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“I’m not done with you yet.”
I looked at him to see the irises of his eyes were barely visible as they dilated with desire. He grasped my ass and began to pump inside me to the rhythm of the music. I felt him lengthen and thicken against my walls. He was close to coming but he held off, grunting my name as he fucked me senseless. I came again almost without warning and set him off.
The mind-numbing orgasm dulled my senses and I was unaware of how many spurts he pumped into me before he stilled. Oliver carried me over to the couch and sat down while holding me in his arms. He rocked me and placed kisses over my sweaty face.
“You’re beautiful,” Oliver whispered, his eyes locked onto mine.
“You’re out of your mind. I’m afraid to look in the mirror,” I replied, feeling self-conscious.
“I want to take you home. I don’t want to share you anymore,” he said, his voice filled with longing.
“We have guests,” I reminded him.
“Alcohol is free, and they don’t need us. We can say our goodbyes and go home. I want to enjoy the weekend with you. I know I’m going to be miserable in the coming days.”
I regretted my decision to abstain from sex until our wedding night. It was hard enough to last a couple of days when Oliver went on business trips without me. Now I was pledging to hold off for almost a week? I must have been out of my mind.
“You’re not the only one,” I admitted.
“But you’re the one who made the rule,” he pointed out.
“You could’ve said no,” I said.
He chuckled. “Right. You’re not easy to argue with.”
“I’ll make it so worth it.”
“I have no doubt, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be miserable without you next to me.”
“And so will I. The week will go faster than you think. I’m nervous,” I confessed, my voice softening.
“Don’t be. I’ll be right by your side. I can’t wait to make you my wife,” he said, his eyes filled with sincerity.
I felt him shifting beneath me, and I moved off his lap, feeling like a mess. Oliver must have sensed my thoughts.
“There’s a bathroom in the corner. It has a shower stall if you want to take one,” he suggested.
I snorted. “You think I want our friends to know what we’ve been doing?”
“You think they don’t already?” he replied with a chuckle.
My face heated, a flush creeping up my neck. “Shut up. I don’t want them to know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re practically married, and that’s what married people do.”
“Some married people don’t,” I muttered.
“That won’t be us. We’ll always be physical with each other, even when we’re eighty.”
I smirked. “Newsflash, you’ll be eighty before I will.”
“And we’ll still be having sex.”
I shook my head, standing up and heading to the bathroom. Inside was a modest three-piece setup with a black granite vanity, a glass-enclosed shower stall, and a white toilet. I found towels in a small closet next to the sink.
I tried to avoid my full reflection, rubbing at some of the black marks under my eyes but gave up quickly. My makeup was a mess, and I looked like a raccoon. But Oliver didn’t care, and we were going home in a few minutes. I would shower there.
When I came out, he was holding my dress in his hands, but I didn’t see my panties anywhere. I went to the window and looked on the floor for them.
