right here."
"I'll take them to her." Kennedy grabs them, avoiding looking directly at anyone.
Sienna notices. Her brows furrow as she glances between the two of us again, clearly suspicious. Whatever she sees on Kennedy's face keeps her from asking the question hovering on the tip of her tongue. I almost sigh out loud when she swallows it back and her expression softens.
"Come on," she says, looping her arm through Kennedy's. "Let's go help Soph get ready."
Before I can say anything, they take off toward the kitchen. Kennedy glances over her shoulder at me and then quickly away, her wide eyes full of what looks perilously close to shame.
"Son of a bitch," I mutter, unable to go after her. Call me crazy, but I don't think the preacher of this church would appreciate me chasing after one of the bridesmaids with my dick standing at attention and guilt written all over her face.
Dane seems to realize my predicament.
"I'll give you a minute," he says and then closes the door on me. I hear him laugh from the other side. The bastard.
Kennedy spends the rest of the morning avoiding me, which frustrates me to no end. I try to sneak into the bridal suite as often as Trick does, only for Sienna to materialize as if she's guarding the gates of heaven. She sends us both on our way every damn time. Women take this wedding shit seriously.
Eventually, we both give up. Trick takes to pacing around the room we've been given even though we're all ready to go. I take up a position in front of the window, watching in case Kennedy tries to sneak out. I wouldn't put it past her at this point. Kissing her was a bad idea. It was utter perfection, no doubt. But a bad idea, nonetheless.
She's innocent, inexperienced. As much as I want her in my bed, I don't want her having any regrets once I get her there. I need to give her time to get used to me, take it slow and easy. Problem is, I've never done shit slow and easy in my life. Growing up the way I did, bouncing from foster home to foster home to group home and then to the military, I learned there are no second chances. Once something is gone, there is no getting it back. If you hesitate, you're done.
Every cell in my body screams for me to make her mine now, before some other motherfucker comes along and steals her away. God knows, there are a thousand other men out there more deserving of an angel than I am. Unfortunately for them, I'm selfish enough not to care that she can do better than me. She's mine.
How do I make her see that without sending her running?
I mull the problem, not sure what
to do.
"You nervous?" Dane asks Trick from the far side of the room.
"No, I'm not nervous," he growls, even though he's pacing like a caged lion. "What the f…. What's taking them so long?"
"Women take forever to get ready," Dane tells him. "It takes Sienna for-fucking-ever to do all that girly shit they like to do. Don't know why she insists on wearing makeup since she always looks beautiful to me."
Sophie's dad, Richard, chuckles. I like him. He doesn't seem to like people much. I guess he's still messed up from his time overseas. PTSD is rough, nasty shit, especially for men like him and Trick, the ones who were tasked with leading others into battle.
It's an easy enough thing to walk into a gunfight yourself. You either make it out or you don't. It's something altogether different when you're responsible for leading a bunch of fresh-faced boys into the thick of it. There is no good death in war. They're all ugly and dark. They all hurt like a son of a bitch. Those that happen on your watch hurt even worse.
Men like Sophie's dad, men like Trick…they know that better than most. Sometimes, they're fortunate and those ghosts lie quietly, like they do for Trick. Other times, they're not as fortunate and the screams of the dying echo long after the dying is done. Sophie's dad…well, his ghosts haven't stopped haunting him yet.
"Smart man," he mutters to Dane. "Always tell them they look beautiful. And if they ask you if they look fat, the answer is always fucking no."
"Sophie never looks fat," Trick says.
"Neither does Sienna."
If Kennedy ever starts thinking she's too fat or too small or too anything, I'm spanking her ass. And then I'm fucking her until she forgets to think she's anything less than perfect.
"You two are smarter than you look." I see Richard climb to his feet out of the corner of my eye. He clasps Trick's shoulder. "I'll go check on our girl for you."
A speck of red catches my attention through the window. My heart slams against my ribcage when Kennedy steps outside, holding her dress up in her hand. She looks both ways as if she's trying to avoid someone—me—and then hurries down the steps of the church.
Where is she going?
"Good luck getting in," Trick mutters from behind me.
"Father of the bride gets special privileges," Richard says, rubbing it in.
Kennedy turns toward her car. If she's thinking about leaving, she's going to be sorely disappointed when her car doesn't start. I may be big, but I ain't stupid. She's rattled because she likes me. I disconnected her battery in case she tries to run. It won't keep her from leaving if she really wants to go, but it'll slow her down, give me time to convince her to stay.
"Do me a favor?" Trick says. "Give this to her. Tell her it's her something new."
"Will do."
As if she feels my eyes on her, she stops walking in the middle of the parking lot and turns to face the building. Her gaze scans along the front of the building before landing on me.
"What's in the box?" Dane asks.
"The artwork for her tattoo."
Kennedy jumps a good foot in the air, her eyes almost bugging out of her head, when I grin at her. She looks like I just caught her with her hand in the cookie jar.
I throw my head back and laugh loudly.
"She still giving you hell about her tattoo?" Dane asks Trick.
Kennedy narrows her eyes on me, scowling again. Swear to God, that look on her face makes my dick harder than steel. She's cute when she's annoyed. She lifts her little chin in the air and pointedly turns her back on me.
"Yep," Trick says.
The door opens again. "It's almost time, Elliot," the preacher says.
