Page 62 of The Wrong Groom

She looks spent, a faint sheen of sweat across her skin, her eyes half-shut. I press one last kiss to the inside of her knee and crawl up over her, smoothing a few damp strands of hair away from her forehead and kissing the flushed skin there. My cock brushes her stomach, and the raw desire on her face as she feels it makes it almost impossible to think about anything but burying myself inside her.

As if she’s read my mind, she starts to reach down between us, but I catch her by the wrist. As hard as I am, as insanely turned on by the taste and sight of her, much as I want to ruin her for anyone who ever comes after me… tonight isn’t the night.

I kiss her instead, slow and deep. “That was a lot,” I tell her when we separate. “I don’t want to push you too hard.”

She pouts, and I chuckle as I nip at her plump lower lip.

“Don’t worry, sunshine,” I promise. “I plan to be a very thorough teacher, and that was just lesson one.”

Without giving her a chance to argue—since I know it wouldn’t take much effort on her part to destroy what small amount of willpower I have left—I turn off the bedside light, then settle onto my back and pull her in against my side. She comes without resistance, tucking her head into the crook of my shoulder and draping one arm across my chest.

It’s getting late by now, and I can tell that the adrenaline and arousal of everything we just did wore her out. She murmurs something about how she’s always been a good student, and I laugh quietly, ignoring the ache in my cock as it rests against my stomach, hard and heavy.

Her breathing evens out over the course of several minutes. I lie there in the dark with my own pulse still working to settle, one hand moving up and down her spine, until finally, sleep claims me too.

Chapter 20

Alexis

I adjust my sunglasses, squinting against the bright mid-day sun as I step out of the car. The neighborhood is quieter than I expected. Still part of the city, but far enough off downtown that it has a bit more space, more of a local feel.

I’m here to see an old warehouse I found online, a potential home for my project. The building itself looks worn, but there’s something about it that speaks to me. An indefinable, industrial charm.

I glance at the address on my phone and then back at the building across the street. It sits between a couple of low-rise buildings. There’s a coffee shop on the corner, and a used bookstore a few doors down.

Yeah. This is the one.

“Alexis Beaumont?”

The voice belongs to a woman in her late thirties, standing on the sidewalk a few yards away from me. She’s dressed casually in a light denim jacket, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and there’s a clipboard pressed to her chest.

“That’s me,” I reply, offering a quick smile. “You must be the agent.”

“Yeah, I’m Amy.” She extends her hand. “I’ll be showing you the place today. You found the location okay?”

I accept the handshake. “Yeah, no problem. It’s a great neighborhood. Close enough that you could get the bus from downtown. I like that.” I want the workshop to be as easy to access as possible, and public transit is the key.

Amy nods. “Shall we head in?”

“Sure.” I follow her as she crosses the street briskly, and catch a whiff of fresh coffee from the café on the corner.

“The building’s been mostly empty for the last few months,” Amy says as she unlocks the door. “Some local artists have rented it out for pop-up exhibitions, but that’s about it. It’s a blank slate.”

We step inside. The air in here is cool, carrying the faint scent of old wood and dust. The concrete floors are uneven in places, and there are cobwebs hanging from the far-off girders in the ceiling, but it’s the perfect size. Sunlight filters in through tall windows along one wall, illuminating the motes of dust that float in the stillness.

I pace in a slow circle, starting to picture the setup. Tables along one wall with permanent sewing machines. Curtains to divide fabric storage from the work area.

“Yeah,” I say after a long moment. “This is really nice.” I glance at Amy, who smiles at me. “I’ll have to get a few things finalized before I can commit, but I love it.”

“Of course,” Amy says. “You have my card. Just give me a call whenever you’re ready to move forward.”

“I will,” I say. “Thanks for all your help.”

Amy smiles and turns to leave. The sound of the door clicking shut echoes through the empty warehouse. For a few moments, I linger in the space, taking it all in. I pace over to one of the wooden beams and run my fingers over its rough surface, imagining what this warehouse will look like transformed.

This is more than just a building. It’s freedom. A chance to create something entirely my own, separate from my family’s expectations and the loaded conditions of their approval. For once, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something just for me.

And it’s exhilarating.