He bent down and his hands disappeared under the hem of my dress, skimming my naked calves and thighs. Chill bumps broke out in the wake of his smooth hands roaming along my skin. Was he honestly going to check if my panties were wet? And was I seriously going to let him? I knew I should stop him, slap his hands away, step back—something—but instead I stood there like a lovesick idiot, letting him manhandle me.
His fingers slid in through the sides of my panties and slowly twisted them, pulling them down my thighs. I knew I should say something. This wasn’t okay, this wasn’t me. Yet I watched in wonder as he let them fall to my ankles.
“Step out of them,” he commanded.
I lifted one foot and then the other, leaving my panties haphazardly on the floor.
He slid one finger against my sex, and his mouth curved up in a grin. “You get really wet, don’t you?”
Heat flooded my cheeks and my eyes dropped to the floor. Oh, God.
He tipped my chin up to meet his eyes once again. “Fuck, I like that. A lot.”
I pulled in a shaky breath, relaxing into his touch.
His finger glided along my wet center and a whimper fell from my parted lips. It was laced with need, and Braydon recognized it immediately, his jaw tightening. His eyes danced as he looked into mine, and we tried to calm our ragged breathing.
“All this tension between us, my little firecracker, this electricity . . . don’t you want to see what it will be like when I’m buried balls-deep inside you?” he murmured, his finger lightly rubbing my clit as his eyes met mine. I whimpered and bit my lip. Braydon continued watching me as though cataloging my every reaction as his finger continued to carefully circle the bundle of nerve endings so desperate for attention.
God, if he keeps that up, I’m going to explode . . .
“Can I taste you?” he asked.
All the blood rushed from my brain to my clenching sex, and I nodded wordlessly.
Walking us backward, Braydon guided me into one of the large bathroom stalls and slid the clasp into place, locking the door behind us. My heart pounded in anticipation.
Our eyes connected as he lowered himself to his knees in front of me, pushing my dress up around my hips as he went. Raw desire was reflected back at me as those beautiful blue depths penetrated mine. He hungered to put his mouth on me, and that thought alone drove me absolutely wild.
Balancing on precariously high heels with a poufy satin dress lifted up around my waist, I braced one hand on the wall beside me for support.
“Put your hands here.” He took my wrists, placing my hands on his shoulders instead. Then he slowly leaned forward, planting sweet kisses along my inner thigh. I writhed, trying to push myself closer, and balled my fists into his shirt.
“Hang on, baby. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
His words instantly soothed me. I knew he would.
What in the world was happening between me and Braydon? I had no clue. But hell if I wanted to stop it. His tantalizing mouth moved to my other thigh, giving it the same treatment, trailing tender, sucking kisses all over the smooth flesh.
I gripped his shirt, my fingers sliding from his shoulders to his collar, to his hair, using it to tug him closer.
“Okay, enough teasing,” he whispered. “You want to come?”
“Yes,” I groaned out.
His mouth closed over my sex, sucking my swollen flesh into his mouth. He certainly wasn’t shy. This wasn’t the timid, noncommittal technique I was used to from most guys—a few flicks of the tongue before retreating to check a box. Oral sex complete. No, Braydon invested himself fully, pinning me in place and worshipping my lady parts until I was moaning and tugging against his hair to get him to ease up.
Hushed voices and footsteps came within hearing range. Braydon didn’t stop his ministrations, despite me trying to wiggle away. His hands clamped down on my hips, holding me in place. The footsteps stopped just beside the door, and I peeked one eye open. I could see black Italian loafers and hot pink satin pumps under the doorway. Holy shit! It was Ben and Emmy.
Braydon and I froze, our gazes locking.
“Ben, I need you,” Emmy whined.
“I know, baby. I want to fuck you so bad.”
Emmy giggled. “Look. There are panties on the floor.”
“Looks like we weren’t the only ones with this idea,” Ben said. “Our romantic wedding makes panties drop,” he said as he chuckled softly.
After a moment’s hesitation, Emmy asked, “Ellie? Is that you?”
Shit!
There was no use denying it. She could see my shoes, and since she’d picked out these strappy sandals for me, I knew we’d been spotted.
“Yeah, um, Braydon’s just helping me, um, find my contact.”