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RAE
Sun burns my retinas, but my lids are shut. My back is pressed against something hard and delicious.
No, someone.
I force my eyes wide. The blackout drapes on the floor-to-ceiling windows in our penthouse are open.
“Morning.” Invisible hands move my hair off my neck and firm lips brush my throat.
“It’s so bright,” I mumble.
Harrison’s mouth traces a path down my collarbone, my shoulder. “It’s called the sun. The earth orbits it such that it appears to rise in the east and set in the west.”
“Cute.” My skin shivers under his caresses. “Can you get the curtains?”
Instead of reaching for the button near the headboard that would cast us into darkness, he slips a hand around my stomach and pulls me closer.
He works off my silk tank and ties it around my eyes. The last thing I see before I’m plunged into darkness is his wicked blue gaze.
“Better?”
Yesterday comes back to me—the emotional ups and downs, the dress, the reconciliation, learning he risked himself to save the ring I chose for him.
The ring I can’t wait to see him wear.
His lips brush my arm, then the curve of my breast.
When he sweeps his tongue across my nipple, I gasp.
Pleasure rockets through me, a sharp tug of need shooting down between my thighs.
Forget time and space.
Forget what orbits what because Harrison knows how to make me want things I never expected.
There’s tugging at my silk shorts, and before I can shift to help, they’re already off. I’m bare under the shorts, and when he spreads my legs wide with a firm grip, cool air hits me.
Wedding.
We have one.
Today.
Except my body wants nothing more than to cling to this man and let him carry me off to whatever decadent paradise he has in mind for the next few hours at least. “Harrison. We need to—”
“I told you I’d take care of this wedding. Now I’m taking care of you.”
His tongue slips between my folds, finding my clit with unerring precision.
It’s like the swell of music, the sweet crescendo leading to a percussive crash. My body moves without permission, hips arching and back bowing to seek more friction.
For a man who claims to be impatient, he has endless patience for driving me insane.
His fingers follow his mouth, teasing my entrance. He presses one finger inside, and I clench around him.
I drag the makeshift blindfold off to take him in.
“I’m not stopping until you come loud enough they hear you three floors down,” he warns.