"Give me ten minutes."
"I'll go get Sienna," Dane says.
I climb to my feet, adjusting my tux. I hate wearing this shit. It feels ridiculous, like I'm somehow more exposed than I am when my ink is visible. "I'll go find Kennedy," I mutter.
"See you both out there. Thanks for being here," Trick says, his voice full of gratitude.
Like I'd be anywhere else. I was not a good kid. I fought, drank, stole, and raised nine kinds of hell. Got myself booted out of more than one foster home. Somehow, Trick always managed to make it all right though. He found a way to land where I did more than once until we aged out. We joined up as soon as I turned eighteen and deployed together the next year.
He's closer than blood as far as I'm concerned.
"We got you," I say, pulling him in to pound on his back. "Aut viam inveniam aut faciam."
I will either find a way or make one. The vow we made way back when to always look out for one another. Doesn't matter what shit comes down the pipe, we face it together.
"Always," he mutters, touching his forehead to mine with gratitude burning in his eyes.
I duck out of the room, going to find my girl.
Chapter Four
Kennedy
"Shoot," I whisper, staring in dismay at Asher baring down on me like a freight train. All morning, he's been lurking outside the door to the classroom where Sophie is getting ready. He finally disappeared and I thought I had time to sneak out to my car to get my notebook. I should have known I was tempting fate.
I can't believe Sienna and Dane almost caught us making out in a freaking closet! In a church! If hell is real, I'm probably going there now. All because the giant stomping toward me makes me completely crazy. I can't think when he's close to me or saying the things he says. No one has ever spoken to me the way he does. It should probably offend me, but it seems to have the opposite effect.
"Sophie will be devastated if you run off now, angel baby," he drawls, stopping a foot away from me. His hair is a little wild, like he's been touching it. Somehow, despite how many times he's messed with his bowtie, it's still straight. He looks incredible…which really isn't fair. I thought he would be less attractive without his tattoos distracting me, but he's still hot as Hades.
"I would never do that," I huff, glaring at him. What kind of friend does he think I am?
"Wouldn't make it out of the parking lot if you tried," he mutters, cocking his head to the side to stare at me. There's a satisfied gleam in his eyes that instantly makes me suspicious.
I pop open the driver's door and lean in to hit the ignition start button. It doesn't do anything. I frown and drop down into the seat, maneuvering so I can put my foot on the brake. I hit the button again and it still doesn't do anything.
Asher's soft laugh tells me everything I need to know.
I climb back to my feet and turn to glare at him. "Did you break my car?"
"No." His lips twitch.
"Oh my God, you did!" I gape at him, not sure if I want to kick him in the shin, strangle him, or kiss the smirk off his face. "You're crazy."
His laughter dies, his expression softening. "Yeah," he says. "For you, angel baby."
Butterflies start doing ballet in my stomach.
"I took one look at you, and lost my damn mind," he mutters, shaking his head like he's surprised by that fact.
I know the feeling. No one has ever made me feel the way he does, like I'm flying and falling and spinning all at the same time. And it was even worse—better—when he kissed me. Which is why I'm out here now. I wanted to write it down before I forgot how soft his lips were against mine, or the way his tongue ring glided across my bottom lip, or the way he made me feel like champagne bubbles were fizzing in my veins.
"I disconnected your battery," he says. "Figured you might try to run after what happened."
"You mean after you kissed me," I say.
"You kissed me first."
My cheeks heat at the reminder.
He reaches out, placing his hand against my cheek. His fingers are rough, but his skin feels so good against mine. I have to fight the urge to lean into him.
"Going to be kissing you a helluva lot more, Kennedy," he murmurs, rubbing his thumb in distracting circles on my neck. "That sweet little mouth is addicting."
"You can't kiss me in
church."
"Agreed."
I blink, suspicious at how easy that was.
"Can't make you fall in love with me if you're mad at me," he says with a shrug, tugging me closer to his body. His shadow falls over me, completely engulfing me. "And I don't trust myself to touch you inside that fucking building again."
"Oh. Why not?"
He's so beautiful when he smiles. I mean, he's hot all the time. But when he smiles, it lights him up, softening his expression and warming his gray eyes. "Because I would have had your thighs wrapped around my head and you screaming my name if Sienna hadn't walked in."
"Asher," I say. It's supposed to be a warning, but it sounds more like a plea. Mostly because I think he's right. Had Sienna not walked in, I wouldn't have stopped him. As soon as he touched me, my body went up like kindling.
"If you aren't running away, where are you going?" he asks, giving me a reprieve from that filthy mouth of his.
"Nowhere. I came to get my notebook."
"You going to write at a wedding, angel baby?"
"Yes." I tip my head back, feeling defensive.
His easy smile soothes me. "You writing about me?"
"No," I lie, narrowing my eyes on him. He doesn't look like he believes me, which is probably because I'm not a very good liar. "How do you know I write anyway?"
"Looked you up on Facebook."
I gape at him.
"Told you that you're driving me crazy," he says, completely unapologetic. "I lost my damn mind about the second you looked at me the other night. You're talented."
"How do you know?"
"I saw the awards you've won."
I blush, glancing away from him. My family is kind of ridiculous. They always brag about me when I win something. I know they do it because they love me, but I wish they wouldn't. I don't like being the center of attention.