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And works.
And plunges, perpetually scribbling his signature on any, tiny orgasmic shiver that spreads throughout my system.
“Wesssss!” surges itself out of my mouth at the same time I throw my head back in pure ecstasy. “Wesssss!” Additional hollering is offered up in hopes of mercy. “Wessss!” Blissful pulsations continue without any indication of ending. “Wessss!” His incessant swiping and sucking and lapping persists in spite of my screeching. “Icanttakeany-”
“Wes,” Lurch’s voice floods through the speakers in an even tone, “we are two minutes out.”
At that, my fiancé unlatches his mouth from my lower lips, leans back onto his hunches to meet my gaze, and wolfishly grumbles, “I guess I’ll have to finish my dessert later, little prey.”
Finish?!
What the fuck does he mean finish?!
I’m pretty sure there’s nothing left for him to have!
I’m practically kin to Clayface who was actually in the comic I was reading while Greta Blank, the hair and makeup stylist I often use for more high-class events, did a marvelous job that my soon to be husband has successfully undone.
Wes swipes away the taste of me on his lips prior to shooting me a shit eating grin.
Oooooo, he’s so lucky this event is about my job and not his.
Otherwise?
I’d take him into one of the private bathrooms and do something for us to switch smug expressions.
Then again…we still might.
Getting my black and sequin, high slit, dress returned to its appropriate position takes about the same amount of time it does for Wes to use the selection of complimentary offerings to clean his face and freshen his breath.
Again, if this was one of the many, many events for Wilcox Enterprises rather than The Institute I’d say fuck it.
Let his breath smell like mint and a good time.
But it’s not.
I mean…he technically is one of their highest donors and was invited as such; however, he’s here for me.
To be my arm candy.
To assist me in kissing ass and belugas and whatever else it is my bitch of a boss demands I do to show allegiance to our organization.
You know I love what I do…but I don’t love doing it under her.
She’s like having to answer to The Borg Queen.
And I won’t assimilate!
I don’t care what she does to me.
I refuse to join her hivemind bullshit.
Seriously.
What kind of deep-sea monster wants to get rid of meaningful celebrations for our precious ocean babies?!
I’m not saying we need to throw a party every time a clown fish pops out of an egg, but what’s wrong with honoring their rescue dates or giving them goodbye parties like we did for Steven?
Who I deeply miss.
