Page 108 of The Wrong Groom

He keeps his hand over my mouth for several long seconds, as if he’s not sure I’ll be able to stay silent even now. I squirm against him a little, grinding back against the intrusion of his cock, and he grunts softly. Slowly, he peels his fingers away from my face as if testing the waters. I pull in a long breath, my whole body still humming.

“See?” I whisper, a little smug beneath the breathlessness. “Quiet.”

His low laugh stirs the hair at my temple. “You screamed into my hand loud enough to raise the dead, sunshine.”

“Not that loud.” I shoot him a narrow eyed look, although honestly, I have no idea. “And either way, it was muffled enough that nobody noticed it but you.”

“Lucky me.” His teeth catch my earlobe, and I feel his grin against my skin. “Next time, I want you loud. Gonna fuck you someplace where I can let you scream the roof down.”

The promise sends a rush of exhilarated anticipation through me, and I have to press my lips together to keep from making another sound just imagining it.

He starts to withdraw, still half-hard, and that last bit of friction sends a few more tiny bolts of pleasure through me. As his cock slips free, I feel the warm gush of his cum as it starts to slide down my inner thigh—but he catches it with two fingers and eases it back into me. He’s done this before, and he’s got good reason to do it now since it will get rid of the evidence of what we just did. But somehow I don’t think he’s got any practical reasons in mind as he pumps his fingers slowly in and out of me, filling me all over again with his cum.

“That’s better.” His voice drops low, filthy and fond all at once as he slips his fingers out and then tugs my panties back into place, trapping the cum inside my pussy. “Can’t have you dripping down your legs the rest of the night, now can we?”

My pussy flutters, and I can feel the wetness of what we just did seeping into the fabric of my panties and coating my thighs. It feels dirty and decadent, and I fucking love it.

Gabriel tucks himself away and tugs his zipper up, then slides the skirt of my dress back down over my hips, his hands careful as he settles the fabric and checks me over for anything that might give us away. Once he’s satisfied, he takes me by the hips and turns me to face him.

He frames my face in both hands and kisses me, slow and deep, his tongue moving against mine with a heat that steals what little breath I have left. It feels like he’s sealing the whole thing between us, telling me without a single word that what just happened up here means something to him.

When he finally draws back, he cradles my chin and studies my face, his eyes bouncing between mine.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful to me than you do right now.” The intensity of his gaze shifts as a grin quirks his lips. “So beautiful, it’s almost a crime to bring you back down there where everyone else can look at you.”

Still smiling, he offers me his hand, and I lace my fingers with his. He presses a kiss to my forehead and guides me toward the stairs, providing a steadying presence so I don’t catch a heel in my hem.

As he pulls the velvet rope aside and lets me take the last step down into the lobby, I can’t fight the giddy flutter in my stomach. Not one person in this whole crowd knows what we just did. It’s a secret that will only ever belong to the two of us.

To me and my husband.

Chapter 35

Alexis

Fashion For All is slated to open without the typical fanfare for a project of its type. Aside from the crew that’s been helping me film segments for FlashUp, there are no cameras present at the workshop’s first public event. There’s no press, no large crowd.

This isn’t about extravagant publicity or high-profile social media posts. It’s about the people who truly need what the workshop offers.

And I can’t wait.

This is more fulfilling than any work I’ve ever done with Vérité. It feels good to finally be in my element, doing what I’m supposed to be doing.

My parents still aren’t thrilled about Fashion For All, but since Gabriel’s confrontation with my father, he hasn’t given me a hard time about it. He seems to have backed off entirely. I haven’t seen him in ages. Not that I’m complaining.

Our first event is an open house. A few of our new designers-in-residence, all of whom are local, lesser-known artists, are going to be in the workshop space, greeting our new neighbors and anyone else interested in getting involved. There are some design stations open, but for the most part, this is a meet-and-greet.

We advertised the event around the community, but nowhere else. Fashion For All may have become a FlashUp sensation, but it needs to remain authentic in order to fulfill its purpose. Letting people know about the opener on the app would’ve been a mistake. If we’d told people about it online, we’d have more guests than we can handle.

I float around the workshop, ready to help wherever I’m needed. Stationed at the first table is one of the designers-in-residence, Marcus, who’s showcasing his collection of contemporary streetwear inspired by his Jamaican heritage.

“You got everything you need?” I ask him as I pass by.

“I think so,” he responds. There’s a gleam in his eye. Everyone here has been looking forward to this as much as I have. That’s the best part, I think, working with a team that mirrors my passion.

“Okay. If you need anything, just give me a shout. I’ll be around.”

The Thorne Enterprises camera crew follows me as I continue past his table, checking on a couple of the other designers. Once I’m sure they’re all set, I circle back to the front entrance and peer outside. There’s a small line forming outside the front door. Excitement prickles down my spine.