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Four Days After the Wedding
Wherever he’s going, he’s in a rush.
At first, I think he’s planning some surprise for Grayson, particularly when he tells me to wait a second as he walks into his brother’s bedroom.
But he emerges a moment later holding a box of condoms, and…ohhhh.
I don’t bother telling him I’ve been on birth control for years. We haven’t really spoken specifics about our histories, and if he wants to play this game prepared, I’m all for that.
He grabs my hand and pulls me up another set of stairs to a door on the third floor, which he opens.
I step in and find a guest room complete with furniture…but no guests.
He steps into the room and kicks the door shut behind him. He tosses the box onto the bed, and before I have even a moment to realize what’s going on, his mouth crashes down to mine.
This is a different Spencer than the one I’ve come to know. This one is hot and hard and absolutely crazed with lust.
Now this…this is the kiss I’ve been waiting for. His body moves in toward me, backing me up against the door, and I hear the quiet click of the lock, signaling privacy for whatever we want to do next.
And I guess if we got married in his brother’s clothes, it only makes sense to have sex in his brother’s guest bedroom.
Or something like that.
His kiss is fierce and demanding as his fingertips move toward my hip. The fire that’s been building between us is a raging inferno now—like the ones we’ve stared into so many times side by side in the firepits behind the tasting room back home, but this one is all because of the heat that’s been building between us for the last four days.
Our tongues tangle together as I wrap my arms around his neck, and all I can do is hang on for the ride that’s been a few days or maybe two years in the making.
He somehow intensifies the kiss, the urgency fervent between us as we plow forward into this new, uncharted territory. This kiss doesn’t follow any sort of sensible pattern—it’s messy and beautiful as those fingertips dig into my hip as if he’s doing everything he can to hold himself back from the rush of need he feels.
I don’t want him to hold himself back. I want him to give it all to me.
His intention is clear with that entire box of condoms, and I’m here for it. The whole box.
I tangle my fingers in his neat, slicked-back hair, mussing up his trim, tidy appearance a bit. He likes it, and I know that because his tongue changes course as he seems to lose control. He’s falling apart, and it’s because of me.
I’m not sure I’ve experienced anything hotter than that in my entire life.
He groans as he thrusts his hips against me. It’s as if he’s trying to get inside me even though there are far too many clothes separating us, but this wild lust that’s been building has to be satisfied. Now.
His tongue moves from tangling to thrashing, and then he closes his mouth and trails his lips from mine down my neck. I lean my head on the door, arching my back into him and lengthening my neck to give him more space to work with. I can’t help a soft moan and a shiver as he kisses his way down my neck toward my collarbone, and then he moves back up toward my neck, leaving soft, wet kisses as he drags his lips along my skin.
“I’m so fucking hard for you,” he murmurs, his tone full of desperation as his words heat my skin. He thrusts his hips against mine again as if he’s proving his words true.
I trail one hand down to feel him, palming his length over his slacks as he drives his hips into my hand with a grunt. “Oh, God, yes,” I moan as I feel how hard he really is.
“You’re going to be moaning that again in a minute when I’m inside you,” he warns.
I can’t help a small chuckle. “Prove it.” My words are all hoarse and throaty, need evident in them as he moves his lips back to mine.
He reaches under my dress, shoves it up, and yanks my panties to the side all in the span of a heartbeat—well, a normal heartbeat, anyway, since my current one is quite a bit accelerated.
I have no idea what sort of lover he is. Gentle, fast, selfish, selfless, or something else. But I know in this moment, I want to give him all of me.
He slides a finger right into me, and I whimper some incoherent throaty noise at the feel.
“Jesus, that’s a hot, wet cunt,” he breathes.
“Wet for you,” I murmur. He thrusts his finger, pushing up harder into me, and I moan. This man is about to get me off standing upright against the door when honestly, achieving an orgasm in the past for me was like aligning all the stars in the sky for one perfect, magical moment.
